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55,802 | 1,527 | 138 | 1,153 | 95 | With the tension between the group and the bar tender gone, Ionathan could see that most were returning to conversations that were previously interrupted by the groups entrance. After Isabeau finished her order Ionathan decided to pay for all four rooms. If he was to travel with this group on this adventure it would mean that they would be fighting alongside him and he would prefer it if he had their trust and respect before the inevitable battles that lies ahead. Besides if Sakaala is going to fix the door then the money offered would not be needed and can instead be used to rent the rooms.
Asking politely where the rooms were in the tavern the bar keep told anyone in the group who were listening where each room was with a hint of distrust and caution still in his eyes. Picking a door Ionathan made his way to the room, his eyelids feeling heavier with each step. The quarters that he got was of a typical tavern variety and Ionathan wasted no time, mechanically removing his armour as he had done hundreds of times before.
Laying on the bed Ionathan took a deep breath watching the scars on his body stretch with the inhale. In truth Ionathan hated the marks as it represented what his thoughts towards fighting had turned into. Before he had these wounds of war fighting was a mixture of excitement and horror, with each battle and each fight he slowly became numbed to these feelings. A few months before when he was attacking a bandit encampment with the guard a spearman came at him in a head on charge. Ionathan just did a simple parry, an instinctive thrust, without even thinking and without any emotion.
And that's what bothered him. He didn't feel anything, just another day of hard work. Killed a couple of criminals in a camp somewhere south of Waeldeshore. It was how clinical, and technical, and routine it all felt, and it made him feel monstrous. He might not even have remembered it, it was so normal and every day for him. He was surprised he remembered it so vividly right now.
Exhaling Ionathan stared up at the ceiling, and wondered if he would get a good night’s sleep. | Name: Ionathan Hepburnberg
Race: Half-Elf
Description: Tall, Honourable,kind-hearted, mid 30s human age appearance.
Age: 53
Gender: Male
Appearance: Dark Green eyes under black eyebrows and short, black hair. At 6 foot 1 Ionathan is above average height for humans and easily stands out with his sharp, elven like features including elf like ears but more rounded and less pronounced, he has a Light skin colour with a small scar on his right cheekbone
Clothing/Armor: A Tabard with the Hepburnberg Coat of arms over a mail shirt with padding underneath. He has a few satchels upon his belt consisting of first aid supplies. Atop his head is a sallet with a padded lether cap underneath. On casual days, Ionathan wears a plain brown tunic.
Weapons: Ionathan wields a bastard sword that is usually equiped with his shield that he carries on his back with a Guige when it's not equiped. The shield is a standard heater shield with the Hepburnberg heraldry for a coat of arms.
Skills/Abilities:
An experience fighter-Ionathan's experience in the army has not left him as he remembers the battles he was in and how to take on opponents of different measure.
Discipline and Obedience- As part of his soldier training the iron discipline is still embedded in Ionathan's mind.
Ionathan knows basic first aid with some advance understanding of the significance of wounds.
Backstory: With a human father and a elven mother Ionathan got to learn about both human and elven cultures from an early age. However, His father was a wealthy landowner so his marriage to an elf was most scandalous, this left Ionathan with a resentment of the nobility and few friends. Ionathan in his childhood and adolescents spent his time reading and received a good education via private tutors. When the war broke out Ionathan had just reached Adulthood and being in a noble family he was enlisted as an officer cadet, Ionathan's training at the officers training camp was harsh but effective, at the start he was like any other who had just reached adult hood, full of energy and always cheerful, but by the end he was a disciplined and skilled officer who acted with knowledge and calculation rather than gut feeling. After The training he was assigned to be a Lieutenant of the 35th regiment of foot where he served throughout the war. The 35th served with valor and duty with their most famous action taking place when a strike force went to strike a supply town near the border and the 35th held the road despite repeated enemy assaults until reinforcements arrived, the officers were personally kissed on the cheeks by the ruling official of the town and were offered the best rooms in the taverns while the regiment was resupplied.
After the war Ionathan adopted a girl made orphaned by the war and settled down and bought a cosy 2 bedroomed house in Waeldeshore were he became a guard for the town. Over the years he reflected on his life in the army while growing to like the town and became a respected by his colleagues and the town for his by the book approach to handling situations and his good relation with the Guard Captain. Throughout the years he made sure that his daughter was given the best education he could afford her with his salary, even on the weekends giving lessons himself. He remains in close contact with his parents who visit every month. Ionathan is looking forward to a life of keeping law and order while letting time heal the wounds of war.
After the "happening" at Waeldeshore, Ionathan took over the family estate in the countryside and established it as a fine farming estate. The workers being retired soldiers and victims of the happenings, live in accommodation around the estate and although the pay is modest, Ionathan provides food, warmth and shelter for those who have suffered. Ionathan put aside his sword and picked up the pen becoming Commissioner of Justice, reforming the guard into a more professional law enforcement body. Being part of a noble family Ionathan was put through an arranged marriage with was easy to arrange due to the fame he gained in fighting the demons, while the couple are not a "lovey dovey" pair they both love each other dearly and have enjoyed there years of marriage which soon gave them a son. Ionathan’s Adopted daughter was accepted by Ionathan’s wife with open arms and now has become the state ambassador traveling around the world promoting friendship and trade between nations. One day Ionathan received a strange letter from Genevieve calling him to once more take up arms, Ionathan immediately informed his wife of the letter and his intent to leave. Although leaving his wife and child to themselves weighted heavy in Ionathan’s heart, he departed several days later.
Alignment- Lawful good |
55,803 | 1,527 | 139 | 1,054 | 1,812 | So much was going on all at once, the barkeep wasn't quite sure which direction to look, or even how to feel about it all, let alone react to it. They were obviously a dangerous bunch, not one to be trifled with. But he sensed sincerity from them all, which, all things considered, was odd.
He swiftly scooped up the coin that was placed on the table and nodded once to them all. "Alroight" he grumbled. Slowly trying to untwist his figurative panties from the tightly wound bunch they had become, he turned to get the pretty gal a drink.
"If the Knight is paying for the rooms, put the extra coin towards food and spirits." she nodded to the man behind the counter.
The bitterness started to melt within his features, but the barkeep was as ridged as ever. His movements were stiff and weary as he pulled a bottle of spirits from the shelf. It wasn't overly obvious, but something that any regular patrons might notice. Regular enough to know his name. He glanced behind him at the others, pausing a moment before he poured the dark liquid into a glass. "Anythin' else?" he spouted at the rest of them. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,804 | 1,527 | 140 | 276 | 729 | Regina slept peacefully, mostly, with her ear to Sakaala's back. For some reason, she always found it relaxing to listen to the heartbeats of others. As Sakaala set her down to go inside, Regina moaned, wondering what happened, only to be picked up shortly afterwards again. As Isabeau was talking to the barkeep, Regina began mumbling in her sleep and trying to shift her position to be more comfortable. The only word comprehensible from her mumbling would be Isabeau's name. | Name: Regina Hills
Species: Halfling
Age: 57
Description: Regina is a bit tall for a halfling, a whole six inches taller than the average of 3 feet, with long, reddish brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. She has a pale complexion and a few small wrinkles, preferring to stay in the shade, and a thin but curvy figure that is slowly catching up with her age.
Regina wears a thin layer of leather armor over her clothes with multiple daggers hidden on her and a pair of longtooth daggers on her hips. Regina carries no less than 20 throwing daggers, 10 normal daggers and a pair of longtooth daggers on her at any time.
Personality: Regina is the type of woman to flirt with some of the younger women though nothing too far as she doesn't want to be left again. She's easy to anger if you say the wrong thing. However, she does keep her anger under control while at work. She's no longer the happy-go-lucky woman she once was, instead taking everything carefully and not letting anyone close again.
Skills/Abilities: Regina has great aim with her throwing daggers and is proficient with her normal daggers to block and redirect, allowing her to use her longtooth daggers, with their little extra length, to attack. She can also pick locks, pick pockets, find and remove traps, track people, most any skill a thief would find very helpful.
Other than that, she is an excellent with her psionic powers, allowing her to do many things most people cannot.
-Combat Mind: Using this, she has a clear understanding of where her allies and enemies are.
-Telekinesis: She can levitate most objects though nothing bigger than a small human male for more than a couple minutes.
-Levitation: She can lift herself up to 12 feet from whatever she's standing on.
-Complete Healing: With a 12-hour meditation process, she can heal herself of all injuries, illnesses, poisons and the like.
-Quick Healing: With a matter of a few minutes and a lot of concentration, she can heal her small injuries, though nothing bigger than a small cut.
-Adrenaline Control: By controlling the production and release of adrenaline in her system, she can give herself a temporary physical boost on demand.
-Body Weaponry: Using this, she can turn her hands into dagger blades or go as far as her elbow for a shortsword blade.
-Displacement: She can control where people see her, whether or not she moves.
-Teleport: With this, she can teleport up to 200 feet away in the blink of an eye, with loud popping sounds emitting from both the place she teleports from and to.
-Telepathy: Using this, she is able to communicate wordlessly with another intelligent being without having to worry about language barriers.
-Daydream: She can cause another person's mind to wander, allowing her to pick their pockets and get away safely with a lower chance of getting caught.
Magic: She has no magic though some have commented her psionics are similar.
Backstory: Regina was raised in a big halfling city, well as big a city as the halflings would build, with her numerous siblings. The only way she could stand out in her family enough to be remembered was the fact that, at a young age, she could make apples fly to her hand. She had practically never spent any time at home once she was old enough and had gotten caught picking locks and grabbing an apple for a snack. She had eventually decided, after nearly having her hand chopped off for the thousandth time, to leave the city and find a better life. She soon was found by a thieves' guild that took her in and began training her. She spent the next 15 years in the guild, training as hard as she could to get faster and stronger though her strength didn't improve by much. They found out about her psionic skills rather quickly and, being only the second psionic in the guild, learned from an older man who taught her how to teleport, heal small wounds, levitate items other than apples, such as herself, and so on.
After her training was finished, she began traveling again, ending up in Waeldeshore. It was there she met a group that was going to be fighting a dragon. She decided to join them, supplying the team with a lot of jerky during their travel to the cave. They ended up stealing a magic artifact from a sleeping dragon, one of two in that particular cave and escaping rather quickly. Upon arriving back at the town, most of them decided to spend the night. Regina offered to share a room with one of the more beautiful, yet still a bit scary, women on the team. When she awoke, however, she saw her ally was gone. She had searched for days but the trail was cold and she couldn't follow what she couldn't find. Instead, she decided to go east.
She went far east, ending up in a land much different than what she was used to a year later. It was there she met another halfling woman, a bard who instantly captured her heart. She traveled with the bard, acting as her bodyguard for a decade and a half until she was injured badly. She was unconscious for days as she slowly healed herself from nearly dying but, when she awoke, the bard was gone. She asked around but nobody had seen the halfling bard around in days. She had been abandoned again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the west. It took 4 years to travel back, as she had done other jobs along the way to distract her, but she eventually returned to Wealdeshore. With not much else to do, she became a guard for one of the local pubs. It's been 5 years since her return and, in that time, she's proven to be a great asset as well as a new resident for the foreseeable future. |
55,805 | 1,527 | 141 | 2,426 | 2,292 | The steady of the two hands met itself to join deep within one of her pockets, clinking ever so gently a few of the small metal discs. They were as cool as ever to the touch, but were warm to one with the knowing how sellswords earned their keep; money from blood. It always perplexed the aging hunter, her expression shifting her attention away briefly as she thought. The vexing notion that in itself it was a worthless thing as one could not fashion a sword of it, could not feed mouths with it, or even use it to perform most any sanctified ritual. But so many died in its pursuit and for what?
She withdrew at last a few pieces of five, their worn surface telling only a fraction of their tale, stepping forward to set them upon the counter with a faint metal clatter. The greatness of her hand and claws rested on them for a moment, her other arm still and lifeless by her side as she looked to the man while he poured the dark drink into a glass and questioned them. Nostrils flaring with a slight exhale, she at last replied.
"No, I have need of nothing more." Sakaala removed her thickly padded palm, sleeve of her torn ebon robe slipping free of the wooden surface. Three aged coins remained where they were, still and cold.
Stepping back, she kept an eye on the man for a moment more, one living and one cold stare all the same. She gauged him, as did she the others here for a moment before turning and walking to the still sundered door; she wasn't about to turn her back without being entirely sure they knew she was just as wary of them as they were of her... | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,806 | 1,527 | 142 | 1,054 | 1,812 | Ionathan may have been preoccupied with his own thoughts, or even the attempt at sleep, so much so that he may not have heard the continuing commotion just below him, the whispering in the halls, the gasps of excitement and awe of the other patrons. Yes, there was a lot of distrust in the area, however they were like celebrities at this point. This very well may have been the most exciting day in this tavern for most of its regular patrons.
Of course it didn't help Jarkson at all. He rather enjoyed his quiet life. Business had been good, business had been easy for a while. But when that wench showed up and erected her cottage just along the end of the road, well, odd things began happening. And his slow and easy business started taking a dive. Regulars started disappearing, the whole town was spooked. There was a time where you couldn't find a dry seat in the house. Now, it was a lowly lit, dive, entertainment was scarce and the food was ok. And if Ionathan payed attention, there were only 6 rooms within the establishment.
Speaking of, shortly after his arrival into the humbly furnished room, shortly after his routinely undressing and creeping towards the door to slumber, there was a rapping at his own. "Pardon me sir, I gots yer dinner." The words poured out in a meek voice just beyond the solid wooden door.
Downstairs, Jarkson glanced towards Ajax. "It seems your friends have covered ya. Whaddya want?", he said, cup in hand, ready to pour another drink. His eyes drifted to the last man standing of the group. A young lad, couldn't barely out of his youth. A knightly looking fellow, his armor gleaming bright, causing specs of light to dance in the rusted room in which they all stood. "And you?" He asked a bit more directly this time. He had barely noticed the little one asleep, until she muttered something, her voice was clearly not something he'd expect, he thought she was but a child. Regardless, sound asleep she was, and so a mouth he didn't have to worry about being fed this evening.
In truth, it wasn't them he worried so much about. The Knights were knightly, sure, generous even and down to the point. The darkly clad woman seemed nice enough, but it was those types he knew to usually be the opposite. The hulking man before him could surely pop a mans head off with a gentle squeeze, so despite the lack of weapons and clothing, he was certainly a threat. But he got the no nonsense vibe from him, and being that he was willing to do work to earn his keep, any thoughts of mischief from this one quickly vanished. But it was the beastly woman who he feared most of all. And she returned his distrust in kind. As she removed herself from the crowd rounded by the bar, Jarkson removed her from his thoughts, but only so much to keep up with his duties. She may have been out of his sights, more so from avoidance of looking her way, but she would not be from his mind. He would just have to sleep with one eye open tonight, if he could get any at all. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,807 | 1,527 | 143 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Ajax shrugged, satisfied with the current situation. "Don't suppose you have a piece of cloth that might fit me". Make no mistake, he enjoyed exposing his carefully cultivated muscles for all to see, but walking around in his underwear got tiresome after a while. Not everyone was okay with it, which made for more trouble than it was worth, and from the perspective of a prizefighter that cared about showmanship on some level the act of disrobing to showcase his body made it all the more impactful than if he always walked around half naked. "If you're sure you don't need anything from me, I'll take a wineskin for the road".
A vice from his homeland. He needed plenty of harder liquor to start feeling the effects and he enjoyed stronger brews, but there was always the nostalgic attraction to the taste of wine. "A strong wine, preferably herbal aroma. Sweet is better but not necessary. Spiced if you can, it can wait till morning". He listed his terms absentmindedly, as though it were common for a barbarian to discuss taste and aroma in wine. "And, bit of advice, you should relax my friend. We'll be gone in the morning and it'll be as if nothing had happened. Except for your door I suppose". | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,808 | 1,527 | 144 | 2,620 | 2,551 | As the situation began to lose its tension, and the atmosphere returned to something more civil, Emil's tensed muscles began to relax at last. Not that he could do much with the sage in his arms, he wouldn't be able to draw a weapon without casting the woman aside- which would've been neither polite, nor knightly of him. As a result, he breathed a sigh of relief when the barkeep put down his weapon and Ionathan paid for the rooms.
As Ionathan excused himself to go up to one of the rooms, Emil dutifully followed the older warrior, as they entered one of the rooms, leaving the others to drink or make merry on their own. As Ionathan began to remove his armor from his body, Emil laid the sage down on one of the other beds in the room. It was of regular tavern variety, a small, wood-clad room, with empty furniture, and a table, alongside a pair of smallish beds. Ionathan had claimed one for himself, seemingly moving with little accord as he disarmed himself and promptly plopped onto the bed. Deciding the sage would be fine with Ionathan in the room, Emil quietly excused himself- unsure whether or not if the tired Ionathan heard him or not, and returned downstairs.
As he returned downstairs to the others, he only needed to stand a moment before the barkeep regarded him with a gaze, and asked him what he'd like. Emil merely shook his head, and held out a hand. He had had enough for the night, and would merely content himself with relaxing for a moment before he excused himself to one of the rooms to get some rest.
Their would-be-assailant turned ally..? Had taken a seat at the bar and sought something strong, while Ajax requested wine. It amazed Emil how nonchalant Ajax could be about... well.. everything, but he had assumed that after the experiences such a man might have gone through, none of this was particularly new or uncommon for him. | Name: Emil Erran
Species: Human
Age: 18
Description:
Emil is a young man standing in at about 5'10" in height, with the build of an athlete- or at least one used to continuous physical exertion. While not the pinnacle of strength and endurance, Emil is in good fighting shape, and his body is sinewy and lithe. He has a few scars on his body- though none of them are from combat. His eyes are a deep green, and his blonde hair is typically short and out of the way. His typical attire is a deep blue tunic, with thick trousers, and well worn leather boots and gloves. In combat, he wears a cuirass to protect his upper chest, while still allowing him full range of motion while mounted, reinforced with tough leather, along with armor on his boots, sides, shoulders and forearms.
Personality:
Warm and kind-hearted, Emil is a modest young knight with a strong sense of morality and justice. This level headed knight tries his best to stay brave and rational in the face of hardship and adversity, despite his inexperience. Due to his young age, Emil is rather impressionable, and expresses a desire to learn various skills and tricks from the older veterans, though is often self conscious about his lesser skills when compared to that of the more experienced members of the group. Honest and trustworthy, Emil is compassionate and kind, if a little shy and soft-spoken. Loyal to a fault, Emil is more than willing to risk himself for the sake of others, and goes to great lengths to defend his loved ones. A very down to earth and grounded individual, Emil's calm and generally positive demeanor, while occasionally bordering on naivety, bolsters the spirits of those around him.
Skills/Abilities:
As a young Knight, Emil is well trained in multiple martial skills, but lacks field experience. He has fought alongside his lord-knight, while still a squire and is no stranger to battle, but is not what one would call a veteran. While young, and not as capable of an armsman as the rest of his older peers, Emil possesses worldly knowledge and skills unexpected from one his age, and is knowledgeable of a variety of skills in various fields.
--- Martial Skills ---
Adept Swordsmanship - As the son of a knight, and a knight himself, Emil has received martial training in various fields, and is capable with many weapons, but shows the most promise with a sword. Skilled enough to face down a common soldier or an untrained fighter and coming out no worse for wear, Emil struggles against more hardened and experienced foes.
Journeyman Spearmanship - Along with his swordsmanship, Emil has received training with the spear and lance, though it is clear he shows a preference to the sword. His stance and form are solid, and the spear is by nature, an easy weapon to pick up and use. He lacks the refinement of a master spearman, but can still use it with relative effectiveness.
Journeyman Archery - Alongside his other martial skills, Emil has also been trained in the use of the bow and arrow. He is neither particularly fast, nor particularly accurate with the bow, and is for all intents and purposes, average. He does slightly better with a crossbow, and primarily utilizes this skill for hunting.
Journeyman Horseback Riding - As a knight, Emil is trained on how to ride a horse, take care of a horse, and fight from a horse, though it is clear that he would prefer to do combat while on the ground. Stamina stemming from his youthfulness allows him to ride for hours without considerable exhaustion.
Trained Armor use - Years of training have taught Emil how to quickly don and remove plate armor, and can thus move with more dexterity and quickness than one without training would be able to. He is also well versed on the care of plate armor.
Trained Shield use - Several years of training has shown Emil how to properly brace and use a shield to block and deflect blows. As he is not the largest presence on the battlefield, when faced with larger foes, Emil primarily relies on deflecting and sidestepping enemy blows rather than attempting to completely stop or black oncoming attacks
--- Trade Skills ---
Journeyman Cooking - While not a master chef by any meaning of the word, Emil is resourceful and can cook a variety of meals with what little resources are often available while in the field.
Journeyman Surgery/First Aid - Unable to treat wounds via magic, Emil has been trained and is experienced with treating a variety of minor and moderate wounds, and is even capable of some surgery for more serious wounds. These treatments are not magic, and do not mend wounds instantly- nor do they guarantee the successful mending of wounds, but can serve to stave off death until more experienced doctors or healers can provide aid.
Journeyman Crafting - From tailoring and needlework, to leather-working, Emil, while not particularly amazing at any craftsman's trade, is skilled enough to make field repairs to clothing and armor.
Magic
Emil has no skill or control over magic, though it appears that he may have the affinity for magic. He views magic with suspicion and a small amount of fear, and while he has accepted magic as a facet of life, he is still unnerved by it.
Backstory:
The city of Edessa is a fair sized city-state located along the coast of __(mainland continent neighboring Silver Lily Isles)__. Edessa is a constitutional monarchy led primarily by the King, and a group of senators. It is not a major military power, but is known for its high quality knights and sturdy and reliable trade ships, and also contributed a large portion of its forces Mage-Wars decades ago. Edessa, due to its proximity to the Silver Lily Isles, often trades with the settlements on the Isle, most notably Waeldeshore. Edessa and Waeldeshore have built a rather positive trade relationship over the past two decades, and ships bearing Edessan flags are common in Waeldeshore and vice versa.
Emil, youngest son of the Erran family, comes from a long line of Edessan Knights. Emil, like the rest of his brothers were introduced to the lifestyle of a knight at a young age, and were immersed in their culture from the moment he could walk. The son of a Edessan Knight and his wife, Emil and his brothers were well educated at a young age and were taught manners as well as basic martial skills and knowledges as children. Throughout their childhood, Emil and his brothers would often venture into the city to play with other children. Emil made friends easily, and was known for his gentle and sensitive demeanor, while the rest of his brothers were respected for their various other qualities.
As they Erran children grew older, they were trained in the ways of various weapons, such as the spear and sword, and were trained in horsemanship and riding. After his seventh birthday, Emil was apprenticed to another noble family to serve as a page, where he would begin to further refine horsemanship and swordsmanship as well as learn the intricacies of reading and writing. A naturally perceptive and relatively intelligent child, Emil was treated well by his host family, and learned much under their tutelage.
The Knights of Edessa, or the Edessan Knights as many know them as, are an order of knights based in the city of Edessa. These knights are tasked with serving and protecting the people of Edessa, and often promote humanitarian movements to hunting monsters in the surrounding areas. These stalwart warriors are well known for both their valor and martial skill, despite their relatively small numbers. Every male member of the Erran family had been an Edessan Knight at one point in their life. Emil's brother is among the famed members of the Edessan Knights, and one of the King's personal guards. Each of Emil's brothers has already entered service in the order.
As he turned 14, he became squire to a famed Edessan Knight, where he furthered his training, continuing his work on bladesmanship and horsemanship, as well as learning archery, music, speech, and skills befitting a young knight. Here he learned how to take care of, and maintain armor, how to tend horses and treat wounds. The next several years were difficult, his knight was fair, but strict, and offered him nothing but the most difficult challenges to face.
Now a fresh 18 years old, Emil's journey to become a full fledged knight of Edessan has been completed, and Emil undertakes his first few journeys as his own knight. A message from the Great Sage Genevieve of Waeldeshore gives Emil his first taste of an adventure that he can call his own.
Possessions, Equipment, Weapons:
Father's Sword - A gift given to Emil by his father, upon his recent knighting. The sword is forged from Dwarven Steel- a special dwarven metallurgy technique that results in a tougher, denser, more durable steel. The blade is old and worn from use, but still remains a reliable weapon. A shorter than average bastard sword, it is light and maneuverable enough to be held in one hand, but its two handed grip makes it able to be wielded with two.
Common Spear - A 6 foot pole of ash wood, with a steel tip attached. One of the most common personal weapons in the world, this weapon is easily used, and easily replaced. Able to be wielded with one hand, but most effective with two.
Shortbow & Quiver - A short yew bow meant for hunting. Plain and simple, without any sort of frills, other than leather wrapping around the grip. A wooden and leather quiver contains 20 arrows. Both are typically stored on the outer saddlebags of Emil's horse.
Heater Shield - A mid-sized shield with the Erran family coat of arms emblazoned across it. It is a lightweight metal shield that can be strapped to the forearm and secured with the hand. It has a leather strap that allows it to be slung over the shoulder/worn over the back.
Edessan Half Plate - a cut down suit of plate armor generally utilized by mounted Edessan knights and soldiers. Plates protect major parts of the body, while the rest of the body is protected with tough leather and mail under a tunic. This is to allow light weight, and greater mobility while mounted. The benefits confer to foot combat as well.
Roark, Horse - A well bred, multi-purpose horse ridden by Emil. Roark is a calm, well mannered horse, that doesn't scare easily. Roark wears boiled leather barding(armor) on his face, neck, and body. The barding is lightweight, and can protect Roark from glancing blows but doesn't provide much protection elsewise. Its still better than nothing, Emil argues. Roark also has saddlebags on his sides and behind the saddle.
Roark's saddlebags contain: A pair of leather waterskins, a small pouch with money, a tinderbox, lines and tackle for fishing, a small iron bowl for cooking, a small hatchet for wood gathering, a small knife and whetstone, a length of rope (approx. 30 feet), a spool of fine thread and needle, a roll of clean cloth and bottle of spirits for cleaning and treating wounds, a pouch of herbal ointment, a lantern with several spare candles, a few days worth of provisions for Emil as well as his horse. Behind the saddle is a blanket and spare clothes are wrapped in a roll of canvas. |
55,809 | 1,527 | 145 | 2,420 | 2,392 | Tarrey continued to survey the scene, various members of the group had seated themselves down, and they all lowered their guard a good amount. A good warrior might take advantage of this, but that would be a foolish warrior. He came to the conclusion he wouldn't be able to do any good, and the best idea was to go back to his room and wait for them all to go to bed. Later Tarrey would go down and ask the innkeep about the situation at hand.
Tarden started throwing his rock up in the air, and catching it with the magnet. What a strange night, and what a strange group of people. Probably here for some sort of strange reason. The more he thought about it the more curious he became. Why would so many dangerous people band together? Clearly it wasn't to do evil, they would be spotted a mile off and swamped by guards and the like. Still, in times like this it was a good idea to keep a hand on your weapon at all times and your faith in the spirits of the land | Name: Tarden of the Fair Lands, or Tarrey to his friends
Species: Human Male
Age: 37
Description:
Tarden wears brownish and orangey cloths draped over hardened cloth armour, almost fully covering his arms and torso. He keeps his head wrapped up with the same coloured materials leaving only his eyes visible. He is instantly recognisable as foreign, his dark skin visible through the eye slit and his distinctive accent
On his back he wears a large sack with all his belongings and a war pick, not often seen in these parts and liberally decorated in red cloths. He also often has a small wooden shield on his forearm, which is also concealed beneath red cloths, all of which follow his blows and sweep through the air with every attack
Personality: Despite being a foreigner, he remains open to new company, and finds the drinks of this land are a great ice-breaker.
Although he is met with mistrust, he tries to be open and honest in his dealings, and will always stop to help a fellow in need
Tarden deeply misses his homeland as much as he has a thirst for exploration. Some events can tip him over to one side more than the other, but it tends to balance out
Skills/Abilities:
- Tarden has inherited a natural hardiness from his homeland, and from travelling around. This and his clothes give him a good resistance to the elements
- Tarden is of a good build, never having been hard on his luck and constantly traveling means he can overpower an average human
- The people of the fair lands are famous for their quick firing of small bows, and although he does not bear such a weapon, Tarden is also very quick. This does not translate very well to his war-pick, but in most other activities he can exercise good and extremely quick dexterity. Nothing superhuman, but sometimes impressive
- From smithing farming tools to using them to cultivate a field, travelling has granted Tarden many skills in all areas
Magic:
The people of the fair lands have a distaste for magic of almost all kinds, but still develop and use minor artefacts and tinctures to counter both superstitions and real mana alike. Tarden possesses such items like
- A small bell that when rung echoes back from enchantments in a small area around him, including people under enchantments (however the reliability of this power is subject to the winds of magic/plot!)
- A knot of rope made from the hair of goat’s firstborn. When drenched in alcohol it lets off a distinct vapour that when inhaled protects against any sort of magical influence (allegedly)
- An extremely bouncy and soft rock, and another small rock that almost acts like a magnet towards it
- A lucky coin! Which for some reason no matter how hard Tarden tries he can’t get rid of it, like his father before him and his father before him. Passed on from generation to generation, when discarded it just appears in Tarden’s pocket again shortly afterwards. Aside from that it doesn’t appear to have any use
Backstory: The fair lands is situated far to the south of Waeldershore, and is known for it’s deserts and songs. The latter of which are sung throughout daylight hours in the village hall of every settlement passing over every dry wooden hut there, lifting the atmosphere in such a way that visitors find magical. It is said that in times past folk made a deal with the sand spirits, that the land would belong to man as long as man’s sweet song kept the sand spirits in their slumber. It is also said that every sandstorm is a sand spirit waking up, and the rains are the spirits dreaming
Tarden’s village came under threat from a rival peoples, and he was tasked with delivering a ruby idol to their clan to appease them. He was ambushed on the way, losing everything he had. When he returned home they banished him, and last he heard the sand reclaimed all that was once there
Since then he has been travelling across the world, and although he misses his homeland he still longs to see every corner of the world, working as a farmer here, a mercenary there or a sailor over there. He enjoys the life he leads and the people he meets. |
55,810 | 1,527 | 146 | 1,054 | 1,812 | Isabeau scanned the downstairs of the tavern one last time before making her way up to the empty room. She rested a hand on her belly, as if to comfort the turning of an upset child. The food was subpar, however she wasn't going to complain, it filled her up, and the spirits she shoveled down along with it made up for the taste. Her eyes hadn't caught anyone suspicious looking, at least, not more suspicious than their lot had been. There was one fellow she had spotted earlier, but she didn't see him. Unfortunately, while it may not have dulled her senses, being liquored up had glossed over her suspicions, allowing her to throw caution to the wind just this once.
The bunch ate and drank, and by the end of it all, whether it was restful or not, they were able to to sleep. In nice, comfortable beds, with warm food to fill their bellies, sheltered from the harsh elements which plagued the streets of this poor little town.
There weren't many other bumps in the night, no one else crashing through the doors or scaring the bajeezus out of the barkeep and his patrons, which was a relief for Jarkson. When all was quiet, he actually gave thanks for their arrival, for the coin donated that evening would be enough to keep them going for a while longer. To the point that when a friend came down to question the happenings of that evening, he merely replied with "They be good enough people for me, and as long as they don' question the food, or trash the place again, they are welcome back any time. You might want to go with em, though. I dunno what they be up to, or what they up against, but that beast lady was pretty mean looking, pretty serious as well. I'd wager where ever it is they're going, they'll need what help they can get."
The rest of the evening had been pretty quiet. And as the sun rose above the hole in the wall tavern, hope crept in through the window panes, and soothed what it could of the hearts that beat within.
Isabeau was up quite early, and already downstairs. Sat snug as a bug, reading at one of the tables, her legs crossed at the ankles, her feet resting on the chair beside her. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,811 | 1,527 | 147 | 2,426 | 2,292 | The manner in which the monster of a woman mended the door was not without noteworthiness, for the same nails, rusted and aging as they were, found themselves employed yet again; whereas Diagorides' immense strength and precision ripped them clean from the wood they had been struck into some time ago, Sakaala's own pushed them back. From outside in the dark evening, ducking under the overhang, she settled the door and its stripped frame back into itself, taking each nail from it first. Satisfied with it being sufficient enough, she wedged each of the small metal spikes into the few slots that had not been mounted before, driving each rough nail firm into the wood with but only her immense palm. The force, strength and concentration needed to perform the feat was no issue for a creature such as her, but the intensity she did it with - the dedication in its application - spoke greatly as to her current frustrations.
It was not long after she returned herself to the interior of the building, one arm as limp as ever and the other's huge palm and digits flexing ever so slightly as she relaxed herself, content that the door would hold. Not a carpenter in any regard, her closest knowledge being basic woodwork and bowing, she was sure however that unless the inn was burst into once more, it would hold against the elements and patrons to come for some time. Walking to the corner not far from the fire, the leonine figure removed a bed roll from the side of her pack that Regina seemed to keep herself to.
The disfigured warrior shook it out once, water skittering into the flames and dispersing before she rolled it once more - this time the inside out. Cleverly, she bundled it together and set it to the back of her neck as she reclined, eyes watching the bar and its patrons; her sizable sword, by the standards of men, rested against her lap to which her hands fold over with the lame arm beneath the other. It was the sort of posture that threatened, even while asleep. One that clearly presented itself not to be disturbed and moreover, not trifled with...
She slept as light as ever and awoke periodically throughout the night as the instinct in her wished to keep a watchful eye about. It came and went with the few hours that passed, but the old ranger turned sorcerer never let on she was anymore awake or asleep than she really was. It struck her a bit odd however, as dawn drew nearer, that the first to return from their rest was this would-be assassin, but this was no greater concern; she feigned sleep as she had before, left to think to herself and concentrate upon the events of the day prior and what all was to come based upon the so little they knew. | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,812 | 1,527 | 148 | 276 | 729 | Regina woke with a yawn and a stretch before looking around. She saw Sakaala and Isabeau, both of which made her blush slightly at being the first familiar faces she awoke to. After climbing from the Lioness's pack, she lifted herself to sit on the table Isabeau sat at, pulled her pack in front of her, and began pulling out strips of jerky for breakfast. "You actually waited." she said after a bit, looking at Isabeau. "Why?" She waited for Isabeau's answer before stretching her neck. "I want to talk about why you left." she said finally. "About how I felt about you." She sighed again, shaking her head. "About how I still feel about you." Her eyes revealed the amount of desire and caring she had for the taller woman. "When you left, I felt betrayed. I thought you were gonna wait for me. But you were gone before I was awake." She sighed, looking at the table. | Name: Regina Hills
Species: Halfling
Age: 57
Description: Regina is a bit tall for a halfling, a whole six inches taller than the average of 3 feet, with long, reddish brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. She has a pale complexion and a few small wrinkles, preferring to stay in the shade, and a thin but curvy figure that is slowly catching up with her age.
Regina wears a thin layer of leather armor over her clothes with multiple daggers hidden on her and a pair of longtooth daggers on her hips. Regina carries no less than 20 throwing daggers, 10 normal daggers and a pair of longtooth daggers on her at any time.
Personality: Regina is the type of woman to flirt with some of the younger women though nothing too far as she doesn't want to be left again. She's easy to anger if you say the wrong thing. However, she does keep her anger under control while at work. She's no longer the happy-go-lucky woman she once was, instead taking everything carefully and not letting anyone close again.
Skills/Abilities: Regina has great aim with her throwing daggers and is proficient with her normal daggers to block and redirect, allowing her to use her longtooth daggers, with their little extra length, to attack. She can also pick locks, pick pockets, find and remove traps, track people, most any skill a thief would find very helpful.
Other than that, she is an excellent with her psionic powers, allowing her to do many things most people cannot.
-Combat Mind: Using this, she has a clear understanding of where her allies and enemies are.
-Telekinesis: She can levitate most objects though nothing bigger than a small human male for more than a couple minutes.
-Levitation: She can lift herself up to 12 feet from whatever she's standing on.
-Complete Healing: With a 12-hour meditation process, she can heal herself of all injuries, illnesses, poisons and the like.
-Quick Healing: With a matter of a few minutes and a lot of concentration, she can heal her small injuries, though nothing bigger than a small cut.
-Adrenaline Control: By controlling the production and release of adrenaline in her system, she can give herself a temporary physical boost on demand.
-Body Weaponry: Using this, she can turn her hands into dagger blades or go as far as her elbow for a shortsword blade.
-Displacement: She can control where people see her, whether or not she moves.
-Teleport: With this, she can teleport up to 200 feet away in the blink of an eye, with loud popping sounds emitting from both the place she teleports from and to.
-Telepathy: Using this, she is able to communicate wordlessly with another intelligent being without having to worry about language barriers.
-Daydream: She can cause another person's mind to wander, allowing her to pick their pockets and get away safely with a lower chance of getting caught.
Magic: She has no magic though some have commented her psionics are similar.
Backstory: Regina was raised in a big halfling city, well as big a city as the halflings would build, with her numerous siblings. The only way she could stand out in her family enough to be remembered was the fact that, at a young age, she could make apples fly to her hand. She had practically never spent any time at home once she was old enough and had gotten caught picking locks and grabbing an apple for a snack. She had eventually decided, after nearly having her hand chopped off for the thousandth time, to leave the city and find a better life. She soon was found by a thieves' guild that took her in and began training her. She spent the next 15 years in the guild, training as hard as she could to get faster and stronger though her strength didn't improve by much. They found out about her psionic skills rather quickly and, being only the second psionic in the guild, learned from an older man who taught her how to teleport, heal small wounds, levitate items other than apples, such as herself, and so on.
After her training was finished, she began traveling again, ending up in Waeldeshore. It was there she met a group that was going to be fighting a dragon. She decided to join them, supplying the team with a lot of jerky during their travel to the cave. They ended up stealing a magic artifact from a sleeping dragon, one of two in that particular cave and escaping rather quickly. Upon arriving back at the town, most of them decided to spend the night. Regina offered to share a room with one of the more beautiful, yet still a bit scary, women on the team. When she awoke, however, she saw her ally was gone. She had searched for days but the trail was cold and she couldn't follow what she couldn't find. Instead, she decided to go east.
She went far east, ending up in a land much different than what she was used to a year later. It was there she met another halfling woman, a bard who instantly captured her heart. She traveled with the bard, acting as her bodyguard for a decade and a half until she was injured badly. She was unconscious for days as she slowly healed herself from nearly dying but, when she awoke, the bard was gone. She asked around but nobody had seen the halfling bard around in days. She had been abandoned again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the west. It took 4 years to travel back, as she had done other jobs along the way to distract her, but she eventually returned to Wealdeshore. With not much else to do, she became a guard for one of the local pubs. It's been 5 years since her return and, in that time, she's proven to be a great asset as well as a new resident for the foreseeable future. |
55,813 | 1,527 | 149 | 1,153 | 95 | Ionathan began to rouse from his bed, thankfully he had slept well and he felt like it. Due to the fact he was the first to get to sleep, Ionathan woke up earlier then the others and began to go about his usual routine. Dressing in his Gambeson and brown trousers he then started to shave using a shiny brass bowl as a mirror. While shaving his mind turned to the group, it was inevitable that they would face combat soon and each of them seemed to be formidable but he pondered about Ajax. While he did have superhuman strength Ionathan wondered how he would combat foes that were well armoured and well trained. Realising that Ajax would not have come this far if he didn’t have some kind of strategy against such foes this train of thought soon was forgotten as he finished shaving his face feeling as smooth as a cold steel.
Walking downstairs eager for breakfast he saw Isabeau sitting by a table which Ionathan saw as an opportune time to catch up, he was very interested to hear what she had been up to since the Waeldeshore incursion. Picking up some leftover bread from yesterday and a small block of butter Ionathan began to make his way to Isabeau.
"When you left, I felt betrayed. I thought you were gonna wait for me. But you were gone before I was awake."
He froze on the spot, he knew that question was best left between the two and him butting in would be improper. Turning away from them he pondered where to sit, Sakaala looked to be still asleep so sitting next to her might arouse her from slumber. Deciding to sit at a different table Ionathan sat down, buttered the bread and started eating as quietly as possible. He thanked the heavens that he remembered his dining utensils. Eating without them would be so uncivilised | Name: Ionathan Hepburnberg
Race: Half-Elf
Description: Tall, Honourable,kind-hearted, mid 30s human age appearance.
Age: 53
Gender: Male
Appearance: Dark Green eyes under black eyebrows and short, black hair. At 6 foot 1 Ionathan is above average height for humans and easily stands out with his sharp, elven like features including elf like ears but more rounded and less pronounced, he has a Light skin colour with a small scar on his right cheekbone
Clothing/Armor: A Tabard with the Hepburnberg Coat of arms over a mail shirt with padding underneath. He has a few satchels upon his belt consisting of first aid supplies. Atop his head is a sallet with a padded lether cap underneath. On casual days, Ionathan wears a plain brown tunic.
Weapons: Ionathan wields a bastard sword that is usually equiped with his shield that he carries on his back with a Guige when it's not equiped. The shield is a standard heater shield with the Hepburnberg heraldry for a coat of arms.
Skills/Abilities:
An experience fighter-Ionathan's experience in the army has not left him as he remembers the battles he was in and how to take on opponents of different measure.
Discipline and Obedience- As part of his soldier training the iron discipline is still embedded in Ionathan's mind.
Ionathan knows basic first aid with some advance understanding of the significance of wounds.
Backstory: With a human father and a elven mother Ionathan got to learn about both human and elven cultures from an early age. However, His father was a wealthy landowner so his marriage to an elf was most scandalous, this left Ionathan with a resentment of the nobility and few friends. Ionathan in his childhood and adolescents spent his time reading and received a good education via private tutors. When the war broke out Ionathan had just reached Adulthood and being in a noble family he was enlisted as an officer cadet, Ionathan's training at the officers training camp was harsh but effective, at the start he was like any other who had just reached adult hood, full of energy and always cheerful, but by the end he was a disciplined and skilled officer who acted with knowledge and calculation rather than gut feeling. After The training he was assigned to be a Lieutenant of the 35th regiment of foot where he served throughout the war. The 35th served with valor and duty with their most famous action taking place when a strike force went to strike a supply town near the border and the 35th held the road despite repeated enemy assaults until reinforcements arrived, the officers were personally kissed on the cheeks by the ruling official of the town and were offered the best rooms in the taverns while the regiment was resupplied.
After the war Ionathan adopted a girl made orphaned by the war and settled down and bought a cosy 2 bedroomed house in Waeldeshore were he became a guard for the town. Over the years he reflected on his life in the army while growing to like the town and became a respected by his colleagues and the town for his by the book approach to handling situations and his good relation with the Guard Captain. Throughout the years he made sure that his daughter was given the best education he could afford her with his salary, even on the weekends giving lessons himself. He remains in close contact with his parents who visit every month. Ionathan is looking forward to a life of keeping law and order while letting time heal the wounds of war.
After the "happening" at Waeldeshore, Ionathan took over the family estate in the countryside and established it as a fine farming estate. The workers being retired soldiers and victims of the happenings, live in accommodation around the estate and although the pay is modest, Ionathan provides food, warmth and shelter for those who have suffered. Ionathan put aside his sword and picked up the pen becoming Commissioner of Justice, reforming the guard into a more professional law enforcement body. Being part of a noble family Ionathan was put through an arranged marriage with was easy to arrange due to the fame he gained in fighting the demons, while the couple are not a "lovey dovey" pair they both love each other dearly and have enjoyed there years of marriage which soon gave them a son. Ionathan’s Adopted daughter was accepted by Ionathan’s wife with open arms and now has become the state ambassador traveling around the world promoting friendship and trade between nations. One day Ionathan received a strange letter from Genevieve calling him to once more take up arms, Ionathan immediately informed his wife of the letter and his intent to leave. Although leaving his wife and child to themselves weighted heavy in Ionathan’s heart, he departed several days later.
Alignment- Lawful good |
55,814 | 1,527 | 150 | 2,420 | 2,392 | Tarden slowly made his way down the stairs. The bandits from last night had assembled for breakfast, and for that reason were probably in an amicable state, but he still did his best to act inconspicuous. He strolled over to Jarkson "Morning,"
Jarkson looked slightly on edge, but not as much as he should have been for the potentially hostile company in his inn. "Morning Tarrey, can I help you?" he spoke in his happy and upbeat tone, not in the hushed whisper Tarden expected.
Tarden looked over his shoulder meaningfully at the group. Jarkson caught his meaning, "They're a bit odd, but they don't mean any harm. Really, honestly." Tarden kept his reservations. "I'll have a plate of whatevers going, please." he said to Jarkson
With a plate of eggs Tarden made his way to sit near the door, if he needed to escape he wanted it to be easy! He started tucking in and inspected the door. It was still largely in one piece, miraculously from looking at the large man who bashed it down last night, and the remaining parts would be an easy fix. Tarden shouted across the room to Jarkson "I've still got some glue from my last job, I'll patch up the door after breakfast, for a friend." Jarkson nodded to him from inbetween helping residents at the place who were coming down for their own food. | Name: Tarden of the Fair Lands, or Tarrey to his friends
Species: Human Male
Age: 37
Description:
Tarden wears brownish and orangey cloths draped over hardened cloth armour, almost fully covering his arms and torso. He keeps his head wrapped up with the same coloured materials leaving only his eyes visible. He is instantly recognisable as foreign, his dark skin visible through the eye slit and his distinctive accent
On his back he wears a large sack with all his belongings and a war pick, not often seen in these parts and liberally decorated in red cloths. He also often has a small wooden shield on his forearm, which is also concealed beneath red cloths, all of which follow his blows and sweep through the air with every attack
Personality: Despite being a foreigner, he remains open to new company, and finds the drinks of this land are a great ice-breaker.
Although he is met with mistrust, he tries to be open and honest in his dealings, and will always stop to help a fellow in need
Tarden deeply misses his homeland as much as he has a thirst for exploration. Some events can tip him over to one side more than the other, but it tends to balance out
Skills/Abilities:
- Tarden has inherited a natural hardiness from his homeland, and from travelling around. This and his clothes give him a good resistance to the elements
- Tarden is of a good build, never having been hard on his luck and constantly traveling means he can overpower an average human
- The people of the fair lands are famous for their quick firing of small bows, and although he does not bear such a weapon, Tarden is also very quick. This does not translate very well to his war-pick, but in most other activities he can exercise good and extremely quick dexterity. Nothing superhuman, but sometimes impressive
- From smithing farming tools to using them to cultivate a field, travelling has granted Tarden many skills in all areas
Magic:
The people of the fair lands have a distaste for magic of almost all kinds, but still develop and use minor artefacts and tinctures to counter both superstitions and real mana alike. Tarden possesses such items like
- A small bell that when rung echoes back from enchantments in a small area around him, including people under enchantments (however the reliability of this power is subject to the winds of magic/plot!)
- A knot of rope made from the hair of goat’s firstborn. When drenched in alcohol it lets off a distinct vapour that when inhaled protects against any sort of magical influence (allegedly)
- An extremely bouncy and soft rock, and another small rock that almost acts like a magnet towards it
- A lucky coin! Which for some reason no matter how hard Tarden tries he can’t get rid of it, like his father before him and his father before him. Passed on from generation to generation, when discarded it just appears in Tarden’s pocket again shortly afterwards. Aside from that it doesn’t appear to have any use
Backstory: The fair lands is situated far to the south of Waeldershore, and is known for it’s deserts and songs. The latter of which are sung throughout daylight hours in the village hall of every settlement passing over every dry wooden hut there, lifting the atmosphere in such a way that visitors find magical. It is said that in times past folk made a deal with the sand spirits, that the land would belong to man as long as man’s sweet song kept the sand spirits in their slumber. It is also said that every sandstorm is a sand spirit waking up, and the rains are the spirits dreaming
Tarden’s village came under threat from a rival peoples, and he was tasked with delivering a ruby idol to their clan to appease them. He was ambushed on the way, losing everything he had. When he returned home they banished him, and last he heard the sand reclaimed all that was once there
Since then he has been travelling across the world, and although he misses his homeland he still longs to see every corner of the world, working as a farmer here, a mercenary there or a sailor over there. He enjoys the life he leads and the people he meets. |
55,815 | 1,527 | 151 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Ajax awoke in a good mood. He'd had his fill, he'd slept under a roof and in a decent bed for the first time in a good long while and he slept long and undisturbed by angry locals, assasination attempts, assorted emergencies or any other pain in the ass that required a solid fist to fix. It was a welcome change of pace for him. There was still the matter of his clothes, but a quick look at the available coverings for the bed gave him a suitable piece of cloth, nice and tough, that he could fashion into the type of robe he enjoyed wearing. Or rather, that he could have someone else tailor into a robe for him.
And that was how Ajax spent his own early morning. Jumping out the window of the establishment with a ball of cloth under his arm, looking for the nearest tailor in town and "convincing" him to create the outfit. It wasn't hard. It was early, the man wasn't expecting business till at least the next few hours and he was scared witless by the scarred giant offering physical labor in return for an outfit that seemed more fitting of a harlot than a warrior. Hoping to not offend Ajax in some way, the tailor did the quick and easy work in return for the cutting and hauling of plenty of lumber to spare himself an afternoon's labor.
And so the door of the inn slammed open from a not gentle but certainly contained shove, creaking most uncomfortably under the new abuse yet holding steady, and into the inn walked a now conspicuously dressed Ajax looking mightily satisfied with himself. "So, what's for breakfast? A good meal is a must before an adventure". | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,816 | 1,527 | 152 | 1,054 | 1,812 | Isabeau's eyes slowly trailed from her book over to where Regina stood. As each new person entered the room, it became abundantly clear that there was no escaping this, at least not with her dignity or integrity in tact. And no matter how she worded it, what she had to say would make her seem like the lowliest creature on earth. The guilt stricken rogue carefully set down her book and scooted towards the hin.
"I waited more so because there is no sense in leaving without the artifact in which I've come for. But I do owe you an apology, and an explanation at the very least. You and I are from two different worlds, Regina. And whatever it is you feel for me, I can only assume is based on infatuation or lust, but it is not reciprocated. I needed to carry on with my work, and I didn't want you or your friends involved in my so called betrayal of Genevieve, so I left. Also, I figured it would be best to end it before you even had a thought there was ever a chance at anything even beginning. So I am sorry for how I made you feel, and the circumstances of it all. Now as soon as breakfast is done, I am leaving. It is up to you whether you accompany us or not." her tone was even, calm and unobtrusive. And her volume was not entirely hushed, but she was careful enough that those not paying close and careful attention to her words wouldn't be able to discern them. And without any other words, she rose from the table. It was a simple matter but a hurtful one. but there was no other way to go about it, at least not one that she could come up with.
"I will see what is cooking for today" the barkeep nodded to Ajax, his crisp and freshly pressed face was content with the business and paid no mind to anything else. It was still quite early so their party was the only that had emerged thus far. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,817 | 1,527 | 153 | 2,620 | 2,551 | In the early morning, a shut of a door was what awoke Emil from his slumber. One of his companions had left the room shared by a few members of their party. Emil scarcely remembered the rest of the night. He stood there for some time before retiring to bed, thoroughly exhausted from the events of the previous night. Realizing that he might be one of the last to wake up, he quickly pushed himself out of bed, and hurried to ready himself for the days events.
He swapped his clothes from yesterday with a pair of similar clothes from his ruck, and pulled his mail and plate armor over. He grabbed his sword and slung it and his ruck over his shoulder, and proceeded down the stairs, the light jingle of his mail and plates rubbing together sounding like bells as he plodded down the wooden steps.
Downstairs, he found some of the others- including Sir Ionathan speaking to their new... companion-would be assassin-etc, apparently another hero of legend. Which Emil found incredulous, heroes of the same tale fighting amongst one another. Thankfully, today seemed to be civil at the very least. Emil himself didn't feel quite right entering a conversation between old friends, and instead sat off to the side. | Name: Emil Erran
Species: Human
Age: 18
Description:
Emil is a young man standing in at about 5'10" in height, with the build of an athlete- or at least one used to continuous physical exertion. While not the pinnacle of strength and endurance, Emil is in good fighting shape, and his body is sinewy and lithe. He has a few scars on his body- though none of them are from combat. His eyes are a deep green, and his blonde hair is typically short and out of the way. His typical attire is a deep blue tunic, with thick trousers, and well worn leather boots and gloves. In combat, he wears a cuirass to protect his upper chest, while still allowing him full range of motion while mounted, reinforced with tough leather, along with armor on his boots, sides, shoulders and forearms.
Personality:
Warm and kind-hearted, Emil is a modest young knight with a strong sense of morality and justice. This level headed knight tries his best to stay brave and rational in the face of hardship and adversity, despite his inexperience. Due to his young age, Emil is rather impressionable, and expresses a desire to learn various skills and tricks from the older veterans, though is often self conscious about his lesser skills when compared to that of the more experienced members of the group. Honest and trustworthy, Emil is compassionate and kind, if a little shy and soft-spoken. Loyal to a fault, Emil is more than willing to risk himself for the sake of others, and goes to great lengths to defend his loved ones. A very down to earth and grounded individual, Emil's calm and generally positive demeanor, while occasionally bordering on naivety, bolsters the spirits of those around him.
Skills/Abilities:
As a young Knight, Emil is well trained in multiple martial skills, but lacks field experience. He has fought alongside his lord-knight, while still a squire and is no stranger to battle, but is not what one would call a veteran. While young, and not as capable of an armsman as the rest of his older peers, Emil possesses worldly knowledge and skills unexpected from one his age, and is knowledgeable of a variety of skills in various fields.
--- Martial Skills ---
Adept Swordsmanship - As the son of a knight, and a knight himself, Emil has received martial training in various fields, and is capable with many weapons, but shows the most promise with a sword. Skilled enough to face down a common soldier or an untrained fighter and coming out no worse for wear, Emil struggles against more hardened and experienced foes.
Journeyman Spearmanship - Along with his swordsmanship, Emil has received training with the spear and lance, though it is clear he shows a preference to the sword. His stance and form are solid, and the spear is by nature, an easy weapon to pick up and use. He lacks the refinement of a master spearman, but can still use it with relative effectiveness.
Journeyman Archery - Alongside his other martial skills, Emil has also been trained in the use of the bow and arrow. He is neither particularly fast, nor particularly accurate with the bow, and is for all intents and purposes, average. He does slightly better with a crossbow, and primarily utilizes this skill for hunting.
Journeyman Horseback Riding - As a knight, Emil is trained on how to ride a horse, take care of a horse, and fight from a horse, though it is clear that he would prefer to do combat while on the ground. Stamina stemming from his youthfulness allows him to ride for hours without considerable exhaustion.
Trained Armor use - Years of training have taught Emil how to quickly don and remove plate armor, and can thus move with more dexterity and quickness than one without training would be able to. He is also well versed on the care of plate armor.
Trained Shield use - Several years of training has shown Emil how to properly brace and use a shield to block and deflect blows. As he is not the largest presence on the battlefield, when faced with larger foes, Emil primarily relies on deflecting and sidestepping enemy blows rather than attempting to completely stop or black oncoming attacks
--- Trade Skills ---
Journeyman Cooking - While not a master chef by any meaning of the word, Emil is resourceful and can cook a variety of meals with what little resources are often available while in the field.
Journeyman Surgery/First Aid - Unable to treat wounds via magic, Emil has been trained and is experienced with treating a variety of minor and moderate wounds, and is even capable of some surgery for more serious wounds. These treatments are not magic, and do not mend wounds instantly- nor do they guarantee the successful mending of wounds, but can serve to stave off death until more experienced doctors or healers can provide aid.
Journeyman Crafting - From tailoring and needlework, to leather-working, Emil, while not particularly amazing at any craftsman's trade, is skilled enough to make field repairs to clothing and armor.
Magic
Emil has no skill or control over magic, though it appears that he may have the affinity for magic. He views magic with suspicion and a small amount of fear, and while he has accepted magic as a facet of life, he is still unnerved by it.
Backstory:
The city of Edessa is a fair sized city-state located along the coast of __(mainland continent neighboring Silver Lily Isles)__. Edessa is a constitutional monarchy led primarily by the King, and a group of senators. It is not a major military power, but is known for its high quality knights and sturdy and reliable trade ships, and also contributed a large portion of its forces Mage-Wars decades ago. Edessa, due to its proximity to the Silver Lily Isles, often trades with the settlements on the Isle, most notably Waeldeshore. Edessa and Waeldeshore have built a rather positive trade relationship over the past two decades, and ships bearing Edessan flags are common in Waeldeshore and vice versa.
Emil, youngest son of the Erran family, comes from a long line of Edessan Knights. Emil, like the rest of his brothers were introduced to the lifestyle of a knight at a young age, and were immersed in their culture from the moment he could walk. The son of a Edessan Knight and his wife, Emil and his brothers were well educated at a young age and were taught manners as well as basic martial skills and knowledges as children. Throughout their childhood, Emil and his brothers would often venture into the city to play with other children. Emil made friends easily, and was known for his gentle and sensitive demeanor, while the rest of his brothers were respected for their various other qualities.
As they Erran children grew older, they were trained in the ways of various weapons, such as the spear and sword, and were trained in horsemanship and riding. After his seventh birthday, Emil was apprenticed to another noble family to serve as a page, where he would begin to further refine horsemanship and swordsmanship as well as learn the intricacies of reading and writing. A naturally perceptive and relatively intelligent child, Emil was treated well by his host family, and learned much under their tutelage.
The Knights of Edessa, or the Edessan Knights as many know them as, are an order of knights based in the city of Edessa. These knights are tasked with serving and protecting the people of Edessa, and often promote humanitarian movements to hunting monsters in the surrounding areas. These stalwart warriors are well known for both their valor and martial skill, despite their relatively small numbers. Every male member of the Erran family had been an Edessan Knight at one point in their life. Emil's brother is among the famed members of the Edessan Knights, and one of the King's personal guards. Each of Emil's brothers has already entered service in the order.
As he turned 14, he became squire to a famed Edessan Knight, where he furthered his training, continuing his work on bladesmanship and horsemanship, as well as learning archery, music, speech, and skills befitting a young knight. Here he learned how to take care of, and maintain armor, how to tend horses and treat wounds. The next several years were difficult, his knight was fair, but strict, and offered him nothing but the most difficult challenges to face.
Now a fresh 18 years old, Emil's journey to become a full fledged knight of Edessan has been completed, and Emil undertakes his first few journeys as his own knight. A message from the Great Sage Genevieve of Waeldeshore gives Emil his first taste of an adventure that he can call his own.
Possessions, Equipment, Weapons:
Father's Sword - A gift given to Emil by his father, upon his recent knighting. The sword is forged from Dwarven Steel- a special dwarven metallurgy technique that results in a tougher, denser, more durable steel. The blade is old and worn from use, but still remains a reliable weapon. A shorter than average bastard sword, it is light and maneuverable enough to be held in one hand, but its two handed grip makes it able to be wielded with two.
Common Spear - A 6 foot pole of ash wood, with a steel tip attached. One of the most common personal weapons in the world, this weapon is easily used, and easily replaced. Able to be wielded with one hand, but most effective with two.
Shortbow & Quiver - A short yew bow meant for hunting. Plain and simple, without any sort of frills, other than leather wrapping around the grip. A wooden and leather quiver contains 20 arrows. Both are typically stored on the outer saddlebags of Emil's horse.
Heater Shield - A mid-sized shield with the Erran family coat of arms emblazoned across it. It is a lightweight metal shield that can be strapped to the forearm and secured with the hand. It has a leather strap that allows it to be slung over the shoulder/worn over the back.
Edessan Half Plate - a cut down suit of plate armor generally utilized by mounted Edessan knights and soldiers. Plates protect major parts of the body, while the rest of the body is protected with tough leather and mail under a tunic. This is to allow light weight, and greater mobility while mounted. The benefits confer to foot combat as well.
Roark, Horse - A well bred, multi-purpose horse ridden by Emil. Roark is a calm, well mannered horse, that doesn't scare easily. Roark wears boiled leather barding(armor) on his face, neck, and body. The barding is lightweight, and can protect Roark from glancing blows but doesn't provide much protection elsewise. Its still better than nothing, Emil argues. Roark also has saddlebags on his sides and behind the saddle.
Roark's saddlebags contain: A pair of leather waterskins, a small pouch with money, a tinderbox, lines and tackle for fishing, a small iron bowl for cooking, a small hatchet for wood gathering, a small knife and whetstone, a length of rope (approx. 30 feet), a spool of fine thread and needle, a roll of clean cloth and bottle of spirits for cleaning and treating wounds, a pouch of herbal ointment, a lantern with several spare candles, a few days worth of provisions for Emil as well as his horse. Behind the saddle is a blanket and spare clothes are wrapped in a roll of canvas. |
55,818 | 1,527 | 154 | 276 | 729 | Regina looked down, an obvious sadness about her. Isabeau wasn't gonna give her a chance. She sat still, brooding on it for a few minutes before looking back towards Sakaala. I don't have a chance with her either. she thought with a sigh. She slid off the table and walked towards the bar. "Got a target I can borrow?" she asked, tapping one of her daggers. "I gotta take out some frustration. And a mug of Dwarven Ale if you have any." Her drink of choice when she was feeling down. She was trying to distract herself from her sadness, knowing perfectly well she would have to deal with it eventually. She was half-tempted to levitate herself onto one of the barstools but decided against it as she didn't know where the target was, if there was one. Most bars had one, or so she thought. | Name: Regina Hills
Species: Halfling
Age: 57
Description: Regina is a bit tall for a halfling, a whole six inches taller than the average of 3 feet, with long, reddish brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. She has a pale complexion and a few small wrinkles, preferring to stay in the shade, and a thin but curvy figure that is slowly catching up with her age.
Regina wears a thin layer of leather armor over her clothes with multiple daggers hidden on her and a pair of longtooth daggers on her hips. Regina carries no less than 20 throwing daggers, 10 normal daggers and a pair of longtooth daggers on her at any time.
Personality: Regina is the type of woman to flirt with some of the younger women though nothing too far as she doesn't want to be left again. She's easy to anger if you say the wrong thing. However, she does keep her anger under control while at work. She's no longer the happy-go-lucky woman she once was, instead taking everything carefully and not letting anyone close again.
Skills/Abilities: Regina has great aim with her throwing daggers and is proficient with her normal daggers to block and redirect, allowing her to use her longtooth daggers, with their little extra length, to attack. She can also pick locks, pick pockets, find and remove traps, track people, most any skill a thief would find very helpful.
Other than that, she is an excellent with her psionic powers, allowing her to do many things most people cannot.
-Combat Mind: Using this, she has a clear understanding of where her allies and enemies are.
-Telekinesis: She can levitate most objects though nothing bigger than a small human male for more than a couple minutes.
-Levitation: She can lift herself up to 12 feet from whatever she's standing on.
-Complete Healing: With a 12-hour meditation process, she can heal herself of all injuries, illnesses, poisons and the like.
-Quick Healing: With a matter of a few minutes and a lot of concentration, she can heal her small injuries, though nothing bigger than a small cut.
-Adrenaline Control: By controlling the production and release of adrenaline in her system, she can give herself a temporary physical boost on demand.
-Body Weaponry: Using this, she can turn her hands into dagger blades or go as far as her elbow for a shortsword blade.
-Displacement: She can control where people see her, whether or not she moves.
-Teleport: With this, she can teleport up to 200 feet away in the blink of an eye, with loud popping sounds emitting from both the place she teleports from and to.
-Telepathy: Using this, she is able to communicate wordlessly with another intelligent being without having to worry about language barriers.
-Daydream: She can cause another person's mind to wander, allowing her to pick their pockets and get away safely with a lower chance of getting caught.
Magic: She has no magic though some have commented her psionics are similar.
Backstory: Regina was raised in a big halfling city, well as big a city as the halflings would build, with her numerous siblings. The only way she could stand out in her family enough to be remembered was the fact that, at a young age, she could make apples fly to her hand. She had practically never spent any time at home once she was old enough and had gotten caught picking locks and grabbing an apple for a snack. She had eventually decided, after nearly having her hand chopped off for the thousandth time, to leave the city and find a better life. She soon was found by a thieves' guild that took her in and began training her. She spent the next 15 years in the guild, training as hard as she could to get faster and stronger though her strength didn't improve by much. They found out about her psionic skills rather quickly and, being only the second psionic in the guild, learned from an older man who taught her how to teleport, heal small wounds, levitate items other than apples, such as herself, and so on.
After her training was finished, she began traveling again, ending up in Waeldeshore. It was there she met a group that was going to be fighting a dragon. She decided to join them, supplying the team with a lot of jerky during their travel to the cave. They ended up stealing a magic artifact from a sleeping dragon, one of two in that particular cave and escaping rather quickly. Upon arriving back at the town, most of them decided to spend the night. Regina offered to share a room with one of the more beautiful, yet still a bit scary, women on the team. When she awoke, however, she saw her ally was gone. She had searched for days but the trail was cold and she couldn't follow what she couldn't find. Instead, she decided to go east.
She went far east, ending up in a land much different than what she was used to a year later. It was there she met another halfling woman, a bard who instantly captured her heart. She traveled with the bard, acting as her bodyguard for a decade and a half until she was injured badly. She was unconscious for days as she slowly healed herself from nearly dying but, when she awoke, the bard was gone. She asked around but nobody had seen the halfling bard around in days. She had been abandoned again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the west. It took 4 years to travel back, as she had done other jobs along the way to distract her, but she eventually returned to Wealdeshore. With not much else to do, she became a guard for one of the local pubs. It's been 5 years since her return and, in that time, she's proven to be a great asset as well as a new resident for the foreseeable future. |
55,819 | 1,527 | 155 | 2,426 | 2,292 | Tapping a thick finger upon the grip of the sword that laid across her lap, the old mercenary stirred none more, content to listen to all the activity that began with the others rousing; they weren't subtle, she noted that much. Her ears, as relaxed as they were in spite of the conversation, picked up each and every word shared - be them the two women at the table or the two men at the bar and of course the distinctive clatter of the knights. Albeit there was... something new, something that smelled not only different but sounded the part as well. She was privy to the scent the night before yet then it was mingled with the rest of the inn's - the smells of smoke, liquor, men and fire - but now? Now she had a figure to attach to it.
And one yelling, at that.
"I've still got some glue from my last job, I'll patch up the door after breakfast, for a friend."
Sakaala opened an eye at last and the blood icing glare she gave was a stark reminder she was as much a beast in the flesh as she certainly appeared to be; the good eye lingered on the man of brown and orange, whose garb was bound about him barring the thinnest portion that revealed his eyes. It moved as he did, tracking, watching as he crossed not more than a few feet away from what were the enormity of her feet, his hands busied with a wooden plate topped with eggs. It was then she chose to rise, having waited until he set about inspecting the door.
"That is one way to awaken someone." The fallen regal remarked, her great palm sheathing the sword across her back where it hung without a sheath.
Limp arm resting at her side, she looked him over for a long moment before turning her scarred, mottled face away to examine the dwarven innkeeper then the rest of her company as they were preparing for the morning. More patrons, those of the other rooms arriving now in part, she returned a glance to Tarden with the deadness of her blind eye. As polite as she was keeping to herself, she made it clear that shouting at break of dawn was not her ideal... | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,820 | 1,527 | 156 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Ajax strolled through the establishment and sat at the bar, eyeing the foreigner draped head to toe in colorful cloth. Nothing against him, really, it just bothered Ajax a little bit when things he broke were put back together in his presence. Even when he specifically hadn't tried to render them completely unusable. It felt wrong, if for no other reason that he had become accustomed to his touch, so speak, being rather final. His life had quite literally depended on it for many, many years. As he waited for his meal he focused his attention on the little spat between the tiny psyker and the so-called assassin turned ally.
Acting as though Regina wasn't right there, he adressed Isabeau. Primarily because the issues he saw were on her end rather than the halfling's. "You know, children aren't my thing but you should try to enjoy yourself before heading off to die. Food, drink, good company, whatever else you want to do. Following a duty is fine but it should not be all there is to life". | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,821 | 1,527 | 157 | 2,420 | 2,392 | Tarden looked up from his delicious eggs and rashers and saw the few eyes he had drawn from the mountain of muscle and some sort of spirit of nature. Apparently shouting in the morning wasn't the best idea, had they been drinking last night and now have a hangover? That would explain why someone would just break open a door.
Tarden subtly contemplated this strange nature spirit. Being so large, wouldn't she have trouble getting through doorways? She could only be described as hideous, though he had seen stranger people in his travels. He shook his head and finished his meal. Standing up, he headed up to his room and back down again with various mixtures and materials to fully mend the door, grabbing a flagon of mead on the way | Name: Tarden of the Fair Lands, or Tarrey to his friends
Species: Human Male
Age: 37
Description:
Tarden wears brownish and orangey cloths draped over hardened cloth armour, almost fully covering his arms and torso. He keeps his head wrapped up with the same coloured materials leaving only his eyes visible. He is instantly recognisable as foreign, his dark skin visible through the eye slit and his distinctive accent
On his back he wears a large sack with all his belongings and a war pick, not often seen in these parts and liberally decorated in red cloths. He also often has a small wooden shield on his forearm, which is also concealed beneath red cloths, all of which follow his blows and sweep through the air with every attack
Personality: Despite being a foreigner, he remains open to new company, and finds the drinks of this land are a great ice-breaker.
Although he is met with mistrust, he tries to be open and honest in his dealings, and will always stop to help a fellow in need
Tarden deeply misses his homeland as much as he has a thirst for exploration. Some events can tip him over to one side more than the other, but it tends to balance out
Skills/Abilities:
- Tarden has inherited a natural hardiness from his homeland, and from travelling around. This and his clothes give him a good resistance to the elements
- Tarden is of a good build, never having been hard on his luck and constantly traveling means he can overpower an average human
- The people of the fair lands are famous for their quick firing of small bows, and although he does not bear such a weapon, Tarden is also very quick. This does not translate very well to his war-pick, but in most other activities he can exercise good and extremely quick dexterity. Nothing superhuman, but sometimes impressive
- From smithing farming tools to using them to cultivate a field, travelling has granted Tarden many skills in all areas
Magic:
The people of the fair lands have a distaste for magic of almost all kinds, but still develop and use minor artefacts and tinctures to counter both superstitions and real mana alike. Tarden possesses such items like
- A small bell that when rung echoes back from enchantments in a small area around him, including people under enchantments (however the reliability of this power is subject to the winds of magic/plot!)
- A knot of rope made from the hair of goat’s firstborn. When drenched in alcohol it lets off a distinct vapour that when inhaled protects against any sort of magical influence (allegedly)
- An extremely bouncy and soft rock, and another small rock that almost acts like a magnet towards it
- A lucky coin! Which for some reason no matter how hard Tarden tries he can’t get rid of it, like his father before him and his father before him. Passed on from generation to generation, when discarded it just appears in Tarden’s pocket again shortly afterwards. Aside from that it doesn’t appear to have any use
Backstory: The fair lands is situated far to the south of Waeldershore, and is known for it’s deserts and songs. The latter of which are sung throughout daylight hours in the village hall of every settlement passing over every dry wooden hut there, lifting the atmosphere in such a way that visitors find magical. It is said that in times past folk made a deal with the sand spirits, that the land would belong to man as long as man’s sweet song kept the sand spirits in their slumber. It is also said that every sandstorm is a sand spirit waking up, and the rains are the spirits dreaming
Tarden’s village came under threat from a rival peoples, and he was tasked with delivering a ruby idol to their clan to appease them. He was ambushed on the way, losing everything he had. When he returned home they banished him, and last he heard the sand reclaimed all that was once there
Since then he has been travelling across the world, and although he misses his homeland he still longs to see every corner of the world, working as a farmer here, a mercenary there or a sailor over there. He enjoys the life he leads and the people he meets. |
55,822 | 1,527 | 158 | 2,426 | 2,292 | There was deep truth in what Tarden witnessed as the leonine figure was what could only be described as disfigured and hideous; obvious tales of battle that hadn't set well. It was remarkable to imagine just what could do such a thing to a monstrous being as her, but any veteran of strife would not need even dwell on the telltale scarification. They were distinctly the old wounds of blades past, men's blades at that, as they had not the keening of an elven sword or the crudeness of orc steel. Fitting was it however, seeing that monsters were often a thing to be vanquished. Whatever case the beastly mercenary's was, she wore it on her sleeve.
And wear it she did as she kept her eyes upon the bound man as he departed for a few moments, turning her attention now to the barkeep, her looming figure neared the wooden counter and tapped a deathly claw upon its surface. She knew she had his awareness before, but the mithral armored woman wished to inform him she had need of something. For now, she feigned disinterest in the exchange between the three at the table of their former enemy, instead looking in the time she waited to the knight who conducted himself with all the dignity he had before. In his own way, Hepburnberg impressed her as he sat, buttering another side of his bread while remaining quiet and to himself - just as he had been earlier on this day.
She watched this for but a moment, before acknowledging the dwarven man as he was undoubtedly aware of her presence now.
"Do you have boiling water, tavernkeep?" Sakaala said, her mighty tone far softer and less forceful than the night before.
The powerful upper half of her relaxed as she exhaled, muzzle flaring ever so subtly when she finished her words. She strove, in part now because the environment was less tense, to avoid making herself any more a menace than she already was. She did not need to emphasize the point she was as seasoned and as serious as she looked - their imagination would do the rest, surely after the brief and silent exchange she had with the cloth-bound man who returned from the upstairs. His hand wrapped about the worn metal of a flagon of mead, but he never ceased moving, proving to pass her by on the way to the door. | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,823 | 1,527 | 159 | 276 | 729 | Regina frowned as she looked at Ajax. "Are you calling me a child?" she asked angrily. Standing, she glared at him, ready to pull out her daggers. She wanted to, but knew that she couldn't beat the man. "I am no child, brute. I am a Halfling. Get it right." Reaching in her pack, she pulled out another strip of jerky, chewing at it angrily as she waited for the barkeep's answer about a dartboard.
She glanced at Sakaala as she approached the bar, calming herself as she imagined what she looked like under her- Goddammit! I have got to stop that! It's way past time for me to be more mature and not focus on getting all the pretty girls naked with me! She sighed and shook her head, looking up at Sakaala's eye. She was curious about the tale of how she lost the one eye but figured Sakaala would share that if she were comfortable. She didn't know if she should ask as how everyone - well, everyone except Ionathan - seemed to be in a bad mood.
She took another glance at Isabeau with a sad sigh and a frown. Her thoughts wandered to her bardic lover from the east and she almost missed the barkeep's response to her question. Looking at him as he spoke, she gave a nod and hopped off the stool. | Name: Regina Hills
Species: Halfling
Age: 57
Description: Regina is a bit tall for a halfling, a whole six inches taller than the average of 3 feet, with long, reddish brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. She has a pale complexion and a few small wrinkles, preferring to stay in the shade, and a thin but curvy figure that is slowly catching up with her age.
Regina wears a thin layer of leather armor over her clothes with multiple daggers hidden on her and a pair of longtooth daggers on her hips. Regina carries no less than 20 throwing daggers, 10 normal daggers and a pair of longtooth daggers on her at any time.
Personality: Regina is the type of woman to flirt with some of the younger women though nothing too far as she doesn't want to be left again. She's easy to anger if you say the wrong thing. However, she does keep her anger under control while at work. She's no longer the happy-go-lucky woman she once was, instead taking everything carefully and not letting anyone close again.
Skills/Abilities: Regina has great aim with her throwing daggers and is proficient with her normal daggers to block and redirect, allowing her to use her longtooth daggers, with their little extra length, to attack. She can also pick locks, pick pockets, find and remove traps, track people, most any skill a thief would find very helpful.
Other than that, she is an excellent with her psionic powers, allowing her to do many things most people cannot.
-Combat Mind: Using this, she has a clear understanding of where her allies and enemies are.
-Telekinesis: She can levitate most objects though nothing bigger than a small human male for more than a couple minutes.
-Levitation: She can lift herself up to 12 feet from whatever she's standing on.
-Complete Healing: With a 12-hour meditation process, she can heal herself of all injuries, illnesses, poisons and the like.
-Quick Healing: With a matter of a few minutes and a lot of concentration, she can heal her small injuries, though nothing bigger than a small cut.
-Adrenaline Control: By controlling the production and release of adrenaline in her system, she can give herself a temporary physical boost on demand.
-Body Weaponry: Using this, she can turn her hands into dagger blades or go as far as her elbow for a shortsword blade.
-Displacement: She can control where people see her, whether or not she moves.
-Teleport: With this, she can teleport up to 200 feet away in the blink of an eye, with loud popping sounds emitting from both the place she teleports from and to.
-Telepathy: Using this, she is able to communicate wordlessly with another intelligent being without having to worry about language barriers.
-Daydream: She can cause another person's mind to wander, allowing her to pick their pockets and get away safely with a lower chance of getting caught.
Magic: She has no magic though some have commented her psionics are similar.
Backstory: Regina was raised in a big halfling city, well as big a city as the halflings would build, with her numerous siblings. The only way she could stand out in her family enough to be remembered was the fact that, at a young age, she could make apples fly to her hand. She had practically never spent any time at home once she was old enough and had gotten caught picking locks and grabbing an apple for a snack. She had eventually decided, after nearly having her hand chopped off for the thousandth time, to leave the city and find a better life. She soon was found by a thieves' guild that took her in and began training her. She spent the next 15 years in the guild, training as hard as she could to get faster and stronger though her strength didn't improve by much. They found out about her psionic skills rather quickly and, being only the second psionic in the guild, learned from an older man who taught her how to teleport, heal small wounds, levitate items other than apples, such as herself, and so on.
After her training was finished, she began traveling again, ending up in Waeldeshore. It was there she met a group that was going to be fighting a dragon. She decided to join them, supplying the team with a lot of jerky during their travel to the cave. They ended up stealing a magic artifact from a sleeping dragon, one of two in that particular cave and escaping rather quickly. Upon arriving back at the town, most of them decided to spend the night. Regina offered to share a room with one of the more beautiful, yet still a bit scary, women on the team. When she awoke, however, she saw her ally was gone. She had searched for days but the trail was cold and she couldn't follow what she couldn't find. Instead, she decided to go east.
She went far east, ending up in a land much different than what she was used to a year later. It was there she met another halfling woman, a bard who instantly captured her heart. She traveled with the bard, acting as her bodyguard for a decade and a half until she was injured badly. She was unconscious for days as she slowly healed herself from nearly dying but, when she awoke, the bard was gone. She asked around but nobody had seen the halfling bard around in days. She had been abandoned again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the west. It took 4 years to travel back, as she had done other jobs along the way to distract her, but she eventually returned to Wealdeshore. With not much else to do, she became a guard for one of the local pubs. It's been 5 years since her return and, in that time, she's proven to be a great asset as well as a new resident for the foreseeable future. |
55,824 | 1,527 | 160 | 1,054 | 1,812 | The barkeep emerged with several heaping plates of food. For a hole in the wall place, and the sub par supper they had the evening before, breakfast was the kings meal. Fresh eggs, bacon, potatoes, everything looked and smelled amazing. And it would perhaps be the most delicious meal they would have before their venture.
Jarkson placed a plate infront of Ajax, and one in front of Isabeau, then sat a few others at the side of the bar. "Come and get it", he yelled over to any others who might have been interested. He nodded to Regina, acknowledging her question "There be a target linin' the back wall dearie."
The large man then turned his attention to Sakaala and the query she posed. "Aye missy, ye looking fer tea?"
Isabeau glanced at Regina as she retorted against the massive man's remark. Not wanting to stir the pot any further, she simply said "It might be smart to keep your nose out of this one. Making accusations isn't really the way to someone's good side." The wry smile to which accompanied her comment melted as her eyes fixed upon the plate of food sat out for her. "I have as much fun as the next person, and I can certainly tell you that I will enjoy this plate of food very much." a slight nod to Jarkson in appreciation before she dug into her meal. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,825 | 1,527 | 161 | 2,426 | 2,292 | Sakaala fostered a soft nod to dwarf as her reply, paying him enough regard in her gesture that she needn't add anything else to it at the moment. The hot water was for more than just something to drink, rather it had other practical uses beyond tea, but those would come to the awareness of the others in due time. It did yet spur her to respond, being certain to be specific about the matter.
"In part, yes." Her fearsome jaws replied, her head turning to note Hills who looked upon her.
The worn-torn huntress certainly didn't smile at the brief exchange, but she was far from frowning. The expression she wore was more that she noted the observing halfling and not so much as to knowing why. There was no telling as to what the small woman was thinking, her mind seemed a flighty place, focused here in one moment and away in another the next. Anything and everything could be said or not spoken at all about it, but the half beast wasn't of the mind or sort to truly care.
People stared, a lot; between the fact she was the same thing people oft hid in their homes from with the coming night and the maiming she endured, there was ample attention she received - almost none of it friendly.
Looking back to Jarkson, the inn's owner as he busied himself with the morning's work, the mercenary let her mind drift away and to memory. She wondered what had become of Lady Genevieve if the paled woman had become any more sane by being deprived of her cursed relic and beaten senseless by the other mage - of whom never followed as the arcanist had hoped. It seemed they had a common enemy, this demon and whatever forces he had managed to scrounge together in preparation for capturing these stones for himself and worse, but the fact this also meant they took someone titled as an "assassin" made her question as to just who was, short of the knights, in this for the right reason. | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,826 | 1,527 | 162 | 1,153 | 95 | Ionathan finished eating, wiping the used dining utensils with a cloth. Observing his companions, he saw that all seemed, to be not yet ready to leave the tavern. He knew that he had a strict routine when compared to others but the thought of haste disturbed him.
Zargon had managed to get in to Waeldeshore, create chaos and escape, what was to stop him from doing so again with an army of cultists and demons at his back? He has had twenty-five years to consolidate and prepare for his next move. Ionathan would urge all due haste if he had the influence over the group.
Looking at Sakaala next to him he wondered about her species, there were few books that Ionathan could access about them and he wondered if asking about her species would be rude. Deciding that it is better to be safe than sorry, he dismissed the notion, making a mental reminder to ask her later.
Getting up of his chair and giving a nod to those who he crossed eyes with he headed up back to his room and started to don his arms and armour. It was a different tale twenty-five years ago, back then he had intel on the group he was tasked to follow, he knew enough about them to trust them to make the right decisions.
He would trust them and he hoped that for Waeldeshore’s sake, that when the time came, he could rely on them to have his back. | Name: Ionathan Hepburnberg
Race: Half-Elf
Description: Tall, Honourable,kind-hearted, mid 30s human age appearance.
Age: 53
Gender: Male
Appearance: Dark Green eyes under black eyebrows and short, black hair. At 6 foot 1 Ionathan is above average height for humans and easily stands out with his sharp, elven like features including elf like ears but more rounded and less pronounced, he has a Light skin colour with a small scar on his right cheekbone
Clothing/Armor: A Tabard with the Hepburnberg Coat of arms over a mail shirt with padding underneath. He has a few satchels upon his belt consisting of first aid supplies. Atop his head is a sallet with a padded lether cap underneath. On casual days, Ionathan wears a plain brown tunic.
Weapons: Ionathan wields a bastard sword that is usually equiped with his shield that he carries on his back with a Guige when it's not equiped. The shield is a standard heater shield with the Hepburnberg heraldry for a coat of arms.
Skills/Abilities:
An experience fighter-Ionathan's experience in the army has not left him as he remembers the battles he was in and how to take on opponents of different measure.
Discipline and Obedience- As part of his soldier training the iron discipline is still embedded in Ionathan's mind.
Ionathan knows basic first aid with some advance understanding of the significance of wounds.
Backstory: With a human father and a elven mother Ionathan got to learn about both human and elven cultures from an early age. However, His father was a wealthy landowner so his marriage to an elf was most scandalous, this left Ionathan with a resentment of the nobility and few friends. Ionathan in his childhood and adolescents spent his time reading and received a good education via private tutors. When the war broke out Ionathan had just reached Adulthood and being in a noble family he was enlisted as an officer cadet, Ionathan's training at the officers training camp was harsh but effective, at the start he was like any other who had just reached adult hood, full of energy and always cheerful, but by the end he was a disciplined and skilled officer who acted with knowledge and calculation rather than gut feeling. After The training he was assigned to be a Lieutenant of the 35th regiment of foot where he served throughout the war. The 35th served with valor and duty with their most famous action taking place when a strike force went to strike a supply town near the border and the 35th held the road despite repeated enemy assaults until reinforcements arrived, the officers were personally kissed on the cheeks by the ruling official of the town and were offered the best rooms in the taverns while the regiment was resupplied.
After the war Ionathan adopted a girl made orphaned by the war and settled down and bought a cosy 2 bedroomed house in Waeldeshore were he became a guard for the town. Over the years he reflected on his life in the army while growing to like the town and became a respected by his colleagues and the town for his by the book approach to handling situations and his good relation with the Guard Captain. Throughout the years he made sure that his daughter was given the best education he could afford her with his salary, even on the weekends giving lessons himself. He remains in close contact with his parents who visit every month. Ionathan is looking forward to a life of keeping law and order while letting time heal the wounds of war.
After the "happening" at Waeldeshore, Ionathan took over the family estate in the countryside and established it as a fine farming estate. The workers being retired soldiers and victims of the happenings, live in accommodation around the estate and although the pay is modest, Ionathan provides food, warmth and shelter for those who have suffered. Ionathan put aside his sword and picked up the pen becoming Commissioner of Justice, reforming the guard into a more professional law enforcement body. Being part of a noble family Ionathan was put through an arranged marriage with was easy to arrange due to the fame he gained in fighting the demons, while the couple are not a "lovey dovey" pair they both love each other dearly and have enjoyed there years of marriage which soon gave them a son. Ionathan’s Adopted daughter was accepted by Ionathan’s wife with open arms and now has become the state ambassador traveling around the world promoting friendship and trade between nations. One day Ionathan received a strange letter from Genevieve calling him to once more take up arms, Ionathan immediately informed his wife of the letter and his intent to leave. Although leaving his wife and child to themselves weighted heavy in Ionathan’s heart, he departed several days later.
Alignment- Lawful good |
55,827 | 1,527 | 163 | 2,620 | 2,551 | Pleasantly surprised with the caliber of the meal the bar produced, especially when compared to the food from the Sage's house and his previous supper at the same bar, Emil could hardly believe such food came from the kitchens of a common man's tavern. Perhaps this sign of goodwill was to convince them to leave without causing yet more ruckus? Regardless, Emil ate in relative silence, taking in the conversations happening around him rather than interject himself into them.
Regina, the small halfling, had already started the morning by starting to bicker with their would-be-assailant turned ally? The whole ordeal still weighed on Emil's mind. He regarded Isabeau with cautious curiosity. He wasn't certain of her allegiances, nor was he certain of the extent of her abilities. Then again, Emil was certain of the extent of anyone's abilities in the present company. He looked at the others, and confirmed that he still had yet, much to learn.
Emil watched Ionathan finish his meal, and silently excuse himself to go back upstairs, and shortly returned with his armor. Sakaala, the ever pragmatic beast-woman spoke little, and did so with great weight.
Finally deciding to pipe up, Emil let out a short cough. "So what appears to be our next course of action? Lady Genevieve still rests upstairs, I am curious to how she will... react... to the new organization of our little group." he asked, also noting that just the night before, Isabeau and Lady Genevieve, were not necessarily on the same side of the battle line. | Name: Emil Erran
Species: Human
Age: 18
Description:
Emil is a young man standing in at about 5'10" in height, with the build of an athlete- or at least one used to continuous physical exertion. While not the pinnacle of strength and endurance, Emil is in good fighting shape, and his body is sinewy and lithe. He has a few scars on his body- though none of them are from combat. His eyes are a deep green, and his blonde hair is typically short and out of the way. His typical attire is a deep blue tunic, with thick trousers, and well worn leather boots and gloves. In combat, he wears a cuirass to protect his upper chest, while still allowing him full range of motion while mounted, reinforced with tough leather, along with armor on his boots, sides, shoulders and forearms.
Personality:
Warm and kind-hearted, Emil is a modest young knight with a strong sense of morality and justice. This level headed knight tries his best to stay brave and rational in the face of hardship and adversity, despite his inexperience. Due to his young age, Emil is rather impressionable, and expresses a desire to learn various skills and tricks from the older veterans, though is often self conscious about his lesser skills when compared to that of the more experienced members of the group. Honest and trustworthy, Emil is compassionate and kind, if a little shy and soft-spoken. Loyal to a fault, Emil is more than willing to risk himself for the sake of others, and goes to great lengths to defend his loved ones. A very down to earth and grounded individual, Emil's calm and generally positive demeanor, while occasionally bordering on naivety, bolsters the spirits of those around him.
Skills/Abilities:
As a young Knight, Emil is well trained in multiple martial skills, but lacks field experience. He has fought alongside his lord-knight, while still a squire and is no stranger to battle, but is not what one would call a veteran. While young, and not as capable of an armsman as the rest of his older peers, Emil possesses worldly knowledge and skills unexpected from one his age, and is knowledgeable of a variety of skills in various fields.
--- Martial Skills ---
Adept Swordsmanship - As the son of a knight, and a knight himself, Emil has received martial training in various fields, and is capable with many weapons, but shows the most promise with a sword. Skilled enough to face down a common soldier or an untrained fighter and coming out no worse for wear, Emil struggles against more hardened and experienced foes.
Journeyman Spearmanship - Along with his swordsmanship, Emil has received training with the spear and lance, though it is clear he shows a preference to the sword. His stance and form are solid, and the spear is by nature, an easy weapon to pick up and use. He lacks the refinement of a master spearman, but can still use it with relative effectiveness.
Journeyman Archery - Alongside his other martial skills, Emil has also been trained in the use of the bow and arrow. He is neither particularly fast, nor particularly accurate with the bow, and is for all intents and purposes, average. He does slightly better with a crossbow, and primarily utilizes this skill for hunting.
Journeyman Horseback Riding - As a knight, Emil is trained on how to ride a horse, take care of a horse, and fight from a horse, though it is clear that he would prefer to do combat while on the ground. Stamina stemming from his youthfulness allows him to ride for hours without considerable exhaustion.
Trained Armor use - Years of training have taught Emil how to quickly don and remove plate armor, and can thus move with more dexterity and quickness than one without training would be able to. He is also well versed on the care of plate armor.
Trained Shield use - Several years of training has shown Emil how to properly brace and use a shield to block and deflect blows. As he is not the largest presence on the battlefield, when faced with larger foes, Emil primarily relies on deflecting and sidestepping enemy blows rather than attempting to completely stop or black oncoming attacks
--- Trade Skills ---
Journeyman Cooking - While not a master chef by any meaning of the word, Emil is resourceful and can cook a variety of meals with what little resources are often available while in the field.
Journeyman Surgery/First Aid - Unable to treat wounds via magic, Emil has been trained and is experienced with treating a variety of minor and moderate wounds, and is even capable of some surgery for more serious wounds. These treatments are not magic, and do not mend wounds instantly- nor do they guarantee the successful mending of wounds, but can serve to stave off death until more experienced doctors or healers can provide aid.
Journeyman Crafting - From tailoring and needlework, to leather-working, Emil, while not particularly amazing at any craftsman's trade, is skilled enough to make field repairs to clothing and armor.
Magic
Emil has no skill or control over magic, though it appears that he may have the affinity for magic. He views magic with suspicion and a small amount of fear, and while he has accepted magic as a facet of life, he is still unnerved by it.
Backstory:
The city of Edessa is a fair sized city-state located along the coast of __(mainland continent neighboring Silver Lily Isles)__. Edessa is a constitutional monarchy led primarily by the King, and a group of senators. It is not a major military power, but is known for its high quality knights and sturdy and reliable trade ships, and also contributed a large portion of its forces Mage-Wars decades ago. Edessa, due to its proximity to the Silver Lily Isles, often trades with the settlements on the Isle, most notably Waeldeshore. Edessa and Waeldeshore have built a rather positive trade relationship over the past two decades, and ships bearing Edessan flags are common in Waeldeshore and vice versa.
Emil, youngest son of the Erran family, comes from a long line of Edessan Knights. Emil, like the rest of his brothers were introduced to the lifestyle of a knight at a young age, and were immersed in their culture from the moment he could walk. The son of a Edessan Knight and his wife, Emil and his brothers were well educated at a young age and were taught manners as well as basic martial skills and knowledges as children. Throughout their childhood, Emil and his brothers would often venture into the city to play with other children. Emil made friends easily, and was known for his gentle and sensitive demeanor, while the rest of his brothers were respected for their various other qualities.
As they Erran children grew older, they were trained in the ways of various weapons, such as the spear and sword, and were trained in horsemanship and riding. After his seventh birthday, Emil was apprenticed to another noble family to serve as a page, where he would begin to further refine horsemanship and swordsmanship as well as learn the intricacies of reading and writing. A naturally perceptive and relatively intelligent child, Emil was treated well by his host family, and learned much under their tutelage.
The Knights of Edessa, or the Edessan Knights as many know them as, are an order of knights based in the city of Edessa. These knights are tasked with serving and protecting the people of Edessa, and often promote humanitarian movements to hunting monsters in the surrounding areas. These stalwart warriors are well known for both their valor and martial skill, despite their relatively small numbers. Every male member of the Erran family had been an Edessan Knight at one point in their life. Emil's brother is among the famed members of the Edessan Knights, and one of the King's personal guards. Each of Emil's brothers has already entered service in the order.
As he turned 14, he became squire to a famed Edessan Knight, where he furthered his training, continuing his work on bladesmanship and horsemanship, as well as learning archery, music, speech, and skills befitting a young knight. Here he learned how to take care of, and maintain armor, how to tend horses and treat wounds. The next several years were difficult, his knight was fair, but strict, and offered him nothing but the most difficult challenges to face.
Now a fresh 18 years old, Emil's journey to become a full fledged knight of Edessan has been completed, and Emil undertakes his first few journeys as his own knight. A message from the Great Sage Genevieve of Waeldeshore gives Emil his first taste of an adventure that he can call his own.
Possessions, Equipment, Weapons:
Father's Sword - A gift given to Emil by his father, upon his recent knighting. The sword is forged from Dwarven Steel- a special dwarven metallurgy technique that results in a tougher, denser, more durable steel. The blade is old and worn from use, but still remains a reliable weapon. A shorter than average bastard sword, it is light and maneuverable enough to be held in one hand, but its two handed grip makes it able to be wielded with two.
Common Spear - A 6 foot pole of ash wood, with a steel tip attached. One of the most common personal weapons in the world, this weapon is easily used, and easily replaced. Able to be wielded with one hand, but most effective with two.
Shortbow & Quiver - A short yew bow meant for hunting. Plain and simple, without any sort of frills, other than leather wrapping around the grip. A wooden and leather quiver contains 20 arrows. Both are typically stored on the outer saddlebags of Emil's horse.
Heater Shield - A mid-sized shield with the Erran family coat of arms emblazoned across it. It is a lightweight metal shield that can be strapped to the forearm and secured with the hand. It has a leather strap that allows it to be slung over the shoulder/worn over the back.
Edessan Half Plate - a cut down suit of plate armor generally utilized by mounted Edessan knights and soldiers. Plates protect major parts of the body, while the rest of the body is protected with tough leather and mail under a tunic. This is to allow light weight, and greater mobility while mounted. The benefits confer to foot combat as well.
Roark, Horse - A well bred, multi-purpose horse ridden by Emil. Roark is a calm, well mannered horse, that doesn't scare easily. Roark wears boiled leather barding(armor) on his face, neck, and body. The barding is lightweight, and can protect Roark from glancing blows but doesn't provide much protection elsewise. Its still better than nothing, Emil argues. Roark also has saddlebags on his sides and behind the saddle.
Roark's saddlebags contain: A pair of leather waterskins, a small pouch with money, a tinderbox, lines and tackle for fishing, a small iron bowl for cooking, a small hatchet for wood gathering, a small knife and whetstone, a length of rope (approx. 30 feet), a spool of fine thread and needle, a roll of clean cloth and bottle of spirits for cleaning and treating wounds, a pouch of herbal ointment, a lantern with several spare candles, a few days worth of provisions for Emil as well as his horse. Behind the saddle is a blanket and spare clothes are wrapped in a roll of canvas. |
55,828 | 1,527 | 164 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Ajax shrugged and smiled at the halfling and the assassin both, raising his hands up the sides of his face in a gesture of surrender that was wholly out of place with, well, everything about him. He was in good spirits and, in his own way, now considered the two of them as part of his group for the duration of this adventure. "Look, all I'm saying is if someone tells me they like halflings I wouldn't be surprised if they went for the younger sorts. Not like it's entirely frowned upon where I come from", he said with no shortage of humor before scarfing down the plate set in front of him with the voracity of a giant.
It was a fine meal. Ajax knew that sometimes simple homely cooking was better than any impersonal attempt at sophistication. It wasn't what he ate ages ago, in his long lost land, but the idea was close enough that it pleased him greatly. Of course, this translated into him engulfing the food like a starving beast before loudly demanding more. He could do without, but a frame like his was best kept well fed. Before his next serving came, the younger knight piped up with some good questions. "I leave it up to those that knew her, but were it up to me I'd snap her neck. Of course, she might be too valuable to kill. ¿Isn't there somewhere safe we can drop her?". | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,829 | 1,527 | 165 | 276 | 729 | Regina nodded to the barkeep as she began pulling out daggers. Moving to get a good shot at the target, she kept her ears open. Looking at Ajax with a frown, she considered his comment about people hooking up with halflings because they like younger people. "And some people just like us." she added. She threw her daggers, training both her natural accuracy and her psionics. Emil then asked about Genevieve. After Ajax's comment, she smirked. "Oh, I have plans. I just have to get into her mind first. And it won't be a pleasant sight so I'd suggest anyone with a weak stomach not watch." She threw another couple daggers. as she thought about what she could possibly see. She glanced at Isabeau with a sigh and a frown. With a bit of anger behind her throw, she aimed at the target, hitting the center. | Name: Regina Hills
Species: Halfling
Age: 57
Description: Regina is a bit tall for a halfling, a whole six inches taller than the average of 3 feet, with long, reddish brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. She has a pale complexion and a few small wrinkles, preferring to stay in the shade, and a thin but curvy figure that is slowly catching up with her age.
Regina wears a thin layer of leather armor over her clothes with multiple daggers hidden on her and a pair of longtooth daggers on her hips. Regina carries no less than 20 throwing daggers, 10 normal daggers and a pair of longtooth daggers on her at any time.
Personality: Regina is the type of woman to flirt with some of the younger women though nothing too far as she doesn't want to be left again. She's easy to anger if you say the wrong thing. However, she does keep her anger under control while at work. She's no longer the happy-go-lucky woman she once was, instead taking everything carefully and not letting anyone close again.
Skills/Abilities: Regina has great aim with her throwing daggers and is proficient with her normal daggers to block and redirect, allowing her to use her longtooth daggers, with their little extra length, to attack. She can also pick locks, pick pockets, find and remove traps, track people, most any skill a thief would find very helpful.
Other than that, she is an excellent with her psionic powers, allowing her to do many things most people cannot.
-Combat Mind: Using this, she has a clear understanding of where her allies and enemies are.
-Telekinesis: She can levitate most objects though nothing bigger than a small human male for more than a couple minutes.
-Levitation: She can lift herself up to 12 feet from whatever she's standing on.
-Complete Healing: With a 12-hour meditation process, she can heal herself of all injuries, illnesses, poisons and the like.
-Quick Healing: With a matter of a few minutes and a lot of concentration, she can heal her small injuries, though nothing bigger than a small cut.
-Adrenaline Control: By controlling the production and release of adrenaline in her system, she can give herself a temporary physical boost on demand.
-Body Weaponry: Using this, she can turn her hands into dagger blades or go as far as her elbow for a shortsword blade.
-Displacement: She can control where people see her, whether or not she moves.
-Teleport: With this, she can teleport up to 200 feet away in the blink of an eye, with loud popping sounds emitting from both the place she teleports from and to.
-Telepathy: Using this, she is able to communicate wordlessly with another intelligent being without having to worry about language barriers.
-Daydream: She can cause another person's mind to wander, allowing her to pick their pockets and get away safely with a lower chance of getting caught.
Magic: She has no magic though some have commented her psionics are similar.
Backstory: Regina was raised in a big halfling city, well as big a city as the halflings would build, with her numerous siblings. The only way she could stand out in her family enough to be remembered was the fact that, at a young age, she could make apples fly to her hand. She had practically never spent any time at home once she was old enough and had gotten caught picking locks and grabbing an apple for a snack. She had eventually decided, after nearly having her hand chopped off for the thousandth time, to leave the city and find a better life. She soon was found by a thieves' guild that took her in and began training her. She spent the next 15 years in the guild, training as hard as she could to get faster and stronger though her strength didn't improve by much. They found out about her psionic skills rather quickly and, being only the second psionic in the guild, learned from an older man who taught her how to teleport, heal small wounds, levitate items other than apples, such as herself, and so on.
After her training was finished, she began traveling again, ending up in Waeldeshore. It was there she met a group that was going to be fighting a dragon. She decided to join them, supplying the team with a lot of jerky during their travel to the cave. They ended up stealing a magic artifact from a sleeping dragon, one of two in that particular cave and escaping rather quickly. Upon arriving back at the town, most of them decided to spend the night. Regina offered to share a room with one of the more beautiful, yet still a bit scary, women on the team. When she awoke, however, she saw her ally was gone. She had searched for days but the trail was cold and she couldn't follow what she couldn't find. Instead, she decided to go east.
She went far east, ending up in a land much different than what she was used to a year later. It was there she met another halfling woman, a bard who instantly captured her heart. She traveled with the bard, acting as her bodyguard for a decade and a half until she was injured badly. She was unconscious for days as she slowly healed herself from nearly dying but, when she awoke, the bard was gone. She asked around but nobody had seen the halfling bard around in days. She had been abandoned again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the west. It took 4 years to travel back, as she had done other jobs along the way to distract her, but she eventually returned to Wealdeshore. With not much else to do, she became a guard for one of the local pubs. It's been 5 years since her return and, in that time, she's proven to be a great asset as well as a new resident for the foreseeable future. |
55,830 | 1,527 | 166 | 1,054 | 1,812 | As much as the woman deserves for her crimes, I ask that we leave it up to the Magi to deal with her first. , she interjected. It wouldn't be as if Regina could do much to the woman regardless. An unconscious mind was as sealed up as a dead man. Glancing over at Ionathan as he donned his armor, her face contorted with a bit of longing and sorrow. It warmed her heart to see him, and as he went through the movements, it was as if nothing had changed. Through out all they've been through, he had been the only one to know her, to show a sense of comradery, as if the 25 years they had spent apart had only been reduced to one. Unfortunately though, there was so much that had changed, and so much of her mind that had slipped into the shadows, it took all of her just to keep things together. Certain tasks kept her grounded, though she feared this very well may be her last adventure to speak of.
She offered a small smile to the Knight, genuine as it was, it couldn't paint over the sadness that warped her features. Returning her attention to Ajax, words were expelled in a hoarse measure "It is nearly a days walk to where we need to go. If you've finished your meal, I suggest we get going."
She glanced over towards the staircase "As unpleasant as it is, someone may have to carry the witch. If she hasn't already woken, I'm sure she will remain in her state for the venture. And if she doesn't, I believe I have something to take care of her." She imagined the amulet the magi left behind would do the trick, if not kill her. At which point, she'd hope they wouldn't be too disappointed in the lack of life she would present them with. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,831 | 1,527 | 167 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Ajax shrugged once more, as he was wont to do, theatrically raising his hands as if to say "I really don't know or care much about this". He honestly had no real preference or investment in the witch's fate, his involvement was generally limited to things that he felt truly affected him and he was quite confident that if necessary he could just snap her in half when the time came. He felt that way about most things. He did, however, take notice of the way Isabeau looked at the knight in shining armor. Funny how cliches played out sometimes. "Oh please, I'm always ready, I just need to get my wineskin from the bartender and we can leave whenever you please. I do believe we have a mount but if not I'll carry the witch myself". | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,832 | 1,527 | 168 | 2,426 | 2,292 | As unpleasant as it is, someone may have to carry the witch. If she hasn't already woken, I'm sure she will remain in her state for the venture. And if she doesn't, I believe I have something to take care of her.
The muzzle of the blinded woman dipped slightly, following her imbibing of the hot water and content to add nothing to what was said. She agreed that it was indeed time to press onward; the mortal company had been fed and were clearly prepared and equipped for the expedition. Finishing what remained of her simple drink, a great talon of hers caressed the thin metal cup as it rested in the grasp of the motionless arm. The unquestionable heat of formerly boiling water bothered her none in its contact, but she used this to guide the liveliness of her crippled body. One day she and her arcane source would be made whole again; that would take much practice and even from the simplest source.
Nudging it away with her knuckles, she resumed to standing, keeping her focus on the other woman.
"Then lead the way." Sakaala said, skewed and scarred face pulled into an unsettling animal smile. | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,833 | 1,527 | 169 | 2,420 | 2,392 | Tarden worked a trade upon the door, and pretty quickly it was properly re-aligned on it's hinges and the wood-glue was drying nicely. He left it open as to let the smell clear a bit and so that nobody would touch it and keep it from drying. Some people get engrossed in their work, but Tarden always finds himself more alert and aware than usual. He heard a cu-thunk of dagger point hitting wood on the painted wall towards the back of the inn. By the subtle breaks in her words while it happened Tarden guessed it was the Halfling at the table doing such a thing, and although he didn't know how accurate the throws were it would be an impressive feat to get even close at that distance. Clearly she was quite a talented marksmen! I guess it makes sense, their kind is famous for their ability to throw things.. He ignored the argument between her and the dangerous looking lady. He was in the hobby of making quiet observations, not in the business of other people's business
Then there came mention of a witch. Though the party failed to notice it for the most part, the bar hushed. Had these adventurers brought a witch into this establishment and endangered everyone here? "A witch? Where is this witch?" Tarden couldn't help his curiosity and mild anxiety. Other voices echoed his question in more hostile tones. "Why would you bring something like that here?" one cried, another shouted "Trouble! You're all trouble!" and made a vulgar warding sign with his hand. The situation looked as though it might get out of hand if not for some sort of intervention, people apparently were stupid enough to try and be hostile to a halfling marksmen and a man more muscle and might than the entire room put together | Name: Tarden of the Fair Lands, or Tarrey to his friends
Species: Human Male
Age: 37
Description:
Tarden wears brownish and orangey cloths draped over hardened cloth armour, almost fully covering his arms and torso. He keeps his head wrapped up with the same coloured materials leaving only his eyes visible. He is instantly recognisable as foreign, his dark skin visible through the eye slit and his distinctive accent
On his back he wears a large sack with all his belongings and a war pick, not often seen in these parts and liberally decorated in red cloths. He also often has a small wooden shield on his forearm, which is also concealed beneath red cloths, all of which follow his blows and sweep through the air with every attack
Personality: Despite being a foreigner, he remains open to new company, and finds the drinks of this land are a great ice-breaker.
Although he is met with mistrust, he tries to be open and honest in his dealings, and will always stop to help a fellow in need
Tarden deeply misses his homeland as much as he has a thirst for exploration. Some events can tip him over to one side more than the other, but it tends to balance out
Skills/Abilities:
- Tarden has inherited a natural hardiness from his homeland, and from travelling around. This and his clothes give him a good resistance to the elements
- Tarden is of a good build, never having been hard on his luck and constantly traveling means he can overpower an average human
- The people of the fair lands are famous for their quick firing of small bows, and although he does not bear such a weapon, Tarden is also very quick. This does not translate very well to his war-pick, but in most other activities he can exercise good and extremely quick dexterity. Nothing superhuman, but sometimes impressive
- From smithing farming tools to using them to cultivate a field, travelling has granted Tarden many skills in all areas
Magic:
The people of the fair lands have a distaste for magic of almost all kinds, but still develop and use minor artefacts and tinctures to counter both superstitions and real mana alike. Tarden possesses such items like
- A small bell that when rung echoes back from enchantments in a small area around him, including people under enchantments (however the reliability of this power is subject to the winds of magic/plot!)
- A knot of rope made from the hair of goat’s firstborn. When drenched in alcohol it lets off a distinct vapour that when inhaled protects against any sort of magical influence (allegedly)
- An extremely bouncy and soft rock, and another small rock that almost acts like a magnet towards it
- A lucky coin! Which for some reason no matter how hard Tarden tries he can’t get rid of it, like his father before him and his father before him. Passed on from generation to generation, when discarded it just appears in Tarden’s pocket again shortly afterwards. Aside from that it doesn’t appear to have any use
Backstory: The fair lands is situated far to the south of Waeldershore, and is known for it’s deserts and songs. The latter of which are sung throughout daylight hours in the village hall of every settlement passing over every dry wooden hut there, lifting the atmosphere in such a way that visitors find magical. It is said that in times past folk made a deal with the sand spirits, that the land would belong to man as long as man’s sweet song kept the sand spirits in their slumber. It is also said that every sandstorm is a sand spirit waking up, and the rains are the spirits dreaming
Tarden’s village came under threat from a rival peoples, and he was tasked with delivering a ruby idol to their clan to appease them. He was ambushed on the way, losing everything he had. When he returned home they banished him, and last he heard the sand reclaimed all that was once there
Since then he has been travelling across the world, and although he misses his homeland he still longs to see every corner of the world, working as a farmer here, a mercenary there or a sailor over there. He enjoys the life he leads and the people he meets. |
55,834 | 1,527 | 170 | 276 | 729 | The witch is of no concern to any of you as long as I am here. Regina said, telekinetically throwing another dagger. "I can keep her in check if my concentration isn't broken." She looked to Ionathan with a frown and a nod. "Not to mention my friends." She threw another dagger, by hand this time, before levitating herself from the table she was on. She walked to the dartboard and plucked her daggers out one by one. "There is much about me most people don't know." | Name: Regina Hills
Species: Halfling
Age: 57
Description: Regina is a bit tall for a halfling, a whole six inches taller than the average of 3 feet, with long, reddish brown hair and chocolatey brown eyes. She has a pale complexion and a few small wrinkles, preferring to stay in the shade, and a thin but curvy figure that is slowly catching up with her age.
Regina wears a thin layer of leather armor over her clothes with multiple daggers hidden on her and a pair of longtooth daggers on her hips. Regina carries no less than 20 throwing daggers, 10 normal daggers and a pair of longtooth daggers on her at any time.
Personality: Regina is the type of woman to flirt with some of the younger women though nothing too far as she doesn't want to be left again. She's easy to anger if you say the wrong thing. However, she does keep her anger under control while at work. She's no longer the happy-go-lucky woman she once was, instead taking everything carefully and not letting anyone close again.
Skills/Abilities: Regina has great aim with her throwing daggers and is proficient with her normal daggers to block and redirect, allowing her to use her longtooth daggers, with their little extra length, to attack. She can also pick locks, pick pockets, find and remove traps, track people, most any skill a thief would find very helpful.
Other than that, she is an excellent with her psionic powers, allowing her to do many things most people cannot.
-Combat Mind: Using this, she has a clear understanding of where her allies and enemies are.
-Telekinesis: She can levitate most objects though nothing bigger than a small human male for more than a couple minutes.
-Levitation: She can lift herself up to 12 feet from whatever she's standing on.
-Complete Healing: With a 12-hour meditation process, she can heal herself of all injuries, illnesses, poisons and the like.
-Quick Healing: With a matter of a few minutes and a lot of concentration, she can heal her small injuries, though nothing bigger than a small cut.
-Adrenaline Control: By controlling the production and release of adrenaline in her system, she can give herself a temporary physical boost on demand.
-Body Weaponry: Using this, she can turn her hands into dagger blades or go as far as her elbow for a shortsword blade.
-Displacement: She can control where people see her, whether or not she moves.
-Teleport: With this, she can teleport up to 200 feet away in the blink of an eye, with loud popping sounds emitting from both the place she teleports from and to.
-Telepathy: Using this, she is able to communicate wordlessly with another intelligent being without having to worry about language barriers.
-Daydream: She can cause another person's mind to wander, allowing her to pick their pockets and get away safely with a lower chance of getting caught.
Magic: She has no magic though some have commented her psionics are similar.
Backstory: Regina was raised in a big halfling city, well as big a city as the halflings would build, with her numerous siblings. The only way she could stand out in her family enough to be remembered was the fact that, at a young age, she could make apples fly to her hand. She had practically never spent any time at home once she was old enough and had gotten caught picking locks and grabbing an apple for a snack. She had eventually decided, after nearly having her hand chopped off for the thousandth time, to leave the city and find a better life. She soon was found by a thieves' guild that took her in and began training her. She spent the next 15 years in the guild, training as hard as she could to get faster and stronger though her strength didn't improve by much. They found out about her psionic skills rather quickly and, being only the second psionic in the guild, learned from an older man who taught her how to teleport, heal small wounds, levitate items other than apples, such as herself, and so on.
After her training was finished, she began traveling again, ending up in Waeldeshore. It was there she met a group that was going to be fighting a dragon. She decided to join them, supplying the team with a lot of jerky during their travel to the cave. They ended up stealing a magic artifact from a sleeping dragon, one of two in that particular cave and escaping rather quickly. Upon arriving back at the town, most of them decided to spend the night. Regina offered to share a room with one of the more beautiful, yet still a bit scary, women on the team. When she awoke, however, she saw her ally was gone. She had searched for days but the trail was cold and she couldn't follow what she couldn't find. Instead, she decided to go east.
She went far east, ending up in a land much different than what she was used to a year later. It was there she met another halfling woman, a bard who instantly captured her heart. She traveled with the bard, acting as her bodyguard for a decade and a half until she was injured badly. She was unconscious for days as she slowly healed herself from nearly dying but, when she awoke, the bard was gone. She asked around but nobody had seen the halfling bard around in days. She had been abandoned again.
With nothing else to do, she returned to the west. It took 4 years to travel back, as she had done other jobs along the way to distract her, but she eventually returned to Wealdeshore. With not much else to do, she became a guard for one of the local pubs. It's been 5 years since her return and, in that time, she's proven to be a great asset as well as a new resident for the foreseeable future. |
55,835 | 1,527 | 171 | 1,153 | 95 | As he finished donning his armour, Ionathan smoothed the tabard that was across his mail shirt, as he did so he noticed Isabeau gaze. While he smiled back, he began to wonder about her life. Has she ever had a relatively normal day in her life? Has she ever gone out with a few friends to the local tavern? He was certain the answers to both questions was no which only made him feel more determined. If they could end this, Isabeau could start a normal life.
Moving closer to the group around Isabeau he nodded his consent to the plan, he was sure that if they asked nicely, Emil would let them sling Genevieve on the back of his horse again. Of course it would look like they kidnapped her. In a way they did, but it was all for the greater good and most travellers these days keep to themselves so their travels should be free from any interruptions.
"Trouble! You're all trouble!"
Ionathan frowned, he has had to deal with drunkards too many times in his life and as he listened the mob mentality grew. With increasing confidence that only came from their drinks and the voiced discontent of others. Ionathan knew he had no jurisdiction here, but they didn’t know that.
"I can keep her in check if my concentration isn't broken."
"Not to mention my friends."
He could not help but smile at Regina when she called him her friend, sure she may have precision marksmanship and terrifying abilities, but she has a good heart. Not to mention that she had played an excellent role in calming the discontent. With her reassurance it was now time to finish of the discontent.
He now made his way into the centre of the Inn, putting more force into his steps for the sound of his heels slamming into the wooden floor. As planned the thud of his heels broke convocations in the tavern, along with his bright tabard, all eyes were on him instead of on the group.
“I am Sir Ionathan Hepburnberg, Commissioner of Justice, head of the Waeldeshorian Guard.
I was tasked, along with my companions, to arrest this so called witch and to take her to where she will face her crimes, and face justice.
We are fully equipped to face anything she can throw at use, so you can assure yourselves that this is under control and we will soon be leaving.
It is now my duty to inform you that a cottage has recently collapsed in this local district, labourers will be randomly picked to clear the rubble, please see your local government official for more information. Thank you for your time.”
With Regina’s reassurance and the moaning turned to the prospect of spending a few days doing labour intensive work, the tension eased.
Ionathan now made his way back to the group, mouthing a thank you to Regina. | Name: Ionathan Hepburnberg
Race: Half-Elf
Description: Tall, Honourable,kind-hearted, mid 30s human age appearance.
Age: 53
Gender: Male
Appearance: Dark Green eyes under black eyebrows and short, black hair. At 6 foot 1 Ionathan is above average height for humans and easily stands out with his sharp, elven like features including elf like ears but more rounded and less pronounced, he has a Light skin colour with a small scar on his right cheekbone
Clothing/Armor: A Tabard with the Hepburnberg Coat of arms over a mail shirt with padding underneath. He has a few satchels upon his belt consisting of first aid supplies. Atop his head is a sallet with a padded lether cap underneath. On casual days, Ionathan wears a plain brown tunic.
Weapons: Ionathan wields a bastard sword that is usually equiped with his shield that he carries on his back with a Guige when it's not equiped. The shield is a standard heater shield with the Hepburnberg heraldry for a coat of arms.
Skills/Abilities:
An experience fighter-Ionathan's experience in the army has not left him as he remembers the battles he was in and how to take on opponents of different measure.
Discipline and Obedience- As part of his soldier training the iron discipline is still embedded in Ionathan's mind.
Ionathan knows basic first aid with some advance understanding of the significance of wounds.
Backstory: With a human father and a elven mother Ionathan got to learn about both human and elven cultures from an early age. However, His father was a wealthy landowner so his marriage to an elf was most scandalous, this left Ionathan with a resentment of the nobility and few friends. Ionathan in his childhood and adolescents spent his time reading and received a good education via private tutors. When the war broke out Ionathan had just reached Adulthood and being in a noble family he was enlisted as an officer cadet, Ionathan's training at the officers training camp was harsh but effective, at the start he was like any other who had just reached adult hood, full of energy and always cheerful, but by the end he was a disciplined and skilled officer who acted with knowledge and calculation rather than gut feeling. After The training he was assigned to be a Lieutenant of the 35th regiment of foot where he served throughout the war. The 35th served with valor and duty with their most famous action taking place when a strike force went to strike a supply town near the border and the 35th held the road despite repeated enemy assaults until reinforcements arrived, the officers were personally kissed on the cheeks by the ruling official of the town and were offered the best rooms in the taverns while the regiment was resupplied.
After the war Ionathan adopted a girl made orphaned by the war and settled down and bought a cosy 2 bedroomed house in Waeldeshore were he became a guard for the town. Over the years he reflected on his life in the army while growing to like the town and became a respected by his colleagues and the town for his by the book approach to handling situations and his good relation with the Guard Captain. Throughout the years he made sure that his daughter was given the best education he could afford her with his salary, even on the weekends giving lessons himself. He remains in close contact with his parents who visit every month. Ionathan is looking forward to a life of keeping law and order while letting time heal the wounds of war.
After the "happening" at Waeldeshore, Ionathan took over the family estate in the countryside and established it as a fine farming estate. The workers being retired soldiers and victims of the happenings, live in accommodation around the estate and although the pay is modest, Ionathan provides food, warmth and shelter for those who have suffered. Ionathan put aside his sword and picked up the pen becoming Commissioner of Justice, reforming the guard into a more professional law enforcement body. Being part of a noble family Ionathan was put through an arranged marriage with was easy to arrange due to the fame he gained in fighting the demons, while the couple are not a "lovey dovey" pair they both love each other dearly and have enjoyed there years of marriage which soon gave them a son. Ionathan’s Adopted daughter was accepted by Ionathan’s wife with open arms and now has become the state ambassador traveling around the world promoting friendship and trade between nations. One day Ionathan received a strange letter from Genevieve calling him to once more take up arms, Ionathan immediately informed his wife of the letter and his intent to leave. Although leaving his wife and child to themselves weighted heavy in Ionathan’s heart, he departed several days later.
Alignment- Lawful good |
55,836 | 1,527 | 172 | 2,426 | 2,292 | Amusing. Sakaala remarked on the turn of events, her haunting smile ever wider at the thought how these men interpreted the prospect of a "witch".
"Little men, how you play with your toys and trinkets..." The aging ranger thought in dreamlike recollection to herself, "Yet you never asked yourself from where some of them came." Her mother was wise on the matter she recalled, wiser than even the shadow of a fallen people that was her daughter now. There was no doubt a "witch" was trouble, but it amused her how mortal men were so coveting of a mage's handiwork yet so fearful of them all the same when they at last came to know it in the flesh. In a way it pleased the leonine figure as she leaned her great frame back against the bar, content to observe. It fed into the distraction from her presence, making any conflict to follow easier; unwary humans, after all, were the easiest of prey in that they seemed to lack the instinct to preserve themselves.
She looked from the real witch to where the battered wizard was to have been somewhere upstairs, then to the bound man in his many wrappings and at last to the knight who had ended the confrontation to the best of his ability. The man was more than right, in all of his noble trim, that the group assembled certainly looked the part; half had the clear cut trappings of mercenaries and the other half looked like members of some official party, of which they were after all.
Removing herself from her relaxed pose, suspended sword singing slightly as its elven steel brushed the wood along with the back of her ragged cloak, she ran the strong hand across her jowls.
"If we are done entertaining the current company with our business, we should get our quarry on the move." | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,837 | 1,527 | 173 | 2,620 | 2,551 | I suppose I'll go retrieve Lady Genevieve, Emil mused aloud, as the others carried on with the conversation. He was a little taken aback when the common folk referred to the Lady as a "witch", he was more confused to why they seemed to unused to the idea of magic- having lived much of their lives with the Lady living just up the hill, though he supposed Lady Genevieve never deigned to visit the commoners on regular occasion. There were implications that they had to carry Lady Genevieve with them for the trip. Emil was slightly uncomfortable at this- as a lancer, most of his mounted combat prowess stemmed from his ability to stay mobile, doing so with a unconscious person sat behind him was a much more difficult task.
Nevertheless, Emil moved upstairs to retrieve the lady, while Sir Hepburnberg calmed the local peasants with his logical, and orderly commands. At least one of their group understood the intricacies of talking to commonfolk and other men- for while the ability to knock down doors, rubble, and men alike with little more effort than a flick of one's wrist was certainly handy, or casting magic whilst blade in hand useful, Emil would rather not tear down every door they came across and causing chaos amongst the local peasantry.
Quietly opening the door to the room, he found Lady Genevieve in much the same state he left her in last night, unconscious and fast asleep on the bed, seemingly not moved a single inch. Gingerly carrying the lady out of bed, Emil brought her back downstairs with the rest of the group, only bumping the lady once against the rather thin door frame- hopefully quietly enough that no one else had noticed. Sheepishly approaching the rest of the group with the lady in his arms.
"If we're ready to go, I'll sit the Lady with me on my horse, Roark won't mind." | Name: Emil Erran
Species: Human
Age: 18
Description:
Emil is a young man standing in at about 5'10" in height, with the build of an athlete- or at least one used to continuous physical exertion. While not the pinnacle of strength and endurance, Emil is in good fighting shape, and his body is sinewy and lithe. He has a few scars on his body- though none of them are from combat. His eyes are a deep green, and his blonde hair is typically short and out of the way. His typical attire is a deep blue tunic, with thick trousers, and well worn leather boots and gloves. In combat, he wears a cuirass to protect his upper chest, while still allowing him full range of motion while mounted, reinforced with tough leather, along with armor on his boots, sides, shoulders and forearms.
Personality:
Warm and kind-hearted, Emil is a modest young knight with a strong sense of morality and justice. This level headed knight tries his best to stay brave and rational in the face of hardship and adversity, despite his inexperience. Due to his young age, Emil is rather impressionable, and expresses a desire to learn various skills and tricks from the older veterans, though is often self conscious about his lesser skills when compared to that of the more experienced members of the group. Honest and trustworthy, Emil is compassionate and kind, if a little shy and soft-spoken. Loyal to a fault, Emil is more than willing to risk himself for the sake of others, and goes to great lengths to defend his loved ones. A very down to earth and grounded individual, Emil's calm and generally positive demeanor, while occasionally bordering on naivety, bolsters the spirits of those around him.
Skills/Abilities:
As a young Knight, Emil is well trained in multiple martial skills, but lacks field experience. He has fought alongside his lord-knight, while still a squire and is no stranger to battle, but is not what one would call a veteran. While young, and not as capable of an armsman as the rest of his older peers, Emil possesses worldly knowledge and skills unexpected from one his age, and is knowledgeable of a variety of skills in various fields.
--- Martial Skills ---
Adept Swordsmanship - As the son of a knight, and a knight himself, Emil has received martial training in various fields, and is capable with many weapons, but shows the most promise with a sword. Skilled enough to face down a common soldier or an untrained fighter and coming out no worse for wear, Emil struggles against more hardened and experienced foes.
Journeyman Spearmanship - Along with his swordsmanship, Emil has received training with the spear and lance, though it is clear he shows a preference to the sword. His stance and form are solid, and the spear is by nature, an easy weapon to pick up and use. He lacks the refinement of a master spearman, but can still use it with relative effectiveness.
Journeyman Archery - Alongside his other martial skills, Emil has also been trained in the use of the bow and arrow. He is neither particularly fast, nor particularly accurate with the bow, and is for all intents and purposes, average. He does slightly better with a crossbow, and primarily utilizes this skill for hunting.
Journeyman Horseback Riding - As a knight, Emil is trained on how to ride a horse, take care of a horse, and fight from a horse, though it is clear that he would prefer to do combat while on the ground. Stamina stemming from his youthfulness allows him to ride for hours without considerable exhaustion.
Trained Armor use - Years of training have taught Emil how to quickly don and remove plate armor, and can thus move with more dexterity and quickness than one without training would be able to. He is also well versed on the care of plate armor.
Trained Shield use - Several years of training has shown Emil how to properly brace and use a shield to block and deflect blows. As he is not the largest presence on the battlefield, when faced with larger foes, Emil primarily relies on deflecting and sidestepping enemy blows rather than attempting to completely stop or black oncoming attacks
--- Trade Skills ---
Journeyman Cooking - While not a master chef by any meaning of the word, Emil is resourceful and can cook a variety of meals with what little resources are often available while in the field.
Journeyman Surgery/First Aid - Unable to treat wounds via magic, Emil has been trained and is experienced with treating a variety of minor and moderate wounds, and is even capable of some surgery for more serious wounds. These treatments are not magic, and do not mend wounds instantly- nor do they guarantee the successful mending of wounds, but can serve to stave off death until more experienced doctors or healers can provide aid.
Journeyman Crafting - From tailoring and needlework, to leather-working, Emil, while not particularly amazing at any craftsman's trade, is skilled enough to make field repairs to clothing and armor.
Magic
Emil has no skill or control over magic, though it appears that he may have the affinity for magic. He views magic with suspicion and a small amount of fear, and while he has accepted magic as a facet of life, he is still unnerved by it.
Backstory:
The city of Edessa is a fair sized city-state located along the coast of __(mainland continent neighboring Silver Lily Isles)__. Edessa is a constitutional monarchy led primarily by the King, and a group of senators. It is not a major military power, but is known for its high quality knights and sturdy and reliable trade ships, and also contributed a large portion of its forces Mage-Wars decades ago. Edessa, due to its proximity to the Silver Lily Isles, often trades with the settlements on the Isle, most notably Waeldeshore. Edessa and Waeldeshore have built a rather positive trade relationship over the past two decades, and ships bearing Edessan flags are common in Waeldeshore and vice versa.
Emil, youngest son of the Erran family, comes from a long line of Edessan Knights. Emil, like the rest of his brothers were introduced to the lifestyle of a knight at a young age, and were immersed in their culture from the moment he could walk. The son of a Edessan Knight and his wife, Emil and his brothers were well educated at a young age and were taught manners as well as basic martial skills and knowledges as children. Throughout their childhood, Emil and his brothers would often venture into the city to play with other children. Emil made friends easily, and was known for his gentle and sensitive demeanor, while the rest of his brothers were respected for their various other qualities.
As they Erran children grew older, they were trained in the ways of various weapons, such as the spear and sword, and were trained in horsemanship and riding. After his seventh birthday, Emil was apprenticed to another noble family to serve as a page, where he would begin to further refine horsemanship and swordsmanship as well as learn the intricacies of reading and writing. A naturally perceptive and relatively intelligent child, Emil was treated well by his host family, and learned much under their tutelage.
The Knights of Edessa, or the Edessan Knights as many know them as, are an order of knights based in the city of Edessa. These knights are tasked with serving and protecting the people of Edessa, and often promote humanitarian movements to hunting monsters in the surrounding areas. These stalwart warriors are well known for both their valor and martial skill, despite their relatively small numbers. Every male member of the Erran family had been an Edessan Knight at one point in their life. Emil's brother is among the famed members of the Edessan Knights, and one of the King's personal guards. Each of Emil's brothers has already entered service in the order.
As he turned 14, he became squire to a famed Edessan Knight, where he furthered his training, continuing his work on bladesmanship and horsemanship, as well as learning archery, music, speech, and skills befitting a young knight. Here he learned how to take care of, and maintain armor, how to tend horses and treat wounds. The next several years were difficult, his knight was fair, but strict, and offered him nothing but the most difficult challenges to face.
Now a fresh 18 years old, Emil's journey to become a full fledged knight of Edessan has been completed, and Emil undertakes his first few journeys as his own knight. A message from the Great Sage Genevieve of Waeldeshore gives Emil his first taste of an adventure that he can call his own.
Possessions, Equipment, Weapons:
Father's Sword - A gift given to Emil by his father, upon his recent knighting. The sword is forged from Dwarven Steel- a special dwarven metallurgy technique that results in a tougher, denser, more durable steel. The blade is old and worn from use, but still remains a reliable weapon. A shorter than average bastard sword, it is light and maneuverable enough to be held in one hand, but its two handed grip makes it able to be wielded with two.
Common Spear - A 6 foot pole of ash wood, with a steel tip attached. One of the most common personal weapons in the world, this weapon is easily used, and easily replaced. Able to be wielded with one hand, but most effective with two.
Shortbow & Quiver - A short yew bow meant for hunting. Plain and simple, without any sort of frills, other than leather wrapping around the grip. A wooden and leather quiver contains 20 arrows. Both are typically stored on the outer saddlebags of Emil's horse.
Heater Shield - A mid-sized shield with the Erran family coat of arms emblazoned across it. It is a lightweight metal shield that can be strapped to the forearm and secured with the hand. It has a leather strap that allows it to be slung over the shoulder/worn over the back.
Edessan Half Plate - a cut down suit of plate armor generally utilized by mounted Edessan knights and soldiers. Plates protect major parts of the body, while the rest of the body is protected with tough leather and mail under a tunic. This is to allow light weight, and greater mobility while mounted. The benefits confer to foot combat as well.
Roark, Horse - A well bred, multi-purpose horse ridden by Emil. Roark is a calm, well mannered horse, that doesn't scare easily. Roark wears boiled leather barding(armor) on his face, neck, and body. The barding is lightweight, and can protect Roark from glancing blows but doesn't provide much protection elsewise. Its still better than nothing, Emil argues. Roark also has saddlebags on his sides and behind the saddle.
Roark's saddlebags contain: A pair of leather waterskins, a small pouch with money, a tinderbox, lines and tackle for fishing, a small iron bowl for cooking, a small hatchet for wood gathering, a small knife and whetstone, a length of rope (approx. 30 feet), a spool of fine thread and needle, a roll of clean cloth and bottle of spirits for cleaning and treating wounds, a pouch of herbal ointment, a lantern with several spare candles, a few days worth of provisions for Emil as well as his horse. Behind the saddle is a blanket and spare clothes are wrapped in a roll of canvas. |
55,838 | 1,527 | 174 | 1,054 | 1,812 | She had apparently caused a ruckus in the inn. Not that this was something new, Isabeau had a thing for putting her foot in her mouth. Regardless, she was tired of sitting around and waiting, and she was tired of having to deal with everyone's judgments of her and dismissal of their situation. The little town could burn for all she cared. If they were scared of a 'witch' and thought their town was free of all other troubles, they were in for a rude awakening.
Words were already spoken on the matter, and so she let it be. She leaned over the bar to grab a random bottle and fill her flask up. That would, at the very least, bring her joy on this bitter journey. "Very well." There were enough coins on the table from their party to cover whatever costs they had accrued throughout their stay. She had no idea what type of liquor she had swiped, but it would have to do.
Each had made it clear that they would follow through with this quest, she had only hoped that it wouldn't turn sour and lead to betrayal somewhere down the line. She didn't like having to trust people, unfortunately, she's had to do a lot of that lately. That didn't mean that she stopped sleeping with her axe nearby or the dagger tucked under her pillow.
with no other words, she moved from her seat and removed herself from the walls of the inn. Her strides were large and swift, if luck were on their side, they would reach the cave by sundown. No interruptions, no stops, no attacks or distractions. But when did luck ever follow her? | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,839 | 1,527 | 175 | 2,782 | 1,198 | When the crowd began to pipe up and empty their bladders at the thought of a spellcaster, before Regina and Ionathan did their level best to calm them down peacefully, Ajax turned to stare at the patrons. He took his sweet time, looking every single man up and down like one would examine a piece of merchandise and dead in the eyes before moving to the next. He stood tall as he was, chin up and bulging chest out, and placed his ham-hock fists on his hips to make himself look even wider. He wordlessly dared all who met his gaze to speak up to him personally, to step up if it was truly so important for them. None of them did.
The knight's words in particular put a quick end to anything that might've happened, and everyone who'd been so keen to engage in hostilities before meekly went back to their business rather than risk tussling with an officer of the law. The few that still deigned look him in the eye were met with a toothy grin that mocked their weakness. Still smiling, Ajax followed the others outside but not before audibly muttering "Hah, cowards". Yes, wizards were the root of most every problem as far as he was concerned, but they could be killed like anyone and anything else. And as far as he was concerned, that was an even enough playing field. | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,840 | 1,527 | 176 | 1,054 | 1,812 | Her pace was a swift one, with large steps and little care of leaving anyone behind. She wasn't their leader, no, she was more of a pawn in this little game, one played between the heavens and hell. And that made her angry. She was angered by the heavens, that none had showed them self or given aid to defeat the demons they were charged with holding at bay. She was angered by the Magi, who wouldn't take any active part in this war. Their power could strike the demons into oblivion if they had motivation to do so. And so as she marched through the sands that surrounded the small town, the rocky terrain shrouded in wilderness, her fists were clenched, her jaw was tight and the chip on her shoulder weighed so heavy that each step exhausted her even more. Her eyes became gaunt, her skin drained of color. Because of honor, she was stuck. Because of honor, she would die. And she knew it.
The path to the cave was a long one, with many curves and twists. Their footsteps trampled through transitions of barren ground and rich grassy fields, however as they grew closer towards their destination, the winds stilled, the air became stagnant and damp. Wildlife had either been non existent here of had just become so accustomed to the silence that not one dared to make a sound. They were lucky to have not been stopped by a rabble of bandits, or even worse, a horde of demons. Though part of her had wished they had, as the longer they stayed hidden, the more suspicious she had become of things. Not to mention, the only two of their group to have seen the deadly beasts, aside from Isabeau were Regina and Ionathan. This rag tag bunch were an untrusting lot, so if they were able to see something with their own eyes, they may finally understand the severity of their situation.
The others had followed her quietly, and they had indeed made it to the mouth of the cave before sundown. Her mouth was as dry as the land that surrounded them, sapped up by the thick layer of moisture within the air. So when she was finally able to form her words, her voice was low and scratchy. "Please be weary. The Magi do not care much for outsiders. They treasure their solitude and so those to disturb that are looked upon harshly. We will leave Genevieve with them. The artifact ... well ... there is rumor of one who knows how to destroy it. I will see if I can find out just who this person is., she glanced at each, knowing the thoughts that circled through their mind. She thought of giving them a moment to respond or answer, but quickly turned her attention back towards the cave. There wasn't much more that needed to be said. And she wasn't going to waste any more time quibbling over nonsense.
The inside of the cave was dark and dank. Large rocks and boulders of a green and blue metallic tint sat beside matching walls. It was a bit warmer here than outside, perhaps due to the heat emitting from the castle just beyond. Nothing out of the ordinary with the exception of the golden metal gate ahead of them. On the ground just ahead of the gate was a dark red stain, questionable to others that had never been there before. Torches illuminated a long golden hallway just beyond the gate. Isabeau hadn't expected her friend to greet them here, however she had never seen the hallway so empty before. Someone should have been there. She grumbled quietly to herself before quickly reaching for the dagger tucked in her boot. She stood before the red stained spot and sliced through the flesh of her palm. She had no idea if this would work or not, but she had to try. They had a spilt her blood within these halls previously, and she had been allowed inside before as well. There was no flinch or cry as the blade cut through, droplets of blood pooled on the floor before the gate and Izzy let out a soft breath. She had placed the bloody palm on the warm metal that blocked their way. She could feel her pulse through her hand and nearly felt sick for a moment. Just then, the gate unlocked. A small smile edged its way as she shoved the gate open. She was sure a Magi would be near to greet them and so went first through the gate, expecting the others to follow. | Name: Isabeau Falkenrath
Species: Human/Witchling
Age: 52
Description: Having let her hair grow out, her dark auburn locks are typically tied up in a braided bun, several pieces, refusing to be bound, frame her face, complementing an olive skin tone. A grey strand here and there, depicting age. Her eyes are something to behold; light green surrounded by a thin ring of gold. Freckles sprinkle lightly over a smooth face, nearly void of any wrinkles representative of a woman coming into her fifties. She stands at about 5’7” tall, a petite upper body sitting upon wider hips and thick thighs. Not overly muscular though her body is tone. When exposed, displayed on her back are a number of scars, some seeming a bit more prominent. A rather fresh one sits just above her right brow. She may have aged some from the last time any had seen her, but she certainly doesn't look as old as she is.
Personality: She is typically cold and brash, on the outside anyway. Her overconfident ways have often gotten her in a pinch, but not one that she couldn't ever find her way out of. She never takes the easy way out and has a soft spot for those who have been bullied. Having grown used to the luxuries coin can buy, she would prefer a more lavish lifestyle. Shiny things may distract her from time to time, but it is never to say she had an easy life.
Clothing: She typically wears light fabrics, leathers and cloths of darker shades. A large cowl normally covers most of her features. Dark brown leather boots extend up just past her knees, straps and buckles secure padding where would be needed. Plain cloth pants are held up by a thick black belt, lined with a few pouches and oddities.
Weapons: Through her training, she has become a jack of all trades. Though her favorite weapon is the battle axe strapped to her back. She has a dagger hidden within her boots and one saddled to her belt at her right hip. The dagger hanging from her belt is a curved blade, with a ruby embedded within the hilt.
Skills and Abilities: Part of the reason why the witches wanted to do away with her because she did not have the affinity for magic as they did. However her time in the Assassin’s Keep allowed her to develop other skills and techniques:
Shadow Prison: Isabeau is able to shadow step to her foe for an attack. During this attack, her foe’s movement speed is drastically reduced temporarily
Wild Blow: Isabeau is able to manipulate the shadows around her weapons, increasing the damage done by her attacks. The attack is usually used when attempting to sunder a shield.
Wildfire: Despite not having the understanding of the weave, as the witches did, Isabeau was bestowed with a gift from her mother. The gift of Wildfire. This gift takes an enormous amount of energy to control and wield. When called upon, the shadows immediately surrounding her will ignite and deadly flames will coat her axe, adding fire damage to her attacks. This generally leaves Isabeau quite drained afterwards
In her time away from civilization, she has learned to tap into the shadow realm. The more time she spent in the dark reflection of home, the less stable her footing became in each world. She would shift back and forth, sometimes without even meaning to.
Magic:N/A -see skills above
Backstory:
Rumors of long ago, tell a tale of a witch who fell in love with a prince from a far away land.
The prince had journeyed far in search of a magical herb that was said to cure a sickness plaguing his kingdom. He came upon a young woman living deep within the woods. Beautiful in every way imaginable, the Prince became enthralled with the young woman and insisted that she leave the woods and return with him to his castle. As tempting as the offer was, she could not leave her home. For she was a witch, just as her mother before her, and so on down the line. Their family and gifts had been banished from the kingdom long ago, and since, they had taken refuge in the forest, tending to the wilds and those who dwell within its sanctuary.
Disturbed by the story, the prince vowed that he would speak with his father to lift their exile if she would return with him as his bride. Gleefully, the young woman accepted. And with the prince as her guest, she spent her last few days in the woods saying her goodbyes and making arrangements for after she left.
Those last few nights blanketed by the stars, we're magical for her and the prince. Though as the story goes, it was the last shred of happiness for the young couple. Grandmother Amari, the high witch of their clan, had high expectations for the young witch. Plans, that did not include the Prince, that would've been especially ruined if the prince took her away to become a princess in the castle. Though a silver lining appeared that would help Amari's plans along. And so the high witch gathered her kin, and her plot for war went into action.
On the eve before the two lovers were to leave for the castle, Amari had one of the youngest within their clan travel to the cottage where the two were staying. She silently crept in, cloaked within the shadows and darkness of the night. With one clean swipe of her blade, she sliced his throat open, and without anyone noticing, made her way back out. He bled out onto the bed next to his beloved, who never stirred, and never realized his death until the next morning.
It wasn’t until many months later did they all realize the young witch was with child and when the news had traveled to the High Witch, it was ordered to discard the baby once it was born. The young witch with fire red hair and green eyes encircled with a gold ring would never know her daughter.
Isabeau continued to meet only betrayal and despair as she grew older unfortunately. Bred into a world of death and darkness, she was raised within the Keep of the Assassin’s Guild and was honed into the land’s deadliest weapon. She was taught to cast all emotions aside, especially that of love. They told her that love made people weak, love would hold her back, get her killed. And just as they had warned her, love had been her undoing and led her to flee.
~~*~~
Since her departure of Waeldeshore, much has happened ((All to be revealed in rp)). Her reasons for returning are her own, but she has vowed to make things right. |
55,841 | 1,527 | 177 | 2,782 | 1,198 | Ajax followed quietly but unnecessarily merrily for the situation at hand. He made sure to take good stock of the land and let his attention wander to natural formations and what wildlife he saw, occassionally taking sips from the wineskin he had procured from the tavern and munching on a piece of bread he had grabbed for the journey. He might well be out for a simple walk rather than something where the fate of the world hung in the balance, but it was simply his way. He kept the pace without a hitch, his senses were sharp and at some point he even would've welcomed any kind of hostile interaction to break up the monotony.
He would worry when given cause to, and he'd been through enough similar situations to know that "the world" more often than not simply meant "this limited portion of creation we happen to know". Still, it was an intriguing task and one that he had decided he'd see through to the end to the best of his abilities. He didn't like having to place his trust in sorcerers, but it came with the territory. In fact, sometimes they did some interesting things such as the safety mechanism with the door. "Neat", he noted as the golden portal opened itself. "Don't suppose that'd work for anyone else in the group". | Name: Ajax Diagorides
Species: Human
Age: 40
Description:
Ajax is an olive skinned and tanned man who stands at 6 feet 4 inches and weighs around 300 pounds. A thick, muscle bound figure with powerful, sinewy arms and robust legs which end in burly hands and feet and a log-like neck that holds up a head as large as the rest of his body, with a prominent jaw and chin as well as dark brown eyes, short, curly black hair and a thick but not overly long beard, he bears a more than passing resemblance to the real-life Boxer of Quirinal, except far more muscular, with a build closely resembling that of a powerlifter or strongman competitor.
Thanks to his less than healthy lifestyle, Ajax is a mess to look at. He is scarred from head to toe, his eyes are sunken, his nose squashed and slightly deviated, he has cauliflower ears and his hands, forearms, elbows, knees, shins and feet are covered in extremely thick and rough calluses, giving them a leathery, bumpy look. Ajax's clothing is a loose white robe called a doric chiton, that he keeps strapped to his left shoulder with a pin and extends past his waist, ending just above the knees. Ajax also wears brown leather, hobnailed, sandal-like boots called caligae.
Personality:
Ajax is a fairly merry man, fond of living a life full of excitement and action and can be fairly easy to get along with as he is giving, loyal, honest and straightforward, seeing greed, deceit and treachery as marks of weakness. Conversely, he's also kind of nuts. He says what's on his mind no matter the situation, is knowingly offensive to others and enjoys fighting to a mind-boggling degree. Smashing things to bits seems to be his main solution to any problem, too, and he has no qualms in instigating fights or escalating them when a couple words would be enough to defuse a potentially dangerous situation.
Ajax has a great distaste for magic and religion and will act rather condescending to anyone who relies overmuch on these, even worse if they try to lord these things over him or otherwise try to make him see their way. It’s not enough to bring him to violence but he sees over-reliance on magic or the intervention of higher forces as a queer path in life. Why credit the gods with your achievements, why rely on some mystic force you can barely comprehend when you could achieve this on the strength of your back? He feels much the same towards those who take their status as nobles as somehow making them intrinsically superior to others.
Ajax has a fairly complex world view based on strength, self-reliance and personal growth. He feels the strong come to rule the weak, but that strength isn't limited to physical strength or martial power and that the weak should, in turn, grow strong and strive for greater things in life, never letting themselves be crushed underfoot. He relishes the freedom necessary for such a growth and will readily help others to attain it, just as long as they actually put the effort to grow themselves, though his efforts can come across as him just being rather mean. He is especially harsh towards those who could stand for themselves but don't and expect others to do it for them, believing that over-reliance on others is another path to subjugation.
Skills/Abilities:
-Herculean: Ajax seems to have been gifted with superhuman physicality. Though his agility and manual dexterity aren’t much to speak of, he is freakishly strong and damn near tireless. His entire body is tremendously difficult to damage and eradicates poisons, toxins and disease with absurd ease. What makes this unique is that Ajax wasn't simply born powerful, but rather that his body adapted to extremely harsh circumstances much faster and better than anyone else.
It's something everyone can do. Both muscle and bone adapt to the stresses they're placed under with time, you can exercise specifically to increase your lung capacity, you can get used to extremes of temperature if you live with them long enough, but the thing about Ajax is that his gift allows him to defy normal human limits. Of course, this gift requires a high degree of dedication to constantly test and push his own limits. If he had lived a quiet life, his gift would've gone by unnoticed.
His gift also allows him to pit his body against things that should be unaffected by mere brute force, since his body has been cultivated in such an unnatural way. He can pit his might directly against magic such as hold spells and the like, though this doesn't make him immune to magic as a whole, and is resilient towards mind-altering effects from a mixture of sheer willpower and having experienced them previously in his travels. This also extends to attempts to invade his psyche, which meet with as heavy a resistance as if Ajax was fighting the person directly.
-Pankration: Ajax is a skilled unarmed fighter, having trained to fight most of his life and having survived a number of ordeals through fighting skill alone. His fighting style is known in his homeland as Pankration, loosely translated as "all of might", and was originally a blend of boxing and wrestling with no rules beyond no biting or eye-gouging before more and more skills were added to its repertoire. Ajax is a particularly skilled grappler, adept at using his strength and size to his advantage, but knows how to supplement it with effective striking and has a proper grasp of the fundamentals of fighting beyond sheer strength.
Backstory:
Ajax descends from a long line of athletes, from the faraway land of Erimai. His father, Diagoras, was an accomplished wrestler trained by his father as was tradition within the family and celebrated in his homeland for his many victories in legitimate sporting events. Diagoras, in turn, upheld the custom and trained Ajax from an early age, and the young man soon grew into a grappler of considerable skill himself. However before Ajax could make his debut in an official event, Diagoras was murdered, the killer managing to evade the law.
With the aid of family friends, many of which held connections with the fighting underworld, Ajax eventually discovered that his father's death was orchestrated by Diagoras' supposed benefactor, Magistrate Cleon, because Diagoras had won a fight he was asked to throw. Enraged, Ajax sought Cleon out to murder him with his own two hands but was subsequently defeated, bested by foul sorceries and the attack of a demonically powerful fighter in Cleon's employ, known only as Hyperanthes. He was captured and his family subjected to great shame.
Publicly tried for attempting to murder a magistrate, Ajax was to be sentenced to death by poisoning before Cleon intervened, demanding Ajax be sold to him as a slave as reparation, a demand that was granted. It was then that Ajax's fighting career truly began, as the magistrate entered him in brutal underground contests, rule-less deathmatches for the enjoyment of select crowds. Fighting for survival with neither weapons nor armor, Ajax overcame all odds with his continued survival and spectacular progress, eventually becoming the circuit's most celebrated champion. Only one thought kept him from despair: revenge.
As time passed Ajax befriended a few of the other fighters and together they planned an escape. A hole in security, an opportune bribe carried out by acquaintances on the outside and superior combat skills were all that was needed, and soon the fighters were free. Knowing he'd be hunted down, Ajax decided to flee the country without involving anyone else, sneaking into a random merchant ship leaving the island which was first dragged around, then smashed to bits by a typhoon. The lone survivor, Ajax drifted aimlessly in a damaged raft until he arrived to a strange foreign land.
So began his career as a travelling adventurer. Never settling in a single place for long, always moving, always fighting to become ever stronger, looking to return to his homeland. The only problem is, no ship seems to know how to get there and by this point he has boarded about a dozen random ships with no clue where exactly they were going, so he is well and truly lost in this regard. His homeland could be on the exact opposite of creation for all he knows.
He has, however, come to find great enjoyment in his life and while he still seeks his home, he is content with facing life on a day to day basis, taking on new adventures as they come. It is not uncommon to find him as a strongman for hire, and tales are sometimes told of the strange, massive foreigner carrying neither weapons nor armor who clears out monster dens or bandit camps seemingly for the challenge of it. Enticing him to take part of a new adventure should be a simple matter.
Other:
I always though it was pretty boring how the badass fisticuffs class is always some type of asian stereotype built to be dodgy rather than a frontline manly man so think of Ajax as a Fighter rather than a Monk, speaking in class terms, except with less reliance on being given decent gear and magical buffs. He's the guy that stands at the front of the line, gets the crap kicked out of him and keeps going, and can deal some good damage especially in one on one fights. He's actually a prior character of mine, a Fighter in Dungeon World which lets you use gauntlets as your weapon type thanks to its narrative focus. |
55,842 | 1,527 | 178 | 1,153 | 95 | While he was easily able to keep up with Isabeau, the travel to the cave put him on edge, he kept his eyes on the surrounding land they walked. Now would be an opportune time to attack, the group had just been formed and each member of the group did not know what the others were capable off. Yet the attack never came and that made him uneasy. There was also the uncertainty of what they faced, was it Zargon and a collection of demonic cultists or was it a demonic army with hell fire swords coming to crush the mortal realm?
Entering the cave, he thumbed the hilt of his sword with a gloved hand making sure it was loose in its scabbard. He did not trust mages, many looked down on the common folk and thought that because they had the ability burn and destroy at a whim, that they should rule the land. Ionathan had fought mages before and had the scars to prove it.
He winced as Isabeau cut through her hand, what was this ritual supposed to prove? Why couldn’t they just have a man at the gate instead of having to rely on this barbaric practice? As the door opened and Ionathan took his shield of his back but he did not draw his sword, if they were friendly he did not want to antagonise them, but he did want to show them that he was ready should any action take place.
Deciding to go second after Isabeau he gave a shrug to Ajax’s question as he went past and caught up to Isabeau looking at the bleeding cut. Rummaging around in his first aid pouches he finally picked out a bandage roll and offered it to her. He was happy that he final got to use his first aid supplies, he usually never got to use it as the battlefield injuries were usually to severe for simple first aid. | Name: Ionathan Hepburnberg
Race: Half-Elf
Description: Tall, Honourable,kind-hearted, mid 30s human age appearance.
Age: 53
Gender: Male
Appearance: Dark Green eyes under black eyebrows and short, black hair. At 6 foot 1 Ionathan is above average height for humans and easily stands out with his sharp, elven like features including elf like ears but more rounded and less pronounced, he has a Light skin colour with a small scar on his right cheekbone
Clothing/Armor: A Tabard with the Hepburnberg Coat of arms over a mail shirt with padding underneath. He has a few satchels upon his belt consisting of first aid supplies. Atop his head is a sallet with a padded lether cap underneath. On casual days, Ionathan wears a plain brown tunic.
Weapons: Ionathan wields a bastard sword that is usually equiped with his shield that he carries on his back with a Guige when it's not equiped. The shield is a standard heater shield with the Hepburnberg heraldry for a coat of arms.
Skills/Abilities:
An experience fighter-Ionathan's experience in the army has not left him as he remembers the battles he was in and how to take on opponents of different measure.
Discipline and Obedience- As part of his soldier training the iron discipline is still embedded in Ionathan's mind.
Ionathan knows basic first aid with some advance understanding of the significance of wounds.
Backstory: With a human father and a elven mother Ionathan got to learn about both human and elven cultures from an early age. However, His father was a wealthy landowner so his marriage to an elf was most scandalous, this left Ionathan with a resentment of the nobility and few friends. Ionathan in his childhood and adolescents spent his time reading and received a good education via private tutors. When the war broke out Ionathan had just reached Adulthood and being in a noble family he was enlisted as an officer cadet, Ionathan's training at the officers training camp was harsh but effective, at the start he was like any other who had just reached adult hood, full of energy and always cheerful, but by the end he was a disciplined and skilled officer who acted with knowledge and calculation rather than gut feeling. After The training he was assigned to be a Lieutenant of the 35th regiment of foot where he served throughout the war. The 35th served with valor and duty with their most famous action taking place when a strike force went to strike a supply town near the border and the 35th held the road despite repeated enemy assaults until reinforcements arrived, the officers were personally kissed on the cheeks by the ruling official of the town and were offered the best rooms in the taverns while the regiment was resupplied.
After the war Ionathan adopted a girl made orphaned by the war and settled down and bought a cosy 2 bedroomed house in Waeldeshore were he became a guard for the town. Over the years he reflected on his life in the army while growing to like the town and became a respected by his colleagues and the town for his by the book approach to handling situations and his good relation with the Guard Captain. Throughout the years he made sure that his daughter was given the best education he could afford her with his salary, even on the weekends giving lessons himself. He remains in close contact with his parents who visit every month. Ionathan is looking forward to a life of keeping law and order while letting time heal the wounds of war.
After the "happening" at Waeldeshore, Ionathan took over the family estate in the countryside and established it as a fine farming estate. The workers being retired soldiers and victims of the happenings, live in accommodation around the estate and although the pay is modest, Ionathan provides food, warmth and shelter for those who have suffered. Ionathan put aside his sword and picked up the pen becoming Commissioner of Justice, reforming the guard into a more professional law enforcement body. Being part of a noble family Ionathan was put through an arranged marriage with was easy to arrange due to the fame he gained in fighting the demons, while the couple are not a "lovey dovey" pair they both love each other dearly and have enjoyed there years of marriage which soon gave them a son. Ionathan’s Adopted daughter was accepted by Ionathan’s wife with open arms and now has become the state ambassador traveling around the world promoting friendship and trade between nations. One day Ionathan received a strange letter from Genevieve calling him to once more take up arms, Ionathan immediately informed his wife of the letter and his intent to leave. Although leaving his wife and child to themselves weighted heavy in Ionathan’s heart, he departed several days later.
Alignment- Lawful good |
55,843 | 1,527 | 179 | 2,426 | 2,292 | Scowling, her attention did narrow as she witnessed the woman pierce her own hand and cut a thin line across it surface. As soon as it welled with blood, the figure's eyes expressing her doubt about whatever she was to perform, it became clear that it had indeed succeeded. This however did nothing to please the armored silhouette who kept her distance from both door and witch, her tattered robe and scuffed armor rustling slightly; almost speaking volumes to the irritation that filled the savage soul's heart. It was a vile thing what she had witnessed - what the old hunter could see before her - the woman using blood to fuel magic. Everything within the ranger's spirit, the very essence of her own enchanted blood, simmered with disgust and contained rage.
The usually refined Sakaala's lip quivered slightly, still watching the great gate before them within the cave of tinted metal ores, but more than anything focusing upon Isabeau.
Everything about this ordeal made the sorcerous warrior regret allowing the assassin before her, palm still red with her own blood, to live let alone bring them all here as they were. Anyone, she truly meant it at heart, anyone who dared toy in the magic of blood was truly uninitiated. It served nothing but to ensure she distrusted them wholly; only mortals and more twisted things ever dared make such sacrifices. Blood was power, pure at that, and many more "monstrous" things relied upon that very gift in their flesh. She herself did and to see the way these creatures spread it across some golden metal figure, sacrificing a part of their very essence, drove her to anger.
It was pure arrogance.
"Unsurprising." She growled, her voice low as she came to watch the path before them take shape.
Her strong arm's fingers unfurled from their clenching shape, the elder of the two knights taking stride before her. She would take up the rear guard, for if anyone was going to stand a chance to fend off a mage in surprise, it was another one and a sorcerer at that; someone whose magic was unpredictable, strange and internal. She could only hope the others were so wary as to delve into this den as she was, but she voiced not this concern.
She knew they were likely to be observed now if they were not already and no amount of directing or informing would change that; if trickery were to come to fall on them, there was to be little surprise. These traits, these truths really, filled the aged leonine figure with calm again - the need to focus and to be serene. Hatred was what had killed her people; she would never become that. | Name:
"Sakaala"
Referring to herself as "Sakaala", it is unknown what her name truly is, but there exists reason enough to believe that her assumed name has apparent symbolism, most likely amongst those familiar to her fallen people who placed great value in the meaning of all things, most importantly those belonging to themselves. For those in the know of obscure and arcane cultural history, she is "the finality" or more simply "the last (whole) one", a sobering title that is not only accurate but most disheartening.
Species:
Monstrous Humanoid
The origin and types of monstrous humanoids vary greatly, with some being the product of twisted arcane magic unchecked to others being the work of some divine force. They range from the more "common", as with the minotaur, centaur or harpy, to the more exotic and rare. Sakaala, as well as those who once made up her people, bordered the spectrum of the latter more than the former, being mostly obscure but recorded comparatively well. However, the question of what created a small number of lionmen abroad the realm is unknown, but their kind existed like many monsters before the Age of Mortals, near certainly having an origin many ancient eras past. Only in recent times has this rare bloodline, as with many other unusual beings of similar sorts, all but disappeared after prolonged hunting of "aberrants" by paranoid mortals in the wake of the near successful invasion of the plane.
Age:
47
Although longer lived than most mortal men by virtue of unnatural blood, Sakaala is no youth and certainly no longer in her prime. In spite of these things, as with her natural relatives, she is a remarkable example of longevity which has been extended yet by dabbling in arcane arts and an incredible will to survive.
Description:
Sakaala is distinct in just race alone; owing both to her incredible scale among mortal men, at the height of horse of twenty-two hands, and her overtly leonine features of which are only vaguely humanoid in nature and otherwise quite savage.
Her dense sand tone hide is badly scarred about the right of her body, bearing some wounds of which were so visibly savage that even magical aid has not wholly righted them, but the most notable being the blindness of her right eye. While no less lame in the right arm than blind in the right eye, almost entirely numb, she retains its use by sense of self alone. Ambidextrous in response because of this weakness, her tendency to shore up vulnerabilities is remarkable.
She distinctly conceals the worst of her injuries beneath her partial robe, and outside of the obvious blindness of an eye, her body is in remarkable condition for a female of her growing age, violent history and having bore offspring in previous. While not overtly robust, her musculature is still visible and her strength measurably stronger than many men. Instead of these qualities, she is more remembered for the gold that is the color of her eyes, barring the blindness; they are akin to portals of lingering sadness and fierce resolve - the same lament of failure and animal cry of defiance entwined.
Minimalist in her armoring, Sakaala bears a well worn mithral breastplate upon her chest and a matching pauldron and bracer to her weaker arm, ending it in a fingerless leather glove. Beneath her limited armor she dresses in the remnants of an aged arcanist's robe that ends just beneath her sizable bust, rolling it at the shoulder upon the right limb and let loose upon her strong left arm; the formerly black material having faded to a dusted grey. It, like the rest of her regalia, is undoubtedly salvaged from a fallen friend or a fallen foe, becoming both a prize and a memento. Upon her waist fits a wide tribal belt and battered sash keeping rolled, pressed leather leggings that are accompanied by a pair of slender, exotic daggers worn at the thigh about her lower half. While the belt she adorns herself was once common to her kind, they exist now only as prizes in the hands of grim collectors.
Worn about her neck hangs a morbid reminder of her enemy's hatred for her people - a collection of fangs and claws - which was most certainly pried from the cold, dead grasp of one of her felled foes of which is accompanied by another, not nearly minor trinket; a decorative necklace of polished black stone upon a humble leather loop adorned with smaller decorative pieces. Not keen to speak of the second of the two pieces of finery, she often counts the poached points of her other necklace.
Bearing a true hand-and-a-half elven blade of indeterminate age as her favored weapon, it is uncertain if it were a tool of conflict initially her own or one which she liberated from her would-be killers. Forged of the rare ore mithral, it is polished to an exquisite silvery shine instead of dulled with age about the fine of the blade. Despite its characteristic remarkable lightness and finesse, the weapon is truly designed to be wielded with both hands by its bearer, yet Sakaala's great scale and greater strength allows her to wield it with deadly ease in a single pawed hand. Unnervingly, so much as drawing the blade - let alone swinging it - sets it to ring faintly in a short lived but soft harmonic hum, but more than anything the bite of the sword itself leaves such keen blows that they are almost unsettling to look upon.
Personality and Alignment:
Neutral Good
The benevolent matriarch, her inherently motherly animal nature follows her strongly with the incredible violence, that both magical and mundane, which she is capable of should she or those she considers her own be threatened. Kindly even toward those wary of her, her wrath is not easily provoked, but no threats made against her or those she views as companions are considered just idle. Perhaps unconsciously she tends to the wounded, acquires fresh provisions, and stays awake during watches all to ensure the continued survival of her adoptive company. Aging as she is, she has embraced the role of a vizier and sage, providing great insight and wisdom to those who inquire upon her.
No friend of evil and abiding by her own sense of morality, she is best described as an intellectual and spiritual benefactor.
Skills/Abilities:
Lore Expertise
Having lived such a varied and long life has graced Sakaala with many skills, the most notable is her vast knowledge upon matters ranging from historical events to distant locales, from to forces of nature to arcane mysteries. Self taught, her incredible recollection is imperfect and incomplete, but more often than not her acquired lore is relevant. She specializes in the intellectual categories of arcana, history, nature and locales with little greater knowledge on other matters.
Martial Adept
There are those who achieve martial proficiency through strength of arms alone and then there are those who acquire combat superiority by raw skill. Sakaala's inhuman strength and agility lend well to life lived by the sword, but it is her intuition, intelligence and force of personality that truly make her a deadly foe as she not only understands the principals of conflict, but actively anticipates them with preternatural skill. This so called "blade-magic" is a blend of martial arts, mysticism, and swordplay - at times engaging in impossible feats martial through magic and at others achieved by intense discipline and practice alone. Sakaala makes up for her disabilities by simply being more skillful and magically inclined than most her foes.
Bolstering Presence
While Sakaala is present, her mere warrior nature supernaturally inspires mental resolve and great courage in the face of fear among herself and allies. Effects that attack the mind are weakened, and attempts to intimidate or cause fear are dampened heavily as the body, emotion, mind, and spirit are made hardened against such effects.
Perfect Mind
Honed by intense exposure to offensive magic, Sakaala's force of personality provides her immense leverage against mind-affecting effects. The bane of charms, enchantments and illusions, she often rapidly comes to her senses, especially in the heat of battle or when her companions are threatened. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Steel Wind
This maneuver involves a sudden turn of the blade that lands an otherwise singular blow against one target to also connect with another. A difficult attack to employ in the hands of the untrained, its uncanny speed and incredible finesse work are further augmented by Sakaala's ambidexterity, making her a deadly foe against numbers of enemies, especially the lightly armored. This attack is effectively a single attack against multiple targets. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Wall of Blades
The agility Sakaala can display for brief periods of time even without her magic is unsettling. With lightning speed, Sakaala can counter a single melee or ranged attack, blocking or deflecting the worst of the blow with her own weapon, even in the worst of scenarios with precognition-like intuition. When expended, this ability takes a few moments to recover.
Seasoned Ranger
A born predator, Sakaala was one of many huntresses of her people, no less acting as a wildlands warrior in times of danger when threatened. Having survived alone from these skills for years, she is an able huntress and would be considered expert in the wilderness, capable of even eluding enemies and striking unexpectedly in natural environments. Of her practical skills, she is a trained gatherer of flora and fauna thus able to provide for herself and others in the ways of naturally provided rations, traditional medicine, pure water and various feats of outdoorsmanship. She is difficult to track when being followed and hardly inhibited by natural terrain.
Magic:
Channel Spell
The ability to cast magical spells and effects is no small wonder even in a world where magic is possibility, but the power to do so while accompanying martial maneuvers is another great feat altogether. Able to channel some of her spells through her natural and weapon attacks, she unleashes devastating blows that inflict a variety of other effects on the victims of the attack. Working in conjunction with her supernatural martial arts, she can perform these abilities often in unexpected ways such as casting a single spell and striking multiple foes with its effects at once. She is not only limited to a small selection of spells to channel a day, but cannot do so extensively without becoming exhausted mentally.
Bladeweave
A swing of the sword moves with awesome magical grace and almost rhythmic perfection while giving off glints of faint light. Any creature unfortunate enough to be struck might find itself briefly dazed for a moment of hesitation by the fascinating magical swordsmanship exhibited. Creatures that have already been dazed are just as likely to be dazed again, but those resistant to illusions are not likely to be so awed.
Combustion
A corona of roiling heated air sheathes the blade, leaving waves of intense heat in the wake. A creature or object struck by the weapon discharges the spell, causing the target to instantly ignite in a personal inferno and setting them intensely ablaze for a moment before the magical flames vanish. If hasty or fortunate, a creature can extinguish the lingering non-magical flames left behind - if not careful, they continue to burn with mundane fire until its fuel is exhausted or its air is cut off.
Enfeeblement
An ominous dark green glimmer envelops the weapon's blade and is discharged upon successful strike, magically debilitating the muscular strength of the victim. Each instance of crippled physical might is additive, and creatures depleted of their strength are temporarily paralyzed and rendered helpless. Their lost strength returns minutes later after the last blow endured.
Fatiguing
A faint dullness and aura of immaterial grey shrouds the weapon's blade and is discharged upon a successful blow. The so affected creature is overcome by fatigue, slowing its physical strength and reflexes greatly, but most notably leaving it tired and unable to run. The weight of their debilitation is brief, lasting only a few prolonged moments and once the effects wear off, they are no worse for wear because of it.
Shocking
A scatter of sparks and silent cyan-white lightning shudder about the sword's length, pulling it more accurately toward metal targets. Upon striking, the magical effect discharges with a dull localized clap of thunder and the target is struck by a mighty burst of lightning from the weapon, jarring them. This channeled effect is much more likely to land upon metal targets than those not bearing much metal.
True Strike
A bearer of a weapon to be imbued takes a brief moment to gain precognative insight into their next attack, greatly increasing its likelihood to land, yet this strength comes at the cost of denying the caster action for a moment. Now enchanted for its next blow, it ignores both magical and practical forms of concealment and seems to find the weakest point in the target's defenses. Once it strikes, the benefit ends and the aura of perfect clarity is gone.
Wraithstrike
A phantasmal air surrounds the now shimmering blade which is sheathed in ghostly wisps. For a brief moment, it strikes with deathly accuracy, penetrating conventional defenses such as armor or even benefits such as magical deflectiveness, needing only to merely touch the victim to deal its damage in full as though it were a spirit. Upon striking, the effect ends and the weapon returns to its normal qualities.
Natural Sorceress
As a creature born of magic, the very essence of latent power lies within Sakaala and those that were like her, infused with every ounce of their person. It is from this obscure pool that she draws upon, evoking sorcerous power on whim, but having deeply specialized in doing so; her repertoire of magical spells not vast or complex, but instead practical and martial. She blends the martial arts and swordplay with her magic instead of casting traditional spells by and far, although she can indeed manifest some purely magic effects.
Traditionally, few monstrous humanoids are able mages - instead relying upon their natural superiority to combat magical and mundane threats through sheer force and intuition. Sakaala, in spite of these things and the taboos of her now lost society, has taken up arcane power to compensate for her debilitation and growing age. It is known that many mortals are driven mad by arcane power with time, but many monsters seem no worse for wear.
As with all sorcerers, Sakaala's magic depletes throughout the day when she expends it. Recovering her inherent energy when she rests for a prolonged time, she relies upon measured application of mystic force so not to expend all of her magic in a short time although she is capable of doing so.
Least (0th) Arcane Mark, Amanuensis, Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Message, Prestidigitation, Read Magic, Touch of Fatigue
Lesser (1st) Nerveskitter, Shocking Grasp, Truestrike, Ray of Enfeeblement
Common (2nd) Combust, Bladeweave, Wraithstrike
Great (3rd) Haste, Dispel Magic
Arcane Mark
A visible or invisible permanent mark of magical enchantment is placed upon the target without causing harm. If placed upon a creature, it fades with time over a month. When invisible, it requires a creature that can see invisibility to notice the mark. Otherwise only an effect that detects magic renders the mark visible, but one must be able to read magic as well to understand its meaning, if it even has one.
Amanuensis
An invisible force, when provided with text to read and parchment, begins transcribing the mundane words of another work. The force continues to generate the copied text word for word on to the initially blank parchment, skipping any illustrations and magical enchantments it encounters in its work, leaving their locations empty. While it does not translate the writings, should they be in a language not understood, it does continue to copy them until its duration ends or it pauses, awaiting more parchment.
Detect Magic
The viewer can visually detect magical effects within their line of sight, out to a short distance as glowing radiation. If they wish to concentrate they may separate different auras and determine their strength, and with further concentration attempt to determine the specific spell effect that is active. Powerful magical effects and creatures leave lingering auras, and appear more distinctly upon focus.
Dispel Magic
A powerful, brief burst of nullifying magic affects a creature or object, or dispels an area instantly of any temporary magical effects and interrupts ongoing ones or those being cast. The dispelling affect always targets the most powerful spells first, then attempts to remove the progressively weaker ones of its target. Against a creature casting a spell, this effect causes the spell to immediately fail to cast.
Haste
The caster and nearby allies blur with sudden, lightning fast alacrity, moving with intense speed and reflexes. Their attacks become so rapid they are a near blur of motion, and their movement causes them to shimmer with enchanted speed. Striking more accurately and evading more rapidly, this effect lasts only a few intense prolonged moments.
Mage Hand
An invisible force may manipulate objects through concentration as though it were an extension of its master. Although capable of only lifting light objects, it has the full functionality of a phantasmal hand free of a body, giving it great range of motion. A form of very limited magical psychokinesis, its range is short and it disperses to nothing if it travels far.
Message
A distant conversation may be held at a whispered tone, sent to a small number of selected creatures. Although each may reply individually, the visibly spoken words are sent to all affected individuals. It bypasses line of sight, limited out to several hundred feet, but is stopped by magical silence, dense metal or stone, or several feet of earth or wood. The words spoken are identical to what is being said and do not transcend language barriers.
Nerveskitter
An icy rush races through the blood of the affected individual, spurring them to act or react to danger well before they regularly would be capable. Immediate in effect and its casting, it gives the the creature great precognition for but a moment, allowing them to act with greater initiative. Although limited in range out to a short distance, it heightens the senses and reactions greatly for a crucial few seconds.
Prestidigitation
This effect can generate a wide array of more minor effects, of which are humble yet practical uses of magic. They range from cleaning to dirtying an object, creating minor levitation in small objects, chill or warm slightly, ignite or extinguish mundane flames, create small fragile objects or play ethereal musical notes, and so forth. While it cannot duplicate stronger spells, it perhaps can evoke the illusion of greater magic at play.
Read Magic
Enabling a reader to explicitly read magically concealed text, it can be used to translate runes, scrolls, symbols and other forms of enchanted text. It does not invoke any latent magical effect of the writing, but it allows the reader to no longer require the ability to read that enchanted text through magic, giving them inherent understanding of it.
Backstory:
Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary
By "The Mage", quoted from "Anecdotes of a Reluctant Mercenary", Chapter VI "On the Subject of Sakaala"
"Hunter, warrior, arcanist - over the span of a lifetime one has many varied roles that they might confront, but few ever live them so fully as to explore them in their entirety. She however, has.
Undeniably left with the signs of terrible wounds past, most notably the blindness of her right eye and blatant lameness of the right arm, she has endured trials no one, be them man or beast, should be forced to confront alone. Born an exceptional huntress but appointed a warrior, she served loyally on behalf of her scarce peoples, keeping grim threats beyond, those we do not suffer, at bay. Although she, as with select others among her lot, served admirably on behalf man, not all men were so approving. It was in this she was forced to fight to the last beside those who had become her sisters on an ever losing front, but for all of her skill even she too was felled. She too has felt the bite of defeat... all the more memorable than that of victory.
She does not speak to us about what became of her children, but when you look upon her eyes you see that same hurt of someone with nothing left to her in this world. It is for these reasons she turned to things most men believe left better unknown - the arcane. For one reason or another, perhaps because she is not of mortal stock, she has acquired the capacity to wield this mystic thing as any other weapon. She has made her body, and even her blade, its conduit. It is all almost a direct extension of herself, the way in which she flows like graceful death both natural and magical; the manner in which she ably adapts her styles, be them as subtle as her favored hand to the placement of her feet, even in her age.
I wonder if she is truly satisfied now, watching over us like our matriarch - some relic of a dead people - blessing us with kindness we cannot possibly repay. After all, what could we offer her? We are but mere men; arrogant, brash, foolish and young. What really drives her to aid us in the heat of conflict or tend to our wounds thereafter? A motherhood she still lives vicariously?
Whatever the reason, she has more than earned my faith in her; my admiration for her." |
55,844 | 1,528 | 0 | 2,474 | 33 | The sound of plane engines would have normally drowned out the sound of everything else in the cabin, but that sound was being masked by the two ear buds resting in Murphy's left and right ear. They were black. The two cords, one from each bud, hung down and connected near the bottom of his chest. The cord then traced back down to the Android phone that was tucked away in his right front pocket. The music playing from the ear buds was rap music. That was the kind of music that Murphy was into. Rap. The volume was turned up just high enough for the people sitting beside him to barely hear it. The light tones of Kanye West had irritated Murphy's surrounding passengers shortly after they had ascended from the Orlando International Airport. But no one said anything to Murphy. The two passengers, one on either side of Murphy, had spent most of the flight examining articles and texts on their phone. To his right there sat a business man. Throughout the entire boarding process the business man had been relaxed. Then, just shortly after take off, a text caused his phone to vibrate. From that point on the business man had small amounts of sweat forming around the top of his brow, as well as he had begun to shift around constantly. Something had obviously agitated him. The man on Murphy's left was foreign, or at least looked that way at first. The man was dressed as a tourist. The tourist was taller than Murphy and Asian, as well as pretty thin. At first, Murphy assumed the man did not speak English, so he played his music louder. Then the man shot him a couple of looks. About mid flight, the man ordered a drink from a stewardess, and did so in perfect, non broken, English. Murphy caught most of the exchange and felt a little bit like a racist afterwards, but he brushed on.
The flight had been a long one. A few hours packed in close with strangers also did not help. Before the flight had ended, Murphy had himself become agitated, but was not shifting around as much as the business man. When the flight finally did come to an end, with the plane making a hasty touchdown in Minnesota, Murphy breathed a sigh of relief. There had been a little bit of turbulence on the flight but it had not been too rough. The plane came to a halt at one of the gates. Just a few hours ago Murphy was standing in sunny and hot Florida, now he was standing in rainy Minnesota. It was May, so it was warmer and there was no snow on the ground. But it was still raining. Once the seat belt light went off, Murphy unbuckled his and slid past the tourist to get into the aisle. The tourist shot him a glare as Murphy stumbled past. The music was still playing in his ear. The rugged brown carry-on bag was the only thing that Murphy took with him. Inside it had a change of clothes and some essentials. After lifting the cover that was over the above head storage compartment, Murphy pulled his bag out. It had gotten somewhat stuck and as Murphy yanked it out, he almost struck a woman in the head with it. Murphy quickly pulled one ear bug out and apologized, she just scoffed.
The exit process took about ten minutes, but finally Murphy was in the airport. In his left pocket, the note rested. It was folded into four parts and tucked away. Murphy retrieved it.
"Terminal Under Construction. Noon."
The time was twenty minutes to twelve. He had just enough time to locate the terminal. The airport itself was busy, severely busy. There had to be thousands of people inside of it, or at least that is how Murphy felt. No doubt they were coming and going from vacation. After proceeding down away from the gate and bumping into various people, Murphy finally spotted the terminal that was under construction. There were no construction workers working and no security guards watching it. People passed by it as if it did not exist. But Murphy kept a watchful eye on it, looking to see if anyone was coming out from the terminal. After five minutes of no movement inside of the construction zone, Murphy decided it was best to enter. He pushed past the construction tape and moved the hanging tarp aside. Once Murphy was behind the big black tarp, he was not visible to the general public. The terminal that was under construction looked completely normal, there was not a single sign of construction. It was just a series of hallways, doors, and empty stands. At the end there was a gate, one single gate. Murphy made his way down to the gate. It was like a ghost town in there. It was now ten minutes to noon. There was a nearby bench. Murphy placed his bag on one seat and then sat down next to it. He put the ear bud back in and laid his head back to rest. Ten minutes to go. The anticipation was killing him. At this point Murphy began to wonder.
Did I make a mistake? | Name: Raul Garcia
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Nationality: Venezuelan
Description: Short (around 5'6") with a fixed mean expression. Brown eyes and dark black hair. Dresses in simple and somewhat raggy clothing, flannels, t-shirts, etc
Hometown: Caracas, Venezuela
Occupation: Part of a family who is a major player in the infamous organized crime networks of Venezuela. Has been involved in criminality from adolescence
Biography:
Raul grew up in a poor neighborhood in Caracas, the murder capital of Venezuela and one of the most dangerous places on Earth. The Garcia family held a large stake in the drug trade; Raul and his brothers were an integral part of the family business from a very young age. Because of this, life in Caracas was even more dangerous for him than the average citizen, and on multiple occasions attempts were made to kidnap or kill him. He knew that his father was a business-minded man who would never pay a ransom or give an inch to any captors in exchange for his life, which made him all the more tenacious in his attempts to escape when the time came to run. The stronghold that the Garcia's had on Caracas was finally broken when a rival outfit began expanding and taking out major player's in his father's cartel. When his father was killed, he was set to take over, but instead he chose to follow the instructions of a mysterious letter that seemed to come at an almost perfect time. Perhaps it was a setup, but Raul was hungry for a way out of a young death, his only regret was leaving his two younger brothers behind. He gave each brother some money and told them to leave Caracas before disappearing on a plane which he only hoped would lead to a new life.
Other:
- Raul considers himself at a crossroads, he did not enjoy the awful things he witnessed and had to do as part of an organized crime cartel, but criminality is almost second nature to him at this point. He has never lived on the right side of the law.
- At a young age he acted impulsively killed an older woman who happened to witness him and his brothers robbing a store, and since then the memory haunts him utterly. He hates himself for what he did and still has nightmares about her regularly.
- Raul wants to keep his past a secret. He is trying to move on with his life, which is the only reason he took a leap on an anonymous, strange letter.
- He is really sensitive about his height, not many things will make him want to throw punches quicker than a reference to his short stature
- He may seem off-putting at first, but if he warms up to someone and trusts them he can be extremely loyal
- Raul can speak English, but does have a thick accent |
55,845 | 1,528 | 1 | 2,474 | 33 | Alan brought his laptop to the airport. He had a nagging feeling that perhaps this said something about him but he chose to ignore it. The immediate physical danger was more his concern. Though it was more like hypothetical physical danger. Days after receiving the letter Alan calmed down considerably. Though he no longer held the strange hope and fear the letter had awakened, he still made the plans, still boarded the plane, still brought his laptop.
The place was buzzing with activity and it made Alan feel whole. He loved being in the center of a large crowd. The movement of people felt like the entire world breathing to him which helped him to walk a little taller, move a little faster and smile a little easier. Whatever nutjob he found in the terminal would be charmed as hell even if it did end up being a massive waste of Alan's time. Really it was the whole aesthetic of such public areas that he loved. The small shops selling cinnamon buns, families separating, reuniting, and a calm voice telling everyone where to go and what to expect when they got there. An airport is just humanity at it's most efficient.
Approaching the meeting place Alan's heartbeat immediately sped. However the mundanity of the other people there helped to calm him. Either one of them had something to say to him or the whole thing was a hoax. The gears started turning in his head immediately as to how he could turn wasting over a hundred bucks just to find no one there into an article.
"Is there any chance one of you is waiting for me?" He said almost apologetically to the people sitting silently in front of him. | Name: Raul Garcia
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Nationality: Venezuelan
Description: Short (around 5'6") with a fixed mean expression. Brown eyes and dark black hair. Dresses in simple and somewhat raggy clothing, flannels, t-shirts, etc
Hometown: Caracas, Venezuela
Occupation: Part of a family who is a major player in the infamous organized crime networks of Venezuela. Has been involved in criminality from adolescence
Biography:
Raul grew up in a poor neighborhood in Caracas, the murder capital of Venezuela and one of the most dangerous places on Earth. The Garcia family held a large stake in the drug trade; Raul and his brothers were an integral part of the family business from a very young age. Because of this, life in Caracas was even more dangerous for him than the average citizen, and on multiple occasions attempts were made to kidnap or kill him. He knew that his father was a business-minded man who would never pay a ransom or give an inch to any captors in exchange for his life, which made him all the more tenacious in his attempts to escape when the time came to run. The stronghold that the Garcia's had on Caracas was finally broken when a rival outfit began expanding and taking out major player's in his father's cartel. When his father was killed, he was set to take over, but instead he chose to follow the instructions of a mysterious letter that seemed to come at an almost perfect time. Perhaps it was a setup, but Raul was hungry for a way out of a young death, his only regret was leaving his two younger brothers behind. He gave each brother some money and told them to leave Caracas before disappearing on a plane which he only hoped would lead to a new life.
Other:
- Raul considers himself at a crossroads, he did not enjoy the awful things he witnessed and had to do as part of an organized crime cartel, but criminality is almost second nature to him at this point. He has never lived on the right side of the law.
- At a young age he acted impulsively killed an older woman who happened to witness him and his brothers robbing a store, and since then the memory haunts him utterly. He hates himself for what he did and still has nightmares about her regularly.
- Raul wants to keep his past a secret. He is trying to move on with his life, which is the only reason he took a leap on an anonymous, strange letter.
- He is really sensitive about his height, not many things will make him want to throw punches quicker than a reference to his short stature
- He may seem off-putting at first, but if he warms up to someone and trusts them he can be extremely loyal
- Raul can speak English, but does have a thick accent |
55,846 | 1,529 | 0 | 1,490 | 9,282 | ((Whoops)) | > >
> > Name: wanye acalcone
> > age: 38
> > Title: wine maker
> > Family/relations: nada, unless others ask otherwise
> > Living position: closer tonthe mountain and just ouside of town, lives in a sizable brick house with swanky oak interior. He also owns both a cellar deep underground with ironically named wines in fruity and classy glasses and a garden of grapes, not large but big enough to keep him running.
> > Personality:wanye is a jolly man, and a practical pasifist. He always finds tries to find a way to make people's day, even if that means losing his own gain. Despite this in his own house he is rude. Blunt. And a terrible host, added to his raunchy sense of humor, laughable attempts at swindling and suprising lack of showmenship he can be a pain when a common acquaintance.
> > backstory:In his old land he was the apprentice to a great geneticist but lost his repect for his teacher when hearing of him being a possible traitor. Do to this he left the man's side and returned to his family to begin working on there farm, splicing plants into hybrids in order to create better harvest. All his wonder back at home was lost however when he was drafted with his father to fight in a war. Here he fought diligantly but in fear of taking a life never did so. Returning home he was told his father did not survive. With this adding to night terrors of his war time and the untimely death of his mother who drowned while traveling to the city he sold off the farm ge grew up in and bought land elsewere to start a new.
> > likes: kids, alcohol, females, reading, and the wilderness
> > Dislikes: fights, magic, needles, electronics and neat freaks
> > In game birthmas: october 27
>
>
> I had to quote this to read this.
> "Birthmas"
>
So used to saying thay with myfreinds it must have squeezed in there sorry |
55,847 | 1,529 | 1 | 993 | 1,646 | (This is the IC bud...) | ![]( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Iago Wester
**Gender:** Male
**Age:** 28
**Title:** Doctor
**Family/Relationships:** None right now!
**Living Location:** Clinic
**Personality:** Teasing and full of laughs, Iago is definitely not your stereotypical doctor. Between poor taste jokes and actually diagnosis, it is hard to tell if there's something wrong with your body or not during an examination. Regardless of his playful nature, one cannot deny that he does his job well and that he is a man full of kindness who cannot let others suffer, so most of his services are for free, only the most illogical and unnecesary, like stocking potions for an adventure, are the ones he charges for. Also, don't ask about the eye patch, you will always have in return some kind of spooky story of why you shouldn't play with knives, or an overfantastical tale of Iago's adventures before he became a doctor (Which aren't true).
**Backstory:** Iago learnt his profession from his parents, a pair of doctors who were both very proud of their professions. Since he was a kid, he has always been as carefree and teasing as he is now, and so, he loved to play around with his parents medical instruments, things a kid should play with. One day, curious of what he could do with an scalpel, he clumsily fell down while running with one in his hand. He was lucky enough not to gouge his eye out, but he still cut over his eye. It left an ugly scar and a big life lesson for Iago. While it is not that he cannot see with his left eye, he still covers it with an eye patch so that no one has to see his ugly scar.
**Likes/Dislikes:** Helping others, teasing others, medicine, experimenting with things/The scar on his left eye, reckless kids who don't listen to the adults, staying put.
**In game birthday:** Winter 18 |
55,848 | 1,529 | 2 | 1,883 | 2,265 | Meanwhile in "The Tree Sap" (The Name of Travis's Bar)
Travis began to stir and wake, not from any sun entering his backroom (Not a window to be found within the small, dense smelly room he called home) but by several drops of water that dropped upon his face from the leaky pipes of his bar. He had no idea what the liquid was, all he knew was this leak was the perfect alarm clock to wake him before his competitors. (Especially his biggest, which just so happened to be right across from his bar.)
"Ugh." Travis muttered to himself, "What day is it?".
Suddenly a ray of light comes in to his room through a hole in his roof, making a flower sprout from a patch of dirt in his floor. One of the pet rats (Which he has named Bob) decides to chew it up as his breakfast.
"Ah yes. It's the First of Spring. And you know what that means Bob." Travis tells the filthy rat, the rat just squeaks.
"Of course! The annual drinking competition!" Travis happily declares as he gets on his "Nice Travis" clothes. "The one time where all these idiots gather around and drink till all but one passes out! A perfect opportunity to get the name of "THE TREE SAP!" into the minds of everyone in this town."
He heads out toward his stock and begins rolling some barrels to the center of town. (A simple walk for him, thanks to his prime location of his business) Since there were not very many people around, he did a rare act and let Bob outside so he could use him as a marker and set up the tables, chairs, and alcohol barrels for the drinking competition.
"And" Travis thought to himself "When these people starting fainting, the hero known as Travis Rollins will accompany the drunken ones back to their home, send them to bed. And steal their fortunes right under their noses! This will be a cinch, if this works, I may be able to retire before Winter."
Travis chuckles to himself and he continues to set up shop. "Best of all, no one to steal my spotlight as head barkeep in this town." Travis happily muttered to himself. | Name: Keita Feild
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Title: Singer and Waitress at the town bar
Family/Relationships: Family In the city
Living Location: Upstairs in the bar
Personality: Keita is normally shy and only talks in gestures, as if she was deaf. Only trusting her closest of friends, she never says a word until she is up on stage singing in the evening where she lets loose her bottled up emotions. Keita acts kind of slow and dimwitted, but this is just an illusion. She is very intelligent and loves to read in her spare time, on occasion she will take naps during the day because of her insomnia keeping her up at night.
Backstory: Keita grew up in the big city with her large family of nine. Six brothers, herself, her mother and father. Not really getting the attention she wished for, she buried her head in books and schoolwork, making her the academic star of the family. She didn't have the courage to make friends at school and a lot of the time kept to herself, this trait is still with her even to this day. Rather than staying in the city, Keita decide to move to the country as she couldn't afford to keep herself in the city, both economically and physically. Once she had moved to the country with the help of her parents, she realised she didn't have the money to stay at an inn, but she did manage to get a job at the local bar. When the barkeep found out about her predicament, they allowed her to stay in a spare room upstairs, some of the money from her paycheck would then be taxed as rent.
Likes: Fruit Parfait, Strawberry Chocolate, Honey Pudding. Reading, singing, sweets.
Dislikes: The taste of pumpkin, cats, juice, talking.
In game birthday: Autumn 01
!( "enter image title here") |
55,849 | 1,529 | 3 | 2,033 | 9,406 | Morning. Usually, mornings for her meant waking up to a shouting harpy of an aunt telling her to get her butt out of bed or she'd be turned into a toad for being lazy. Well, that was the usual until two years ago, and any training she had in getting up early had flown promptly out the window when she left. The witch known as Lucille Verity Prolux was still asleep as the sun began to rise on a new day. Well, if what she was doing could be called 'sleeping'. Currently, it looked as though she half fell out of her bed in the middle of the night. The back of her head was currently resting on the floor while the rest of her was still perched awkwardly on the bed.
That is, until a bird began pecking at her window. She woke with a start, letting out a small squeal of terror in the process.
**"No! Not the nachos! Anything but the nachos! I want to live!"** her upper body jerked upwards...or attempted to. Instead of sitting up, it looked like she was trying to do some type sit up on the edge of her bed. Unfortunately, gravity didn't let that happen for long. Her head hit the floor with a thud, causing a wave of pain through her entire body. Unfortunately, the force of gravity saw to it that the rest of her body came along with her this time. Her legs ended up on top of her as she looked up at the ceiling.
**"Owwwwieeee..."** She whined, as she righted herself and rubbed the back of her head where a bruise was forming. Wait a minute...where was she? How'd she get here? Did the evil nacho people get her?! Oh wait...no, that's silly. Nacho people don't exist. Right, right, she was at an Inn in a quaint little town she had stumbled upon while travelling. She stood with a smile as she looked about the room she had rented. It was simple, with just the basic necessities. She wasn't one much for extravagant surroundings, unlike Auntie. Well, today was the first day of Spring, which meant it was a new year! She had only been in town for a few days, and she had spent most of the time indoors trying to get used to the place. Now that it was Spring, it would be a good idea to get a look around town and get to know people. She hoped they were friendly....
She threw on her usual attire which consisted of a black tanktop that looked like something out of some manga or fantasy novel, a short white cloak that hooked onto the tanktop with a blue sapphire gem, gloves, some almost ridiculously short shorts, and boots. Ah, can't forget her hat or bracelets either. And the most important thing? A small wand she used to perform magic tricks with. Yes, that's right, magic. Not just smoke and mirrors either. Magic. Conjuring fire out of nowhere and turning people into toads. That type of magic. Not that she would ever show anyone her talents...or that they would ever really believe her.
In any case, now that she was fully dressed, she left the Inn with a cheery smile on her face as she headed for town square. That would be the best place to meet people and get to know them. After getting turned around a few times, she finally made it to the square, not surprised to see a few other people already there. She should probably introduce herself to them - they looked friendly. Even the one with the creepy eye patch. | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,850 | 1,529 | 4 | 993 | 1,646 | After finishing his work in setting up shop, Travis sends Bob back into the bar before anyone can truly associate the two together.
"Ah. Now that's done. Let's see what else is there to see."
Travis took a scan of the town center, currently the only thing that has caught his eye however is lovely singer that seems to hanging up some decorations. (And BOY does he like the view he has) So he slicks his hair back, checks his breath, and begins his persona of the kind, friendly, charismatic barkeep. Travis heads toward the woman, planning his plot to win her over.
"Good Day, my fair lady." Travis begins. "I hope you pardon my interruption, but I could not help but take notice of your outstanding beauty.
I am Travis Rollins, owner and barkeep for "The Tree Sap", and I am truly honored to make the acquaintance of such a stunning gem of an individual." | ![]( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Iago Wester
**Gender:** Male
**Age:** 28
**Title:** Doctor
**Family/Relationships:** None right now!
**Living Location:** Clinic
**Personality:** Teasing and full of laughs, Iago is definitely not your stereotypical doctor. Between poor taste jokes and actually diagnosis, it is hard to tell if there's something wrong with your body or not during an examination. Regardless of his playful nature, one cannot deny that he does his job well and that he is a man full of kindness who cannot let others suffer, so most of his services are for free, only the most illogical and unnecesary, like stocking potions for an adventure, are the ones he charges for. Also, don't ask about the eye patch, you will always have in return some kind of spooky story of why you shouldn't play with knives, or an overfantastical tale of Iago's adventures before he became a doctor (Which aren't true).
**Backstory:** Iago learnt his profession from his parents, a pair of doctors who were both very proud of their professions. Since he was a kid, he has always been as carefree and teasing as he is now, and so, he loved to play around with his parents medical instruments, things a kid should play with. One day, curious of what he could do with an scalpel, he clumsily fell down while running with one in his hand. He was lucky enough not to gouge his eye out, but he still cut over his eye. It left an ugly scar and a big life lesson for Iago. While it is not that he cannot see with his left eye, he still covers it with an eye patch so that no one has to see his ugly scar.
**Likes/Dislikes:** Helping others, teasing others, medicine, experimenting with things/The scar on his left eye, reckless kids who don't listen to the adults, staying put.
**In game birthday:** Winter 18 |
55,851 | 1,529 | 5 | 2,033 | 9,406 | Lucy had started to approach the duo of people, who recently became a trio when one of them came out of a building. She couldn't hear what was being said all that clearly as she approached, but it seemed like they were making friendly small talk. She wondered how exactly she should introduce herself. Should she go for the energetic and spunky approach, or the friendly quiet one? Maybe a mix? energetically quiet?...scratch that one. It might be a bit hard to be energetically quiet, so she settled on her normal friendly and somewhat loud greeting.
**"Hellooo!~"** She cheerfully shouted as she approached the group of people, still some distance way. **"Sorry, I'm kinda new in town and I was-"** And that's when she saw it.
The evil little pointy thing from the pits of the deepest parts of hell. She stopped mid sentence, her cheerful smile slowly turning into one of utter terror, little beads of cold sweat began to form on her forehead. What was this nice looking man doing with a tool of such unholy evil as a syringe? He...he couldn't be a _doctor_, could he? Those accursed infidels who practice the dark arts of science, could they?
**"Uh...uhm..."** She tripped over her words as her mind tried to recollect itself and tried to pry her eyes off of the medical instrument. "**I-im kind of new in town and...and was wondering if...if any of you uhm...knew of..."** She couldn't take it any more. She couldn't take her eyes off of the instrument in front of her. **"knewofanyplaceIcouldgetabook!"** she rapidly squeaked out. She had meant to ask if there was any place she could get a good book - like a library, but that syringe...just completely threw her off. | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,852 | 1,529 | 6 | 1,046 | 4,333 | Having woken a bit later than usual, Sophie scrambled to get breakfast made so that she could eat and get on with her usual chores. She'd spent the New Years Night reading a rather interesting book and the book decided it wanted to be read in it's entirety that night, so Sophie happily obliged. And now she was paying the price...
As she finished putting the eggs on the pan, she turned and rubbed her tired eyes and began looking for Kiri. Before she knew it, she smelled the tall-tale signs of eggs being burnt and wheeled around to take the pan off of the burner. However, as she did so, the eggs went slide off of the pan and fell into Kiri's near by food bowl.
Rather ironically, this is when the feline friend decided to make herself seen as she trotted over to see the new found contents of her food dish. Upon seeing the rather dark eggs, the cat turned a nose up at Sophie as if to say, "Really?" and then trotted away.
The poor girl simply sighed, resigned to her fate and cleaned up Kiri's food disk, putting fresh cat food in there for her. Soon, she was back again and having her fill as Sophie cleaned and put away her failed attempt at a nice breakfast. Instead, she settled for cereal, hoping that it also wasn't an endeavor too difficult for her.
A few minutes later, Sophie was sitting, staring at her empty bowl of cereal when she suddenly realized what all she still needed to get done. Quickly, she washed the bowl in the sink and put it away before making her way downstairs.
First, she grabbed the broom and dustpan and began sweeping, making her way through the second floor, to the first, and then the front porch where she stayed for a few minutes, enjoying the view as she hummed a small tune her grandmother had taught her to raise her spirits. | !( "Sophie")
**Name:** Sophie Golden
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 18
**Title:** Librarian
**Family/Relationships:** Sophie lives by herself now that her grandmother passed away, leaving the local library in her hands. The only other living family she has is an aunt that lives a ways away.
Sophie's one true love is the cat that normally roams the halls of the Library. It's a female cream colored short hair cat named Kiri (Since the name sounds so much like 'Kitty'.) She found the poor girl stranded behind her library one cold and wet afternoon and decided to let her into the Library.
**Living Location:** Top floor of the three story library which looks akin to a very old house. It was her grandmother's house which was converted into a library when her grandfather passed away. (He passed away rather early on and Sophie and her grandmother had been living in the library for a few years before she passed.
**Personality:** A gentle girl, Sophie often has a hard time forming the right words. She is very shy and will stumble on her words more often than not. She gets flustered very easily and tends to become more and more clumsy as her embarrassment grows. However, she enjoys talking to the people that visit the Library.
She is also very tuned into the outdoors and when given the chance, will always be outdoors, reading under the nearby tree.
**Backstory:** Sophie grew up an orphan. However, when she was five years old, the orphanage got a call from an old woman, claiming to be Sophie's grandmother. A few inquiries later and Sophie was sent home with Mr. and Ms. Golden. Sophie later found out that her mother had been a single mother who grew very ill after giving Sophie up for adoption and later died. When Ms. Golden finally decided to go through her daughter's things, she found photos of Sophie and immediately went to work searching for the small girl.
Ever since then, Sophie has been living with the Golden's. Her grandfather was the old barkeep and her grandmother had been a nanny before she retired.
**Likes/Dislikes:**
Likes - Sunshine, Plants, Books, Kind People, Sweet Food
Dislikes - Dishonesty, Rain, Thunder, Spicy Food
**In game birthday:** Autumn/Fall 22
:3 |
55,853 | 1,529 | 7 | 1,883 | 2,265 | Keita felt uneasy, she'd never seen seen this guy before... Strange that he felt it necessary to come up and introduce himself to her.
Apparently he was a local bartender, infact he was the owner of the revival bar next to the one she worked at.
Keita frowned.
She looked at him. Then gestured a small hello with a tiny wave and confused face.
The doctor joined in the conversation, with his usual teasing tone and boisterous voice he said a hearty hello. ... Then asked if anybody wanted a shot.
Keita giggled.
She shook her head.
(No thank you)
Keita gestured towards the tables, pretending to flex like a muscular being than pointing to the two boys.
(You boys' look rather strong, could you lend a hand?)
Keita Smiled. | Name: Keita Feild
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Title: Singer and Waitress at the town bar
Family/Relationships: Family In the city
Living Location: Upstairs in the bar
Personality: Keita is normally shy and only talks in gestures, as if she was deaf. Only trusting her closest of friends, she never says a word until she is up on stage singing in the evening where she lets loose her bottled up emotions. Keita acts kind of slow and dimwitted, but this is just an illusion. She is very intelligent and loves to read in her spare time, on occasion she will take naps during the day because of her insomnia keeping her up at night.
Backstory: Keita grew up in the big city with her large family of nine. Six brothers, herself, her mother and father. Not really getting the attention she wished for, she buried her head in books and schoolwork, making her the academic star of the family. She didn't have the courage to make friends at school and a lot of the time kept to herself, this trait is still with her even to this day. Rather than staying in the city, Keita decide to move to the country as she couldn't afford to keep herself in the city, both economically and physically. Once she had moved to the country with the help of her parents, she realised she didn't have the money to stay at an inn, but she did manage to get a job at the local bar. When the barkeep found out about her predicament, they allowed her to stay in a spare room upstairs, some of the money from her paycheck would then be taxed as rent.
Likes: Fruit Parfait, Strawberry Chocolate, Honey Pudding. Reading, singing, sweets.
Dislikes: The taste of pumpkin, cats, juice, talking.
In game birthday: Autumn 01
!( "enter image title here") |
55,854 | 1,529 | 8 | 550 | 306 | Estelle rolled out of her bed, hitting the floor with a whack. "Ow" her muffled voice said against the floor. Another all nighter writing on her deadline, but she had submitted it and it was on its way to publishing. She blindly reached out to her bedside table to take her thick glasses, placing them on her face, taking in her surroundings.
The place reeked of frustration and days without coming out of her attic. She drew back the curtains she had closed whenever she was writing, and squinted as the light filled the room, and looked out to the lush green town. She sighed, she was going to have to close these curtains soon to finish on the grand finale for her series, which required to be 2 times thicker than all her other novels, and required two new people for the end to start off the next series, which would also be another week or ten stuffed in her attic.
Of course, she had to head out today to stack up on a months supply of food, and inspiration for her novels. She figured for the last novel the two would be in a beach setting, and planned to get a better perspective from sunset rather than midday. Estelle was moved to this quiet town to focus on her work, even though she still struggled with meeting the deadlines she deemed always out to get her, but every time she published a work she got two days to recover before she went up to the attic, enough to prepare and get proper inspiration. She stumbled into the bathroom and showered for a good while before getting out, her hair still messy and disorganized as ever. She pulled into her usual clothes, and didn't notice she put in mismatching socks before stumbling downstairs to the lobby of the inn.
She never really got the know the residents well because of her days in the attic, and she didn't even know if her novels were sold here. She hoped not, she didn't really want to be pulled in as the source of such steamy BL fantasies, though she loved to write them. The town was definitely quieter than her small apartment in the city, and she liked that, but the one thing she did not like was the abundance of farm animals and animals in general. Animals had never gotten along with her and she had never gotten along with animals. They all pushed her into things or over things, and this had forced her into a downright fear of any form of living thing that wasn't human. "Morning" she sleepily mumbled to herself, stumbling outside to get a breath of fresh air. | Oh, I hadn't realized this was here
Good eye!
----
!( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Clarience Amabillis
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 21
**Title:** Artist/Painter
**Family/Relationships:** None at the moment, she's too busy painting. She has little contact with her family, of course they do send letters back and forth occasionally.
**Living Location:** Art Store
**Personality:** Seemingly very distant, she looks to be very detached from world at times. A forlorn expression is usually present and she tends to be very enigmatic. Often nicknamed the Ice Queen.
True to her nature, she tends to be quite lax and takes frequent naps throughout the day and often pushes her responsibilities aside. This has caused more than enough trouble for her as she often skips out on many important business and/or potential sales in her art pieces.
**Backstory:** Clarience moved here to paint the scenery around her, she is often times seen carrying around a canvas and paint supplies when she isn't in her shop. She has trouble associating herself to the townspeople but they know that she exists.
Her family had wanted her to hold up the doctoring business, however the young girl wasn't fond of such a life and left to pursue her dream. Although she did disappoint her family, they still supported her with her career and helped her when money grew thin.
**Likes/Dislikes:** She enjoys painting - of course -, and has an affinity for small details - The petals of a flower, fresh dew on grass, etc. -, she is quite fond of warm things such as sweaters or blankets and hugging is also a big plus since people are practically walking heaters. She extremely dislikes talkative people, and will most likely fall asleep when they speak with her.
**In game birthday:** Spring 6th |
55,855 | 1,529 | 9 | 993 | 1,646 | Travis could already tell that Patchy would be trouble. He may not be on to his scheme, but he's mocking his attitude, and that means either annoyance or trouble. Not only that, but he got a giggle out of the girl.
Considering the syringe he pulled out, he must be a doctor of some kind. Travis let his mind calculator start working.
(Inside the inner mind of Travis Rollins)
"Doctor=Money, Hitting on Woman=Single, Single=No one is at his house, Empty House=Easy to Loot.
By the money theory, this means that Patchy is going to make a generous donation to me."
Travis smirked, coincidentally at the same time the silent girl finished her charades, judging by the last motions (A point to the tables, muscle flexing, and pointing at us) she wanted he and Patchy to do some kind of chore for her.
"I believe I understand, you want us to grab some of these heavy ornaments and place them like you are doing now? Not a problem at all!"
Just then, another female entered, Travis believed he had made the correct choice, since so many beautiful women seemed to have resided in this one area. He decided to "Help" her as well. He turned to Patchy.
"Excuse me good sir. I feel awful for leaving a responsibility I had promised no less than 30 seconds ago, however the girl seems to be in a bit of a fix. I'll return to this task as soon as she seems calmer. But I would love to continue a conversation with you. Ta-ta"
Travis excused himself and walked toward the woman who looked quite a bit like a witch. "Ok, so the woman's insane" he thought to himself, "However, that's a nice looking gem connecting her coat, and the coat doesn't look that bad either. I think I'll make a quick pick-up before I move onto Patchy."
Travis approached the witchy girl more cautiously than he did the other one. Seeing her appear more nervous.
"Hello there," Travis began. "I apologize if anything my newly discovered acquaintances or I have done scared you."
Travis motioned to the kegs and table. "I happen to be new here as well, Let's try this again over a drink. Hello, my name is Travis Rollins, the owner and barkeep of "The Tree Sap" the extraordinary new bar that's sponsoring this year's drinking contest. May I please ask your name?" | ![]( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Iago Wester
**Gender:** Male
**Age:** 28
**Title:** Doctor
**Family/Relationships:** None right now!
**Living Location:** Clinic
**Personality:** Teasing and full of laughs, Iago is definitely not your stereotypical doctor. Between poor taste jokes and actually diagnosis, it is hard to tell if there's something wrong with your body or not during an examination. Regardless of his playful nature, one cannot deny that he does his job well and that he is a man full of kindness who cannot let others suffer, so most of his services are for free, only the most illogical and unnecesary, like stocking potions for an adventure, are the ones he charges for. Also, don't ask about the eye patch, you will always have in return some kind of spooky story of why you shouldn't play with knives, or an overfantastical tale of Iago's adventures before he became a doctor (Which aren't true).
**Backstory:** Iago learnt his profession from his parents, a pair of doctors who were both very proud of their professions. Since he was a kid, he has always been as carefree and teasing as he is now, and so, he loved to play around with his parents medical instruments, things a kid should play with. One day, curious of what he could do with an scalpel, he clumsily fell down while running with one in his hand. He was lucky enough not to gouge his eye out, but he still cut over his eye. It left an ugly scar and a big life lesson for Iago. While it is not that he cannot see with his left eye, he still covers it with an eye patch so that no one has to see his ugly scar.
**Likes/Dislikes:** Helping others, teasing others, medicine, experimenting with things/The scar on his left eye, reckless kids who don't listen to the adults, staying put.
**In game birthday:** Winter 18 |
55,856 | 1,529 | 10 | 2,033 | 9,406 | **"Mmm cake.."**. Drools formed quickly on Juliet's pillow. A little bird chirped cheerfully from the dressing mirror across her bedroom. Apparently Juliet fell asleep without shutting the window first. The little bird then flew and perched on Juliet's forehead, staring curiously at the girl smiling with her eyes shut tightly beneath it's feet. Juliet slowly opened her eyes, she felt something strange on her forehead. **"Ughh.. wha.. cake? Is that y- OH GOD"** Both of them, Juliet and the bird, were startled at each other. Juliet sat right away on her bed with her hair as a hot mess, and the bird flew back to the dressing mirror. Juliet looked at the bird and smiled, **"Oh I'm sorry to scare you, little one. Thanks for waking me up!"**. Juliet then jumped energetically out of the bed and took a bath. Finished bathing, she went back to her room with towels wrapping her body and hair. She put on her favorite jeans shorts, plain white T-shirt, plaid shirt as a jacket, and a pair of black dock boots. She woke up too late to open the store, so she decided to let it be and take a walk around the village instead. She needs much wind to dry her hair anyway, so she opened the door and headed out. **"I'm out, Bob."** She said as she walked past the sleeping cat near the cash register. Bob flicked his tail gently as a sign that he heard her, then continued to sleep soundly on the register desk.
The spring breeze gently caress her cheeks, and slowly blows the dampness out of her hair. The almost-noon morning was pleasant. A perfect weather to meet and talk with people. It was almost a festival day, so the town square is where she was heading right away. There must be people gathering there to decorate the area or something. Perfect place to socialize while helping people around.
And she was right. A small bunch of people was gathering at the town square. Juliet hyped up a little and trotted to approach the group. **"Hello, townsfolk! How are you guys today?"** She chirped from quite a distance, loud enough for the people to hear. She walked towards the group, but quickly spotted something shiny on one of the guys' hands. It looked menacing, made her stop her steps right behind the nervous-looking girl. Her bright smile was gone right away. **"What is that? I mean- uh.. I know its a syringe.. But.. uh.. Can you put it away? Um.. Please?"** Her voice shaken, couldn't take her eyes away from the evil thing. | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,857 | 1,529 | 11 | 550 | 306 | Estelle looked up, blinking a little to register what was happening. **"Hm...? Scare me...? I wouldn't believe so..."** Estelle rubbed her eyes and then looked down at what she was wearing. Her eyes widened as she tugged at the outfit. Where did she even get these clothes? Well, no matter. It was comfortable to wear, and that was all that mattered. **"Hm... A drink? I guess I'll have milk, if you have any of that?"** Estelle didn't really like alcohol. It blocked the thought process for her and it made her sound like an idiot. **"My name's Estelle. Estelle Jacaranda."** She introduced herself with a light nod. This was a rather active start to the morning, she had no idea so many people were moving in already.
Had someone already knew who she was. She was kind of fearful now, She didn't want to get weird looks and awkward silence like whenever she visited her family. **"Well... Actually I don't really have the faintest idea where the Library is... But if you want to borrow I novel I wouldn't mind at all..."** Estelle mumbled, taking off her hat and gripping it in embarrassment. Her lack of social interaction over the last writing spree hadn't done much to her social skills but made them worse. | Oh, I hadn't realized this was here
Good eye!
----
!( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Clarience Amabillis
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 21
**Title:** Artist/Painter
**Family/Relationships:** None at the moment, she's too busy painting. She has little contact with her family, of course they do send letters back and forth occasionally.
**Living Location:** Art Store
**Personality:** Seemingly very distant, she looks to be very detached from world at times. A forlorn expression is usually present and she tends to be very enigmatic. Often nicknamed the Ice Queen.
True to her nature, she tends to be quite lax and takes frequent naps throughout the day and often pushes her responsibilities aside. This has caused more than enough trouble for her as she often skips out on many important business and/or potential sales in her art pieces.
**Backstory:** Clarience moved here to paint the scenery around her, she is often times seen carrying around a canvas and paint supplies when she isn't in her shop. She has trouble associating herself to the townspeople but they know that she exists.
Her family had wanted her to hold up the doctoring business, however the young girl wasn't fond of such a life and left to pursue her dream. Although she did disappoint her family, they still supported her with her career and helped her when money grew thin.
**Likes/Dislikes:** She enjoys painting - of course -, and has an affinity for small details - The petals of a flower, fresh dew on grass, etc. -, she is quite fond of warm things such as sweaters or blankets and hugging is also a big plus since people are practically walking heaters. She extremely dislikes talkative people, and will most likely fall asleep when they speak with her.
**In game birthday:** Spring 6th |
55,858 | 1,529 | 12 | 1,883 | 2,265 | Well, the sleaze from before totally blew off helping. How annoying, thought Keita. Though, Doctor Iago stayed to help. That was good, with his help the decorations for the festival would be finished much quicker.
The good doctor gestured his strong muscles which made Keita smile again.
Asking her where to place things she used her usual gestures to symbolize lifting, pinning and placement.
(Well the tables go there, some of the streamers go here... I'm sure we can figure it out)
Placing her finger on her lip she thought a bit. Peering just behind him was a girl who she had seen around the town from once before. The girl was lying on the ground deathly afraid of the needle that Iago, twiddled in his fingers.
Keita walked over to her and waved. She turned back to Iago. Signaling him to put it away, just for a bit.
(Hello. Its nice to meet you. Doctor, you're freaking her out. Perhaps you should just put that away for a little while...) | Name: Keita Feild
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Title: Singer and Waitress at the town bar
Family/Relationships: Family In the city
Living Location: Upstairs in the bar
Personality: Keita is normally shy and only talks in gestures, as if she was deaf. Only trusting her closest of friends, she never says a word until she is up on stage singing in the evening where she lets loose her bottled up emotions. Keita acts kind of slow and dimwitted, but this is just an illusion. She is very intelligent and loves to read in her spare time, on occasion she will take naps during the day because of her insomnia keeping her up at night.
Backstory: Keita grew up in the big city with her large family of nine. Six brothers, herself, her mother and father. Not really getting the attention she wished for, she buried her head in books and schoolwork, making her the academic star of the family. She didn't have the courage to make friends at school and a lot of the time kept to herself, this trait is still with her even to this day. Rather than staying in the city, Keita decide to move to the country as she couldn't afford to keep herself in the city, both economically and physically. Once she had moved to the country with the help of her parents, she realised she didn't have the money to stay at an inn, but she did manage to get a job at the local bar. When the barkeep found out about her predicament, they allowed her to stay in a spare room upstairs, some of the money from her paycheck would then be taxed as rent.
Likes: Fruit Parfait, Strawberry Chocolate, Honey Pudding. Reading, singing, sweets.
Dislikes: The taste of pumpkin, cats, juice, talking.
In game birthday: Autumn 01
!( "enter image title here") |
55,859 | 1,529 | 13 | 993 | 1,646 | Iago nodded at Keita's indications and followed suit, placing the table he had in his hands where Keita had told him to. He then returned at quickly as he could to take another table, but Keita interrupted him, gesturing towards the syringe he was playing with a moments ago. Iago was a bit confused, but when he saw Julia he understood. **"Ah, right. Okay, let me do something about this."** He took off his coat, put the syringe inside of one of its pockets and then put it away in a tree branch where it hanged with the syringe safely in their pockets.
**"See, it's gone now. The shots can wait for after the festival preparations, right Keita?"** He said, first turning to see Juliet and then turning to see Keita. Iago was about to follow up with the work Keita apppointed him to do, but he thought of something he could do to tease Juliet a bit. **"You know, I heard of a new treatment for your fear of pointy things. It involves a shot, though."** He said, giggling a bit under his breath. **"I'll continue with the festival preparations, then."** He took another table and started carrying it to where Keita had told him before.
Though, as he was carrying it, he thought. _'Now that there's a new scaredy cat in town, maybe I can pull something of...'_ Iago was resolved when he left the table in place. He wiped away the bits of sweat that had appeared on his forehead and then took a deep breath. **"EVERYONE! DOCTOR IAGO WILL BE GIVING AWAY FREE SHOTS FOR WHOEVER DOESN'T HELP WITH THE FESTIVAL PREPARATIONS!"** He shouted out. Well, that should motivate at least a pair of people to help around. | ![]( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Iago Wester
**Gender:** Male
**Age:** 28
**Title:** Doctor
**Family/Relationships:** None right now!
**Living Location:** Clinic
**Personality:** Teasing and full of laughs, Iago is definitely not your stereotypical doctor. Between poor taste jokes and actually diagnosis, it is hard to tell if there's something wrong with your body or not during an examination. Regardless of his playful nature, one cannot deny that he does his job well and that he is a man full of kindness who cannot let others suffer, so most of his services are for free, only the most illogical and unnecesary, like stocking potions for an adventure, are the ones he charges for. Also, don't ask about the eye patch, you will always have in return some kind of spooky story of why you shouldn't play with knives, or an overfantastical tale of Iago's adventures before he became a doctor (Which aren't true).
**Backstory:** Iago learnt his profession from his parents, a pair of doctors who were both very proud of their professions. Since he was a kid, he has always been as carefree and teasing as he is now, and so, he loved to play around with his parents medical instruments, things a kid should play with. One day, curious of what he could do with an scalpel, he clumsily fell down while running with one in his hand. He was lucky enough not to gouge his eye out, but he still cut over his eye. It left an ugly scar and a big life lesson for Iago. While it is not that he cannot see with his left eye, he still covers it with an eye patch so that no one has to see his ugly scar.
**Likes/Dislikes:** Helping others, teasing others, medicine, experimenting with things/The scar on his left eye, reckless kids who don't listen to the adults, staying put.
**In game birthday:** Winter 18 |
55,860 | 1,529 | 14 | 2,033 | 9,406 | **"Thank you."** She nodded, followed by a relieved sigh. She couldn't stand being near anything pointy and sharp. Even just the thoughts of it made her shiver. She always hated going to the doctors since she was younger. One day in her childhood, she chose to held back the pain of the worst tooth cavity of her entire life rather than seeing a dentist. She hated it that much, but she couldn't find the exact reason for her fear. Maybe she had a trauma or something, she just can't remember what or when or why. She just let it be and avoid those things as quickly as possible.
Then she heard about the doctor's statement about the treatment. **"I don't need any treatments! Especially.."** She quickly shrunk, and lower her tone a little. Was he teasing her? **"Especially when it includes shots.."**. Juliet hoped he was just kidding. If only people understand how deep her unreasonable fear, how nice would it be if they won't make fun of it.. Unlike those mean kids in grade school. They always make little Juliet cry by only waving a tiny little needle in front of her. Her face turned a little bit gloomy as her thought drift back to those memories. What a terrible trip to the past..
Her conscious snapped back to reality when the doctor's voice was heard. Another creepy statement from him put her feet back on earth. She then quickly grabbed the nearest table from the spot the doctor was standing. **"That wasn't necessary at all, doctor Iago."** She released the table from her grip to roll the sleeves of her plaid shirt. **"Well, are you going to just stand there forever or will you lend me a hand with this?"** She said to the doctor, putting her hands back on the table.
**"You heard this cheesy doctor, guys. Let's get working or he will inject unnecessary chemical into your veins!"** She shouted energetically. Her hype went back quickly, it was a festival prep anyway. Festival should be fun for everyone. Making sure that the preparation was done well is important. Helping out with the preparation is a must for a good citizen. So she turned to the girl who organized the whole thing, he heard the doctor calling her Keita. **"So, Keita, right? Where should WE put this one?"**. Juliet put an extra emphasize on the word 'we' so that Iago would lend her a hand with the table. | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,861 | 1,529 | 15 | 1,046 | 4,333 | A loud clang could be heard as Sophie dropped the broom in her hands as the girl rushed passed her and into the library, slamming the door behind her. She stood there a bit dumbstruck for a few minutes, looking around for whatever she was running from... Not many people like books _that_ much. Though, if she was excited about books, Sophie had no right to judge her.
Taking a peek inside, Sophie watched as the girl went to town gathering books in the center of the room, on the floor. She blinked, trying to comprehend the strange behavior. After all, there were tables... and chairs. She closed the door back for a second to clear her throat and her judgments and then opened it again to walk inside.
**"Good Afternoon."** She greeted the girl, smiling sweetly. She noticed from the corner of her eye, Kiri walking down the steps rather slowly, as if watching this strange girl as well. **"I'm Sophie. I don't believe we've met. You are?"** She asked, tilting her head ever so slightly. She had to admit, the clothes the girl was wearing did nothing to help Sophie stop judging her. The girl was weird, beyond weird... She could barely wrap her head around the idea of her... | !( "Sophie")
**Name:** Sophie Golden
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 18
**Title:** Librarian
**Family/Relationships:** Sophie lives by herself now that her grandmother passed away, leaving the local library in her hands. The only other living family she has is an aunt that lives a ways away.
Sophie's one true love is the cat that normally roams the halls of the Library. It's a female cream colored short hair cat named Kiri (Since the name sounds so much like 'Kitty'.) She found the poor girl stranded behind her library one cold and wet afternoon and decided to let her into the Library.
**Living Location:** Top floor of the three story library which looks akin to a very old house. It was her grandmother's house which was converted into a library when her grandfather passed away. (He passed away rather early on and Sophie and her grandmother had been living in the library for a few years before she passed.
**Personality:** A gentle girl, Sophie often has a hard time forming the right words. She is very shy and will stumble on her words more often than not. She gets flustered very easily and tends to become more and more clumsy as her embarrassment grows. However, she enjoys talking to the people that visit the Library.
She is also very tuned into the outdoors and when given the chance, will always be outdoors, reading under the nearby tree.
**Backstory:** Sophie grew up an orphan. However, when she was five years old, the orphanage got a call from an old woman, claiming to be Sophie's grandmother. A few inquiries later and Sophie was sent home with Mr. and Ms. Golden. Sophie later found out that her mother had been a single mother who grew very ill after giving Sophie up for adoption and later died. When Ms. Golden finally decided to go through her daughter's things, she found photos of Sophie and immediately went to work searching for the small girl.
Ever since then, Sophie has been living with the Golden's. Her grandfather was the old barkeep and her grandmother had been a nanny before she retired.
**Likes/Dislikes:**
Likes - Sunshine, Plants, Books, Kind People, Sweet Food
Dislikes - Dishonesty, Rain, Thunder, Spicy Food
**In game birthday:** Autumn/Fall 22
:3 |
55,862 | 1,529 | 16 | 1,883 | 2,265 | Well, with the help of the others, all the decorations had been set up, the tables and chairs had been placed in the correct arrangement too.
All that was left was for anybody who need to has to set up their own stall.
Keita smiled and clapped her hands together softly trying to gesture a celebration that they had finished and she was being thankful. Thinking, she wondered how she could thank them.
(Yay! We've finished! I couldn't have done it without you guys! ... Hm... How Could I repay you?...)
A light bulb went off in her head. She could invite them to the bar tomorrow and sing for them, some entertainment and drink is the least she could do. She pointed at the duo, then performed some gestures symbolizing the day after today, the bar and her singing.
(You both should come over to the bar tomorrow night, I can get you some free drinks. I'll be singing so request a song!)
Keita tiled her and smiled.
She wondered where the mayor was... The festival doesn't become official without him. | Name: Keita Feild
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Title: Singer and Waitress at the town bar
Family/Relationships: Family In the city
Living Location: Upstairs in the bar
Personality: Keita is normally shy and only talks in gestures, as if she was deaf. Only trusting her closest of friends, she never says a word until she is up on stage singing in the evening where she lets loose her bottled up emotions. Keita acts kind of slow and dimwitted, but this is just an illusion. She is very intelligent and loves to read in her spare time, on occasion she will take naps during the day because of her insomnia keeping her up at night.
Backstory: Keita grew up in the big city with her large family of nine. Six brothers, herself, her mother and father. Not really getting the attention she wished for, she buried her head in books and schoolwork, making her the academic star of the family. She didn't have the courage to make friends at school and a lot of the time kept to herself, this trait is still with her even to this day. Rather than staying in the city, Keita decide to move to the country as she couldn't afford to keep herself in the city, both economically and physically. Once she had moved to the country with the help of her parents, she realised she didn't have the money to stay at an inn, but she did manage to get a job at the local bar. When the barkeep found out about her predicament, they allowed her to stay in a spare room upstairs, some of the money from her paycheck would then be taxed as rent.
Likes: Fruit Parfait, Strawberry Chocolate, Honey Pudding. Reading, singing, sweets.
Dislikes: The taste of pumpkin, cats, juice, talking.
In game birthday: Autumn 01
!( "enter image title here") |
55,863 | 1,529 | 17 | 2,033 | 9,406 | Lucy currently had her nose buried in a book, flipping through the pages of it when Sophie came up to her. She had been so caught up in the atmosphere of the library, she hadn't even seen the other girl there. Oops. That probably seemed a bit rude to the other girl. She closed the book and turned her head to the other girl with a friendly grin.
**"Ah, sorry about that~"** She giggled. **"I got distracted by the books here."** She finished the sentence by tossing the book she had just read onto her already growing pile of books. **"Nice to meet you Sophie. I'm Lucille Verity Proulx."** She introduced herself with a slight bow. She was thankful this person didn't seem to have any pointy objects on them, especially a syringe of sorts. Normally, she could handle being around normal pointy things, like knives and such. But a Syringe? Nope. Nope nope nope. Just nope on so many levels. It was then she noticed the rather...large pile of books she had collected on her short little spree.
**"Oops."** She chuckled. **"Sorry about this too, I'll clean up my mess, promise~"** She said, waving a hand to the pile of books. **"And yeah, I'm kinda new in town. I've been here for a few days, but I've been holed up in my room in the Inn until today."** She paused for a moment, thinking about the best way to ask about checking out all of these books at once. Surely she just couldn't take them all at the same time, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. **"Are you the Librarian? I hope it's alright for me to check out all of these books."** | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,864 | 1,529 | 18 | 1,951 | 317 | Arnold woke up around noon time since he had a long night helping the owner get ready for the festivities that were about to happen. He wasn't completely comfortable handling them but himself since it was his first time actually having to set up for anything of this caliber. Arnold was going to be around to actually help as the night progressed. He decided to take a long around his place to see what needed to be cleaned around the house since no one else was going to clean his place for him. After he picked his head up off the pillow he thought he heard voices coming out from his living room.
Arnold walked out into the living room where he was hearing the voices which just ended up being his television that was turned on but he didn't remember watching it when he got home in the morning, that was when he looked at his couch and noticed that his dog was lying down staring at the TV. Wait could it ... No it must have been a coincidence, but regardless Arnold turned off his television and gave the dog some food to eat before he took Calvin for a walk.
Calvin was still just a little dog but did he ever get destructive if he doesn't get walked in the morning or before leaving for long periods of time. As Arnold opened unlocked the door and turned around to pick up Calvin's leash he was already at the door waiting. So Arnold clipped the dog up to the leash and opened the door his dog started to run excited to see all the old sights that is sees everyday with the possibility of seeing something new.
He swore that if Calvin ever got lost that he would find himself at one of two places, home or "The Golden Tiger" the bar that Arnold was assistant manager of. Arnold was working hard to train Calvin to be civilised enough that he could occupy the back room so that Arnold could see him more during the day. So Arnold found himself jogging down the street with Calvin by his side. Thank god it was now spring and he could wear shorts comfortably since he would always sweat when he had to wear pants in the winter. When they got to the front door of "The Golden Tiger" Calvin had sat while Arnold had just poked his head into the bar to say hello to the manager when obviously the dog seen something attractive since it bolted and since Arnold wasn't 100% ready the dog took the whole leash with him. Oh dear lord!
Arnold was chasing the young but speedy puppy down the road Calvin was having the time of his life thinking that it was a game and to keep running. Thankfully he had stopped in the towns square but the thing that caught Arnold off guard the most was that the puppy had been sitting completely still right in front of a woman who had not been introduced to yet. It's truly weird since the only two times Maaaan sits that still is when it's food time or walk time, that's it! All he heard coming from her mouth was "You heard this cheesy doctor, guys. Let's get working or he will inject unnecessary chemical into your veins!" Since the dog was sitting so still Arnold thought that he would get him for sure before he took off again but when he got close the dog ran again. However this time she must have stepped on the leash because when he took off this time it took her feet out from under her. Luckily he had been close enough to catch her before she hit the ground. **I am so sorry about that! Let me apologise properly truly later, I am a bartender at "The Golden Tiger" Oh this dog is going to be the death of me** He placed the lady down on her feet and ran after the dog again.
Arnold caught the dog twenty minutes after it had caught a hold of a squirrel. Ugh! Sweaty, tired and sore, but worse than all of those he made a fool of himself in the town square in front of tons of people ... And he was going to have to clean a half chewed up squirrel off of his floor by the time he gets home from work. **Maaaan what a grand start to my day** | **Name:** Arnold Wilson
**Gender:** Male
**Age:** 25
**Title:** Barkeep / Hobby Fisherman
!( "Arnold Wilson")
**Family/Relationships:** Little golden retriever named Calvin
**Living Location:** Single bedroom house
**Personality:** Arnold is a very kind and caring person, with an extremely friendly personality. He can connect emotionally easily with people. All of these reasons are what helped Arnold decide to become a bartender. He sometimes enjoys to be alone however that is what sparked his interest to take up being a hobby fisherman, also helped keep his food budget down.
**Backstory:** Arnold's grandfather had come down with an unknown illness that had claimed his life quite rapidly, Arnold was the only one to make the 200 mile trip to be with his grandfather so when he came to his unfortunate passing his grandfather had given him the deed to his house. It was only a one bedroom house but since it was only his grandfather living in it was big enough for him. Arnold thought about selling the house and going back home but he thought that this could be the fresh start that he needed, he didn't have anything holding him back to his old town, the longer he stayed in this town the more he grew atoned to it. He had applied for a job as a bartender but the manager had liked him so much that he decided to take him on as an apprentice barkeeper, so the manager could have more time spend with his family since everyone had been shook up about his grandfather. Arnold has been living here for two months now and he hadn't ever regretted the decision that he had made.
**Likes/Dislikes:** **Likes : ** Friendly people, hard liquor, the outdoors, coffee.
**Dislikes : ** Thieves, two faced people, decaf.
**In game birthday:** Winter 8 |
55,865 | 1,529 | 19 | 1,046 | 4,333 | Sophie's forced smiled melted into a more genuine smile as she realized the nature of the girl in front of her. Lucille? It certainly was a very pretty name.
She shook her head and held out her hand as the girl promised to clean up her mess. **"Don't worry about it!"** She almost shouted, laughing to herself. **"I have to reorganize and inventory the books anyway."** She explained, smiling gently.
She lifted a slight brow when she asked about checking out all of the books she had in her pile. **"Uhm... Maybe not... ALL of them..."** She spoke softly, an awkward smile on her face. **"But certainly most of them."** She added, trying to not upset the girl too greatly. **"The check out limit is 10 books and they would all be due two weeks from now."** She explained. She made pains to make sure what she was saying was well articulated and clear, as she'd had problems with mumbling before.
**"Oh! And yes, I'm the librarian."** She chuckled, almost having forgotten she'd even asked that question. **"Grandma sort of left me in charge when she left. So, it's just me and Kiri."** She explained, motioning towards the cat on the shelf. The cream colored feline was sitting on top of the shelf where the sun shone down from one of the taller windows. With eyes closed and legs sprawled out, she seemed to be enjoying herself. | !( "Sophie")
**Name:** Sophie Golden
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 18
**Title:** Librarian
**Family/Relationships:** Sophie lives by herself now that her grandmother passed away, leaving the local library in her hands. The only other living family she has is an aunt that lives a ways away.
Sophie's one true love is the cat that normally roams the halls of the Library. It's a female cream colored short hair cat named Kiri (Since the name sounds so much like 'Kitty'.) She found the poor girl stranded behind her library one cold and wet afternoon and decided to let her into the Library.
**Living Location:** Top floor of the three story library which looks akin to a very old house. It was her grandmother's house which was converted into a library when her grandfather passed away. (He passed away rather early on and Sophie and her grandmother had been living in the library for a few years before she passed.
**Personality:** A gentle girl, Sophie often has a hard time forming the right words. She is very shy and will stumble on her words more often than not. She gets flustered very easily and tends to become more and more clumsy as her embarrassment grows. However, she enjoys talking to the people that visit the Library.
She is also very tuned into the outdoors and when given the chance, will always be outdoors, reading under the nearby tree.
**Backstory:** Sophie grew up an orphan. However, when she was five years old, the orphanage got a call from an old woman, claiming to be Sophie's grandmother. A few inquiries later and Sophie was sent home with Mr. and Ms. Golden. Sophie later found out that her mother had been a single mother who grew very ill after giving Sophie up for adoption and later died. When Ms. Golden finally decided to go through her daughter's things, she found photos of Sophie and immediately went to work searching for the small girl.
Ever since then, Sophie has been living with the Golden's. Her grandfather was the old barkeep and her grandmother had been a nanny before she retired.
**Likes/Dislikes:**
Likes - Sunshine, Plants, Books, Kind People, Sweet Food
Dislikes - Dishonesty, Rain, Thunder, Spicy Food
**In game birthday:** Autumn/Fall 22
:3 |
55,866 | 1,529 | 20 | 993 | 1,646 | **"All right, all right, I'll help. Don't look at me like that."** Iago said as he took the other end of the table Juliet was holding. **"We have to put them over there."** Iago said, with an impish smile and rushing to the place to try and make the other girl trip. **"Can you keep up?"** He said, laughing a bit.
After getting the table into place, he saw that his persuasive phrase had helped a lot. They were done in no time now. **"Well, would you look at that. I should become the mayor or something, I seem to have a real good ability for persuasion."** He said, letting out an snicker and then turning to see Keita. It seemed she was offering to sing something for them. **"Oh, that'd be wonderful. Though I don't know that much about music..."** He turned to Juliet again. **"I only know one or two related to syringes and scalpels, and Juliet here wouldn't like them. So, why don't you decide?"** | ![]( "enter image title here")
**Name:** Iago Wester
**Gender:** Male
**Age:** 28
**Title:** Doctor
**Family/Relationships:** None right now!
**Living Location:** Clinic
**Personality:** Teasing and full of laughs, Iago is definitely not your stereotypical doctor. Between poor taste jokes and actually diagnosis, it is hard to tell if there's something wrong with your body or not during an examination. Regardless of his playful nature, one cannot deny that he does his job well and that he is a man full of kindness who cannot let others suffer, so most of his services are for free, only the most illogical and unnecesary, like stocking potions for an adventure, are the ones he charges for. Also, don't ask about the eye patch, you will always have in return some kind of spooky story of why you shouldn't play with knives, or an overfantastical tale of Iago's adventures before he became a doctor (Which aren't true).
**Backstory:** Iago learnt his profession from his parents, a pair of doctors who were both very proud of their professions. Since he was a kid, he has always been as carefree and teasing as he is now, and so, he loved to play around with his parents medical instruments, things a kid should play with. One day, curious of what he could do with an scalpel, he clumsily fell down while running with one in his hand. He was lucky enough not to gouge his eye out, but he still cut over his eye. It left an ugly scar and a big life lesson for Iago. While it is not that he cannot see with his left eye, he still covers it with an eye patch so that no one has to see his ugly scar.
**Likes/Dislikes:** Helping others, teasing others, medicine, experimenting with things/The scar on his left eye, reckless kids who don't listen to the adults, staying put.
**In game birthday:** Winter 18 |
55,867 | 1,529 | 21 | 2,033 | 9,406 | **"Phew, this one is finally set."** Juliet wiped her not-too-sweaty forehead. She's not the best at physical activities. Her task at the store hardly ever need lifting nor moving heavy things from one place to another. Usually just inventory stuff and restocking. She didn't like sport that much either, even a kid has more stamina than her. She was not lazy, actually. She just didn't want to put too much effort into pretty much anything.
**"So what's ne-"** She looked around to find out if anybody else need help, but something else took her interest. One small puppy sat still next to her feet, and it looked curiously at her. The puppy even tilted it's head when Juliet stared back at it. It was the most adorable thing she saw that day. How could she ignore that innocent-looking puppy, with those sparkly puppy eyes staring deep into her soul. So she reached down to pat the puppy's head. It had leash attached to it's collar, so she thought it might got separated from the owner. **"Hi there, little one. Are you lost?"**. Her hand was only a few inch from the puppy, but it dashed away, with the leash tugging her foot. That little puppy surprisingly had such power to trip her. It happened way to fast, she was already halfway to the ground.. before someone caught her.
**"I am so sorry about that! Let me apologise properly truly later, I am a bartender at "The Golden Tiger". Oh this dog is going to be the death of me"** He said. He was the one who saved Juliet from the probability of getting a brain injury, and apparently the owner of the puppy too. And just like his hyperactive dog, he also went away right away, before she had any chance to respond. She was confused, her brain was still trying to process what just happened. She just stand right there, watching the guy running after the dog. **"...syringes and scalpels, and Juliet here wouldn't like them. So, why don't you decide?"** The word 'syringes and scalpel' took her attention back to the doctor. **"What about those evil things?"** She sneered to Iago, then turned to Keita. Her offer was too awesome to turn down to. **"I'd love to have some drinks, so I'll definitely be there tonight. I suppose you will be there too, right, Doctor?"** She grinned to both of them, **"It's gonna be fun, I know it!"** | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,868 | 1,529 | 22 | 1,046 | 4,333 | **"Oh!!"** Sophie yelled aloud, having completely forgotten all about the New Years Festival. **"Drat! I was suppose to set up a booth."** She shouted, mentally hitting herself. She lifted a hand to rub the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.
**"Y-you... wouldn't mind helping me, would you? If you do, I'll let you take more books with you."** she bargained, not to upset over lending more than the limited number of books. **"I wouldn't possibly be able to make it in time on my own and Kiri is sort of useless in that regard."** She continued, hearing a small meow of lazy protest from Kiri.
She walked over to the pile of books and began piling them up in her arms to put on the desk so that Lucy could sort them as she liked. **"I need to get the cloth, the sign, the flyers, and the box of free books to give away. I can handle some of it, just not all of it in one trip..."** She explained, turning to Lucy with pleading green eyes.
The box she could handle, but the sign was a different story. It would take a whole other person to take down there and Sophie wasn't exactly the most athletic person in town, by far she was probably the weakest next to the children. | !( "Sophie")
**Name:** Sophie Golden
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 18
**Title:** Librarian
**Family/Relationships:** Sophie lives by herself now that her grandmother passed away, leaving the local library in her hands. The only other living family she has is an aunt that lives a ways away.
Sophie's one true love is the cat that normally roams the halls of the Library. It's a female cream colored short hair cat named Kiri (Since the name sounds so much like 'Kitty'.) She found the poor girl stranded behind her library one cold and wet afternoon and decided to let her into the Library.
**Living Location:** Top floor of the three story library which looks akin to a very old house. It was her grandmother's house which was converted into a library when her grandfather passed away. (He passed away rather early on and Sophie and her grandmother had been living in the library for a few years before she passed.
**Personality:** A gentle girl, Sophie often has a hard time forming the right words. She is very shy and will stumble on her words more often than not. She gets flustered very easily and tends to become more and more clumsy as her embarrassment grows. However, she enjoys talking to the people that visit the Library.
She is also very tuned into the outdoors and when given the chance, will always be outdoors, reading under the nearby tree.
**Backstory:** Sophie grew up an orphan. However, when she was five years old, the orphanage got a call from an old woman, claiming to be Sophie's grandmother. A few inquiries later and Sophie was sent home with Mr. and Ms. Golden. Sophie later found out that her mother had been a single mother who grew very ill after giving Sophie up for adoption and later died. When Ms. Golden finally decided to go through her daughter's things, she found photos of Sophie and immediately went to work searching for the small girl.
Ever since then, Sophie has been living with the Golden's. Her grandfather was the old barkeep and her grandmother had been a nanny before she retired.
**Likes/Dislikes:**
Likes - Sunshine, Plants, Books, Kind People, Sweet Food
Dislikes - Dishonesty, Rain, Thunder, Spicy Food
**In game birthday:** Autumn/Fall 22
:3 |
55,869 | 1,529 | 23 | 2,033 | 9,406 | While waiting for Estelle's response he spotted...him. He recognized him when he moved in, he works in the "The Other Bar" the one that sounds more like a cathouse than a proper bar. (Then again, Travis isn't above having his bar host such a profession, as long as he got a cut of the profit.)
He thought it was best to introduce himself to his rival competitor. It's best for business that he appear as a friendly ally. He reaches for a complementary beer, but decides against it. He had no idea if this man was as friendly as his persona was, or if he was a sleaze like he truly was. So giving him a beer would be a chance for him to say awful things about his bar. (Mostly because he wasn't above doing the exact same thing to awfully named "Golden Tiger".)
"Terribly sorry to leave in such a rush. But I have some business to attend to. Here's your star milk." Travis moves an empty glass to Estelle. "Just leave the money in the cup Ta-ta."
Travis decided to walk over to the conversation he and the other girl were having.
"Pardon me for intruding. But I recall that you said that you were in charge of "The Golden Tiger" and I felt the need to introduce myself to my fellow competitor. Good Day, my name is Travis Rollins, owner of The Tree Sap. I work right across from you."
He extended his right hand to Travis, hoping for a shake. He turned to Juliet and extended his left hand as well. "Good Day, I hope you are enjoying the New Years Festival." | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,870 | 1,529 | 24 | 1,046 | 4,333 | **"Eh?"** Sophie asked, looking up from the pile of books she was already picking up off the ground. **"Hmm... I could make a list of things to do..."** She thought out loud, already placing the books down and heading for the desk.
She wrote down a few of the things they needed to do before leaving for the festival and then what they would have to do at the festival.
- Get the box of free books from upstairs. (I'll do that.)
- Get the sign and the cloth from the closet to the right of this desk.
- Print the flyers from the computer. (If you're unfamiliar with how that works, I can do it.)
Once everything is gathered up we need to take them down to the festival and find where my booth is located. Once we do that, we can start setting up.
- Put the cloth down on the table.
- Put the sign on the front of the table. (I can show you how.)
- Put a stack of flyers on the table.
- Place a few of the free books on the table for display. Use the back of a flyer to write "Free Books!" and place it near them.
When she was down she looked up at Lucy and motioned for her to come over. **"I'll leave it on this desk for now, but if you have any questions, just ask. I'd recommend that you go get the stuff from the closet while I head up stairs to get the sign.** She explained and then began to head upstairs.
Normally, she was must nicer than this, but deadlines usually send her into this sort of tunnel vision frenzy where she gets way too stressed. | !( "Sophie")
**Name:** Sophie Golden
**Gender:** Female
**Age:** 18
**Title:** Librarian
**Family/Relationships:** Sophie lives by herself now that her grandmother passed away, leaving the local library in her hands. The only other living family she has is an aunt that lives a ways away.
Sophie's one true love is the cat that normally roams the halls of the Library. It's a female cream colored short hair cat named Kiri (Since the name sounds so much like 'Kitty'.) She found the poor girl stranded behind her library one cold and wet afternoon and decided to let her into the Library.
**Living Location:** Top floor of the three story library which looks akin to a very old house. It was her grandmother's house which was converted into a library when her grandfather passed away. (He passed away rather early on and Sophie and her grandmother had been living in the library for a few years before she passed.
**Personality:** A gentle girl, Sophie often has a hard time forming the right words. She is very shy and will stumble on her words more often than not. She gets flustered very easily and tends to become more and more clumsy as her embarrassment grows. However, she enjoys talking to the people that visit the Library.
She is also very tuned into the outdoors and when given the chance, will always be outdoors, reading under the nearby tree.
**Backstory:** Sophie grew up an orphan. However, when she was five years old, the orphanage got a call from an old woman, claiming to be Sophie's grandmother. A few inquiries later and Sophie was sent home with Mr. and Ms. Golden. Sophie later found out that her mother had been a single mother who grew very ill after giving Sophie up for adoption and later died. When Ms. Golden finally decided to go through her daughter's things, she found photos of Sophie and immediately went to work searching for the small girl.
Ever since then, Sophie has been living with the Golden's. Her grandfather was the old barkeep and her grandmother had been a nanny before she retired.
**Likes/Dislikes:**
Likes - Sunshine, Plants, Books, Kind People, Sweet Food
Dislikes - Dishonesty, Rain, Thunder, Spicy Food
**In game birthday:** Autumn/Fall 22
:3 |
55,871 | 1,529 | 25 | 1,883 | 2,265 | It was taking much longer than expected. Keita ran her fingers through her hair. Enough was enough. The mayor was taking far too much time, where could he possibly be? And doing what at that?
Keita signaled to the others that she was going away for a bit, she decided not to bother them with what, she was planning on doing that is.
Whilst walking down the main street to the town hall, Keita took note of how few visitors the town had been getting compared to when she first got to town. For some reason, the farmer had stopped coming to town too, she wondered what happened to him. He was a nice man.
Once Keita entered the town hall, she looked around for signs of life. Though, there was nobody to be found. Strange, Keita thought. Normally the mayor would be here with his family, yet, there was nobody, not even a mouse. Keita peered her head into the mayors office, only to find an empty seat and a hastily written note.
"Sorry, I can't handle the burden of this town any longer. After the farmer left, income went downhill and toursim soon followed. I can't afford to keep me and my family here. That is why I have left."
- Goodluck.
Keita trembled with the note in her hand.
"Wha.. Wha.. I.. I HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE!" Keita ran out of the office, note in hand, back to the main square in order to inform everybody of what happened. | Name: Keita Feild
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Title: Singer and Waitress at the town bar
Family/Relationships: Family In the city
Living Location: Upstairs in the bar
Personality: Keita is normally shy and only talks in gestures, as if she was deaf. Only trusting her closest of friends, she never says a word until she is up on stage singing in the evening where she lets loose her bottled up emotions. Keita acts kind of slow and dimwitted, but this is just an illusion. She is very intelligent and loves to read in her spare time, on occasion she will take naps during the day because of her insomnia keeping her up at night.
Backstory: Keita grew up in the big city with her large family of nine. Six brothers, herself, her mother and father. Not really getting the attention she wished for, she buried her head in books and schoolwork, making her the academic star of the family. She didn't have the courage to make friends at school and a lot of the time kept to herself, this trait is still with her even to this day. Rather than staying in the city, Keita decide to move to the country as she couldn't afford to keep herself in the city, both economically and physically. Once she had moved to the country with the help of her parents, she realised she didn't have the money to stay at an inn, but she did manage to get a job at the local bar. When the barkeep found out about her predicament, they allowed her to stay in a spare room upstairs, some of the money from her paycheck would then be taxed as rent.
Likes: Fruit Parfait, Strawberry Chocolate, Honey Pudding. Reading, singing, sweets.
Dislikes: The taste of pumpkin, cats, juice, talking.
In game birthday: Autumn 01
!( "enter image title here") |
55,872 | 1,529 | 26 | 2,033 | 9,406 | **"O-oh, alright..."** Lucy replied, as Sophie began to write down the things that needed to be done. _"This looks complicated..."_ She thought, suddenly realizing she really may not be qualified to help her new friend out with this festival thing. At least though, if she didn't try she wouldn't get anywhere. She might as well give it a shot.She looked over the list, reading what had to be done.
**"Right...closet."** She looked to the right of the desk, easily locating the closet, thankful for the rather direct location of it. After that, she opened it and began searching for the sign and the cloth. Thankfully, that didn't take her that long to find it. She grabbed both of them, and started to carry them slowly back to the front of the desk, trying not to damage the sign or the cloth in the process.
Lucy had to wonder what these were going to be used for. She had never been to a festival before, let alone actually built a...stall, or something like that. She always had someone else do that when she did her little magic shows. | Name: Travis Rollins
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Title: Barkeep
Family/Relationships: Other than his customers which he fakes a nice person trait to.
Living Location: The backroom of his bar.
Personality: Appears nice and generous to all his customers. But in reality, is nothing more than a petty thief who steals from those that get tipsy at his bar. He's gross, rude, and occasionally inappropriate. He rarely drinks as it brings out the real him.
Backstory: Travis is a new man of the town, but his impact has been bigger than even he could imagine. He opened up shop near the center of town which brought in weary travelers and current patrons. He set up the bar because he was run out of his last town for running an inn where he stole from the sleeping travelers. Now with a brand new slate, he sets out to finally accomplish his goal in becoming rich and retiring early.
Born from a rich farm land, Travis never learned the meaning of hard work. So when he was sent out on his own, he never achieved a proper working mindset. He just wanted to achieve his previous life-status he had when he was a child. His overall plan is to trick people into giving him their trinkets. Keep the stuff he can use, and sell the useless materials and afford a large estate where he can live for the rest of his life. No longer being annoyed by people......unless a beautiful woman were to enter his life. Then he'd happily let her in on his schemes. He wouldn't change his ways, but he'd like to not be alone every night.
Likes: Money, Pretty Women, Manipulation, Innocent Gullible People. Rats and Bugs.
Dislikes: Those smart enough to not get drunk or see through his disguise. People in general.
In game birthday: Spring 5 |
55,873 | 1,530 | 0 | 68 | 423 | Dearest Sister
I write you with the most sincerest hope that this letter finds you safe and comfortable; I can't help but picture you reading this from our the old cabin we called home: the one your father built alongside the lake all those years ago. I can't honestly tell if I am pinning this letter as a last will of sorts or simply an excuse to reach out to you in what I feel may be my final days. Believe it or not my father, the one mother only spoke of in hushed curses and psychotic tirades, has recently sent me an official letter acknowledging my claim to the old De La Porte estate I told you of in stories when we were children. As I write this note I sit among a chariot that winds along the Old Road I briefly recall from my childhood; its serpentine path winding me ever closer to the inheritance that is perhaps my last true chance at salvation. But I swear to you sister, as sure as my name is Dismas, something horrible clings to the very air around me-the colorful cobblestones and vibrant trees I remember from my childhood having twisted into something foreign and sinister that seems to follow the very carriage I ride within. I believe I have finally just arrived within BlackBirch as the rider has just stopped his pair of mad horses; therefore I must bid you farewell dear sister.
Sincerely, your forever loving brother, Dismas.
Seemingly satisfied with the letter the man who had spent the better part of half his life robbing and killing the innocent travelers along roads much similiar to the one he traveled upon now dropped the old piece of parchment he wrote upon into an envelope-quickly he sealed the letter in an official manner; a few drops of candle wax from the lantern within his wooden carriage and a press of the signet ring on his finger being all it took to officialy declare to the world that this envelope did indeed belong to Dismas Delaporte.
After sealing the letter he swung open the old carriage door open, eager to both stretch his legs and take in the new Hamlet he would be calling home he was needless to say somewhat dissapointed as his eyes caught the sight that was the pathetic handful of buildings that made up the small settlement of BlackBirch. Looming in the distance high on a hill he could make out what he remembered as his childhood home.
"Hey you!" Dismas snapped in a growl at the half mad driver of the carriage; the wrinkled old man looking rather offended that someone had indeed had the gaul to talk to him. "Take this to the post as soon as you get back to the city. Allright?" The old man opened his toothless mouth to protest angrily but Dismas quickly shoved two gold coins in his hand. "Allright?" he said again, although much more forcefully.
The added grit wasn't needed though; the two shiny pieces of currency being more then enough for the old driver to happily snatch up both the sealed letter and coins. With a silent nod and gumless grin he snapped the reigns, dissapearing from sight-before he left though his voice cackled out into the night "Sure thing paly! Ill deliver your last will for ya!"
For some reason the words echoed within Dismas's mind-quickly he thought he just needed a drink though...just nerves getting on him. Afterall he was always looking over his shoulder for the law-the eerie chill in the air had only made him feel more paranoid then normal. Quickly he double checked for what seemed like the eighth time to make sure both his pistols and dagger were at the ready.
As he heard the wagon tear off out of sight Dismas took in a deep breathe, letting his eyes take in the small settlement once more his hardened gaze finally fell upon the old, somewhat large, stone building that had a small sign hanging out front that read "The Twiglight Tavern."
He didn't waste time and quickly cut his way across the black muck covered street; seriously determined to ease his mind with a stiff glass of cheap ale, even more so though was his desire to simply get indoors. The way the surrounding forest was gazing at him in what felt like a hungry longing made him extremely glad as he crossed through the doorway that lead inside the tavern; even his thuggish face found it hard not to crack a smile at the sudden feeling of warmth and comfort.
His heavy, and now rather dirty, boots scrapped against the smooth wooden floor as he made his way inside; quickly he noticed how there was an abundance of tables and chairs “snuggly” packed within the tavern. Despite the impressively chaotic seating arrangement inside as far as Dismas could see the place looked completely abandoned save for one of the largest men he had ever seen; the giant turban wearing man cleaning a rather dirty looking mug from behind the long black table top that had made up the bar just on the left of Dismas when he had entered.
As he sauntered his way over to the bar he noticed the set of wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, perhaps thats where all the other patrons were he thought? Taking a seat atop one of the safer looking bar stools he gave the bartender a silent nod while doing his best to make himself comfortable-he double checked to make sure his ratty gray scarf was pulled down, for as of late he'd gotten in the bad habit of leaving his “mask” on. Luckily he felt the old tattered cloth wrapped inconspicuously around his neck instead of pulled up over the better part of his face
“Sure could use a drink.” | Name: Arson
Age: 24
Gender:Female
Personality:Strong, smart, caring,Stubborn, mischievous, hard headed
Class: Blacksmith Apprentice (was going to be a hound Master before orphaned)
- Jark
Bio: At the age of 16 Arson had lost her father to an act of Murder and was left alone with nothing but her hound, Jark, and some money. Arson had left her home to go find a job. That's actually what brought her to BlackBirch, she had her fingers crossed as she went up to the Blacksmith of the town, Mr.Marsh, and asked if he'd like an extra hand. Arson had explained that she had basic experience in smelting and- well being a blacksmith. Mr.Marsh took pity on her and took Arson in as an Apprentice and took on piles of work and Criticism. When his daughter went missing he became more mean and more volatile due to his drinking, but Arson stuck by him running errands for him and getting him what he needed. |
55,874 | 1,530 | 1 | 320 | 1,126 | Testran rushed into the inn and eatery. It was most certainly cold outside, with the winter soon coming in. The cape fluttered on his back, definitely not serving it's purpose of keeping the cold from freezing his blood into near solid chunks. "Barkeep," he called, sitting down at the bar and tossing out a jumble of coins that clinked noisily on the stone tabletop. "Bring me a glass of drink! Preferably something warm, if you don't mind." He certainly hoped that it was enough. The last town he went through didn't appreciate the finer arts, and barely gave him anything at all. The bartender nodded, then passed him a tankard of steaming brew. Testran drank quickly, then walked over to the center of the room and set his case down, pulling out from it a guitar and strumming up the beginning of a musical piece. | Name: Testran Beele
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Personality: Cowardly, disloyal, submissive, quiet
Class/Occupation: Traveling Minstrel
Appearance: Most certainly not tall, his height would be roughly attributed to 5'3". He is brown of hair, and his eyes are strangely extremely deep blue. He dresses in very common looking brown attire, but with one exception. He has a cape that drapes down to his waist and is a very bright yellow, which he is very fond of. Insulting his cape means insulting him. He likes to wave the cape around when preforming or storming out of a bar, and no one's ever seen him without it except himself.
Bio: The Beeles were never a lucky group. Testran has had many interesting ancestors leading very glamourous (but not fortunate) lives. If you get a few drinks in the young fellow, the first story he would divulge is the story of his great-great-grandfather, Morris. Supposedly, Morris Beele was once conned by a great king in times past, in which the king promised Morris land "as far as the eye could see" if Morris would take up arms in his name as a knight. Who's eye? The eye of the king's secretary, who was a severe myopic. Therefore, Testran inherited from his ancestor the knight roughly 9 square yards of land. After that, it was bad turn after bad turn for that family. |
55,875 | 1,531 | 0 | 1,787 | 2,152 | The large, open hall was clouded with people for once. Normally the great hall was rather empty, servants feet shuffling around being the only sound in it. But the dukes early death had given reason for it's use again, if not for a coronation of the next duke, then for a meeting of the earls and marquis', the noblemen and the common advisors. But sadly the coronation would have to wait. Many of the nobles had travelled from their holdings to the Wintershouse, where the snow fell thick and heavy, and the trees were without leaves for nine months, only to grow out yellow and brown, before falling again. These nobles stood together, bickering and talking about affairs of the realm. Some talked about lord Gregars role in king Etwine's campaign. Others spoke of lord Perris of Harrighfield, discussing whether he should own the iron mine that sparked the war, or if king Etwine should own it. The opinions were diferring, but many of them agreed that the war was unnessecary, and Gregars involvement even more unneccesary. Others had talk of trade, and recent sightings of the horsemen of the west, and a single minor lordling jested about a man crossing the icey oceans. An impossible feat, as many knew.
“THUD.” A silence befell the hall, as the heads turned towards the young boy sitting on the simple wooden throne, adorned with stags' antlers. The young lord regents' face spoke books, his teeth clenched and his hands balled into fists after having smacked on the armrests. Looking around the hall, he looked over the faces of all those that had gathered, and knew this to not be all, as many were still returning from the Kings battles in the Ironhills. Nevertheless he raised from the throne, pushing his chest forward and lifting his chin. The earls and other vassals looked at him, some with hope and bravery in their eyes, others with distrust and disdain. It was a known fact that Joakim's young age was a matter of discussion amongst the nobles. And Joakim knew now was the time to show he was not a boy, but a man.
“Friends of the Whitelands!” he spoke, loudly as the walls of the hall bounced his words, echoing them and giving them figurative weight. “We meet to mourn my father, god have his soul. Slain in battle, he died an honorable death amongst his fellow soldiers, loyal to the crown as always. We meet to gather oaths of fealty to my brother, lord Gregar Weade, rightful heir of the North, who is fulfilling his duty to the king as we speak.” He looked around the room once more, assuring everyone was looking at him still. He was remarkably steady for a man that just heard of the death of his father. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this was his duty that held him in place. Just as he wanted to continue, he saw his mother at the large doors with two of her maidens. They wore traditional, simple black dresses, and had used a piece of black charcoal to mark a dot on their forehead, as was custom for a period of mourning.
Forcing himself to swallow his emotions, he continued, his mother turning around and leaving the hall at the same time. “Are there any who object to Gregars claim on the Whitelands? Speak now, and be free to voice your concerns for the good of the realm!” The room stayed silent, but when Joakim moved forward a step to continue with the collection of oaths, a loud and gritty voice broke the silence. “If the good lord Gregar is so concerned with the well being of our realm, why is he fighting the Kings' battle, far away from his home and family, who need him now?” The man that spoke was Earl Redford, of Redford keep in the south bordering the Forklands. He was short and stubby, but strong and a capable fighter none the less. He had a black beard, with scars throughout it, and had a shaved head, littered with scars likewise. “I say... I say he is more concerned with personal glory and honor than the wellbeing of his people.” He had a serious look in his eyes, and stared at Joakim as if he was challenging him. And not any less important, it seemed some of the others in the hall nodded, agreeing with the mans points.
Joakim was petrified, as he hadn't anticipated an actual reply. Slowly he rectified himself, standing straight again and walking down the few stairs that lead up to the throne, walking closer to Earl Redford. “Earl Redford, if I am not mistaken, last year you were named Shieldbrother of the duke. I know I am not mistaken, as I attended the festivities at your keep. Does your duty as Shieldbrother not mean you were supposed to be with my father, Duke Rikard? Were you not supposed to guard him?” The Earl grinded his teeth and didn't seem to accept this as an answer, stepping forward with a hint of aggression. Some of the nobles around the two got a bit more on edge, ready to interfere, but it wasn't neccesary. “What are you saying, lord regent..” the Earl said, spitting the words as if it was saliva on his tongue.
“Perhaps you would've been home from campaign right now, celebrating with the duke.. if you had been there, earl Redford.” The earl seemed agitated, but stepped back and shut his mouth, granting Joakim this 'victory' for now. Joakim slowly backed off too, and walked back to the throne, placing a hand on the armrest. “My brother is serving for the king, as any son of the duke would. We have received a messenger who says he is currently returning to the Wintershouse, his rightful place. As soon as he arrives, we will coronate him as duke, but first I shall need the oaths of allegiance from his bannerman, you. Do you swear unto the banner of your house loyalty, respect and fealty to the rightful heir of the Whitelands, son of duke Rikard the Just, and guardsman of the North?”
The nobles bowed their heads and put a hand on their right shoulder, while simultaneously stating that they did indeed swear fealty, respect and allegiance to lord Gregar Weade, future duke of the Whitelands. Meanwhile Joakim sat down on the throne again, signs of weariness showing in his face due to the restless nights he had endured, and now this attack of Earl Redford. The stress had been wearing him down, and he wasn't sure he had handled adequately in this situation, despite the quick training in these type of situations he received from several advisors. “Very well. I am sure you all would wish to return to your quarters, it has been a long day for all of us. We will meet again at the word of Gregars arrival.” And with that, the meeting was ended, and everyone was to return to their daily tasks, meaning most of the noblemen went to enjoy some food at the local tavern, normally a place for peasantry, but today a place for blue blood.
The handsome young knight swayed side to side in his saddle, his horse slowly trotting the muddy grounds. His face was stern, tranquil and had a hint of drowsiness on it. As he passed the fifth waystone, he turned his horse to the right, leading it onto a better path, though still muddy. A farmer standing on his lands nearby, tending the pigs, looked onto him as he rode by, though the young man payed him no mind. In front of him was the first stop on the way home, the Mosskeep, whose outside walls are covered in thick slippery moss. The actual keep inside it was much better maintained. It had a certain charm, he'd admit. But it was no better than his home.
As he approached the walls at an ever slow pace, one of the forward guards noticed him and halted him, pointing his spear at the man from a distance while letting out a “You, stop.” The young knight halted his horse, and looked at the guard, who wore a simple kettle hat with chainmail to cover the neck, along with a chainmail with surcoat and some simple leather boots. They certainly saved money on his equipment. The knight slowly raised his hand and grabbed his woolen hood, lowering it with a short tug. The guard squinted his eyes, then opened them wide before looking at the shield hanging from the horses' saddle, which was yellow with the Old Tree insignia of the Weade's on it. Suddenly he turned around, the poor man realizing his error in pointing his spear at the man, and ran for the gate, shouting at the gatesman to open it. Slowly the man rode his horse forward again, towards the gate, as he listened to the man yell. “He's here! The Oakheart of the North! Call lady Rossric! Gregar Weade is here!”
He still had it, old Gregar. His name was still known to the common man, as was his nickname. A grin escaped from his tired lips as he pulled the hood back on, the rain bothering him too much to keep it off. Certainly, it wouldn't rain in the north, it'd be snowing, just like Gregar liked it. The horse rode into the stables almost by itself, and Gregar got off, leaving his equipment to be gathered by a stableboy or servant. Hopefully lady Rossric employed better stableboys than her father did, as items frequently went missing whenever Gregar had visited years before. Patting the horses neck a few times, he sent his other hand across it's manes, almost as if he were thanking him for it's service. After that he turned around and approached the keep, passing through the small but bustling crowd of people that were working, and through the doors of the keep, into the main hall. “Lady Rossric.” he'd speak, with a warm and low toned voice, approaching the throne she'd be seated on with graceful, but steady and tough steps. His face had a small smile on it, though lady Rossric would've known Gregar long enough to see it was a smile bothered by weariness, fatigue and sadness. If anything, he smiled out of sheer social requirement. “Last time I saw you, you were throwing a tantrum at your father.” His head would turn around the court, taking a look at those that were present in an attempt to see if he remembered or recognised any of them. Perhaps a knight or guardsman would strike him familiar, or an advisor or nobleman met at a feast once. And perhaps he partially wished to see if anyone was truly in awe of the famed 'Oakheart' or if they were merely thinking that Gregar could not be thé Oakheart that he was known to be, as the stories often made him out to be much more handsome and formidable as he himself found himself to be.
Gidja walked her round amongst the quarters of the lords, making sure to differ her patterns every now and then. Mostly she did this by just walking where ever struck her fancy. This meant she mostly walked around the balconies overlooking the garden - well, a garden. It was more like a snowed over field of grass, with hints of dark purple and deep yellow Snowdragons, a type of fower that grew only in the north. Not that it was any special except for it's exclusivety in southern regions. From the balcony she could see into this garden, where most servants spent their spare time resting, and she could also walk around the premises of the guest quarters. They were simple quarters, made of stone, and most did not have more than a bed, a chest for weaponry and other such things and a table and stool. It was good enough for the lords, who seemed to pride themselves in their simplicity, and often mocked the southern lords for their standards.
It was turning night, and many lords and their servants came back from the tavern, drunk or sober depending on the lord. They all entered their quarters straight away, most likely wishing to sleep away the drinks. Gidja could't fault them. Just as she was about to change her position again to take a look onto the garden, she got called over by another guardsman, Eirik, a young and able recruit. The young boy was barely 16, and had not a spot of hair on his chin. Even the lord regent, Joakim, looked more manly than this young guard. She grinned to herself, her slight laugh uncovering her joy in the boys appearance. As she got closer to him he grinned at her as well. “Laughing at me again are we? Just watch, one day I'll be yer' boss, Gidja.” She smiled and playfully tugged on his cheek as a mother would. “Sure you will. What did you want, hairless Eirik?” The boy adjusted his leather belt again, his sheathed sword being slightly too heavy for him. It would never stay up comfortably, always dragging on behind him. “Capt'n told me ter' release you, 'n ordered you to visit the courtyard. Somefin' about keeping an eye on thieves.. not sure who'd risk their handses right now fer' stealing, but orders be orders, right Gidja?”
Gidja shrugged it off, the boy was right, orders were orders. She nodded at him and gripped her spear closer while heading off for the courtyard, passing through the guest quarters, into a stairwell and down into the garden where she'd greet Svit, a servant of the liege lord. After the garden it was a straight walk through the main hall, past the sides of it, out the large doors and into the courtyard. It seemed quiet, two of the dogs running by chasing eachother and playing around, generally being a nuisance, but an enjoyable nuisance at that. A cat had laid down nearby and purred softly as it slept, but one open eye would reveal it wasn't truly sleeping, more so watching the two dogs scuffle about.
It had become part of her routine, to stand in the cold outside during the snow, watching the moon shine it's light on the keep and it's surrounding village, leaning on her spear and keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings. Surely nobody would try anything tonight, not with all the guards of the visiting earls and other noblemen walking about. Lord regent Joakim had made a good decision to offer them shelter inside the village rather than outside, and it seemed the tavern owner, Andrik, agreed with her. He was making good bussiness with these drunk soldiers walking around, and those that didn't drink sat around their fires near the tents they set up in the village, talking and having a merry time, despite the bitter cold.
Surely, it would be fun to see someone from the south spend a night here. Maybe that pesky little Edúar Athos, of the Falkhalls. That little brat always had such a runny mouth whenever she had seen him, surely his father would do good to send him to the Whitelands for some Northern discipline to be beaten into him. Gidja giggled to herself, the mere idea of a southerner here was idiotic ofcourse, but she couldn't help but wonder what he'd do. Probably scream bloody murder at the 'abuse' of putting him in a cold chamber with a bed and table. And so the night carried away, drunk men passing by, dogs chasing eachother and a half sleeping cat to keep her company. She wondered what her own cat was up to, but she knew the answer - he'd be laying in her bed, lazy as always. It'd been months since he'd caught a rat. Stupid critter it was. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,876 | 1,531 | 1 | 1,601 | 88 | Amber sat back in her throne. She was holding court, and listening to the local people's pleas or comments, as was customary to do once in a while. Next to her, in chairs of their own, the advisors stood watch, occasionally making a remark or giving a piece of advice. Her father had chosen them, but had told her not to trust them. The promise of gold makes even the most pious monk betray and connive, he'd said to her. Tomas seemed to agree with him, and often asked her to get rid of them. But she did rely on them. And after all, they were possibly both just being paranoid, as the kingdom was still standing and her heart still beating.
She sat quite comfortably with her legs crossed, leaning on one arm to the side of her throne. In her free hand she held a chalice of wine, which she occasionally took sips out of and otherwise swirled around. Habits picked up from watching her father do the very same thing while holding court. She hoped she looked presentable, as she had spent quite a long time getting ready to appear in public. She'd let her auburn hair fall down to her shoulders, and was wearing her leather tabard and boots, as usual. The nuns in the palace kept trying to convince her to wear a dress, but she found them uncomfortable and unempowering. She heard the clink of metal and footsteps from outside, and the door opened. A guard ran in and bowed.
"Milady, Gregor the Oakheart of House Weade is here to see you."
"Bring him in then," she said. The guard next to her nodded and walked towards the now thin line of farmers, the metal of his armour clinking, filling the empty sound of the courtroom. He made them clear to the side to wait for the arrival of the Lord. Not many people had showed up that day. In the audience she could see a few barons, some close friends, guards, and of course, Tomas. He looked bored, scratching his beard. She had told him he didn't have to come, as she knew it bored him, but he had insisted. He could be so stubborn. He seemed more interested in the young widowed Marquess next to him, who was blushing, than the arrival of the Lord.
Gregar walked in. "Lady Rossric," he said, his lips forming into something he perhaps thought was a smile. It was a false smile, that was for sure. "The last time I saw you, you were throwing a temper tantrum at your father."
She saw Tomas raise an eyebrow out of the corner of her eye. She smiled, remembering the incident. She would have been around five, making him seven or eight.
"And you fell off your horse while learning to ride," a poor comeback, as she couldn't ride either, but that day had made her giggle so much that she remembered it vividly.
She saw Gregor look around the room. He was making eye contact with most of the people in the court. He was quite handsome, she thought. He was broad shouldered and had a handsome face, though it was lined with hard work and sleeplessness. She had seen this in her own father, the same restlessness. Especially in the eyes. | Amber Rossric
In Verba Virtus, In Terra Pietas, In Anima Dignitas, In Gladio Gravitas
Full name: Lady Amber Rossric
Titles: Lady
Social rank: noblewoman
Job or societal position: Lady Amber Rossric is a member of the Rossric family and looks after the Forklands. She also is head of the army as Lady Commander.
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Appearance: See above. Most people describe her as beautiful.
Personality: Strong-willed, fiesty. She has a relatively short fuse, and usually gets angered quite easily. She tries to keep zen but often the bottled up anger comes out, sometimes on innocent people. She genuinely cares for the well-being of her people, and helps them almost too much, destroying the economy little by little by giving them too much luxury, through too much confidence in their wealth. She doesn't have many friends, outside a few men in her guard, her brother, mother and a few female cousins who don't mind her being a warrior.
History: Amber was born the the Lord of the Forklands and his wife, a daughter of the Lord of Athos. When her father died of an unknown illness, she became the ruler, her father having left no legitimate sons. She does however have a half-brother, a bastard son of the late Lord Rossric.
In her youth she trained with a sword and bow unlike the other girls, and showed a talent for it. She often would go near the Forks with her brother and spar. They were evenly matched, but she seemd to have the upper edge, much to his annoyance. Towards the end of his life, her father realised he was no longer going to bear any more children and taught her about how she should rule. She listened closely, but still trained more than learned. She read some of the books her father gave her, mainly military ones, about the tactics and conquests of past leaders of the kingdoms. This knowledge and strength made her Lady Commander of the army, on top of being the Lady Regent. She does not bother to surround herself with any guards in her modest palace, but relies heavily on her advisors in matters of economy or general ruling. Perhaps too much.
Her brother often visits, but many people mistreat him for being a bastard, despite him fitting in, being loved by his father and sister. He is looking for his true mother's identity, which only the Regent Mother knows. Though she's not willing to tell him, as she has harboured a hate of him for being her husband's bastard. Amber does not care about these distinctions, and relies on her brother's help to account for her inexperiences. She knows she can trust him above any advisors. Her father's most impacftul words in his teachings to her were: "Trust no one in your court, and be on your guard."
Skills: Impressive use of a sword. General mastery of most weapons, though her bowmanship is just above sub-par. Above average Leadership and Command (Tactics, Military). She uses her shield and horse clumsily, despite her father's chief of army trying to teach her, so she prefers to use just a sword or wield a weapon in each hand.
Dreams and fears: She dreams of being the strongest kingdom, and though she's satisfied with what she has, she dreams of more. She fears her advisors, some of them could only be seeking monetary gain in her ruling, and even try to overthrow her. There have been two attacks on her person since she became regent two months ago. Her brother has started accompanying her to most places, despite her wishes, to provide backup.
Favored equipment: She generally wears a leather tabard with her house's sigil as her everyday clothes. In battle, she opts for heavier plate, covering her whole body, topped off with a armet. In the Forkish fashion, she wears a small cape under her right shoulderguard, and a small sigil pin on her left breast. She wields a longsword called "Honour", and an axe she calls "Valour".
Extra: N/A
Tomas Rossric
In Verba Virtus, In Terra Pietas, In Anima Dignitas, In Gladio Gravitas
Full name: Ser Tomas Rossric
Titles: Knight/Ser
Social rank: Nobleman/Bastard
Job or societal position: He's been granted a few honours by his sister, even though people look down on him. Officially he's a knight, and must protect the kingdom.
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: See above.
Personality: Witty. He often gets out of situations with his tongue and not his sword. He's not very good at fighting. He likes to have a lot of fun, drinking, gambling. He's very different from his sister, but still loves her.
History: Tomas was born a bastard to the late Lord Rossric. He does not know who his mother is, but based on his looks she was probably a northerner unlike Amber's mother, an Athosi. She does not like him, unlike his sister, for she always thought her husband was faithful. She looks down on him and rarely speaks to him.
Many of the other inhabitants of the Forklands also look down on him, though some don't care of his bastardice and some even hold him in higher regard for not being a "typical nobleman". After discovering he wasn't very good at fighting, his father decided to get him more interested in books and literature. Tomas often reads, writes and this has developed him into a smart man. He constantly uses his wit and charm to get what he wants, or get out of certain situations.
Skills: Use of wit and intellect, knowledge. Can only use a sword and shield, badly. Moderately good at riding.
Dreams and fears: He dreams of knowing who his mother is, and also being accepted by society despite his bastardice to be less lonely.
Favored equipment: He usually wears a loose tunic. In battle he covers it with chainmail and a tabard with his sigil, but with a white stripe across it showing his illegitimacy. He carries a wooden shield with a similar slashed crest, and a standard-issue hand-and-a-half (or aptly named Bastard) sword.
Extra: N/A |
55,877 | 1,531 | 2 | 333 | 325 | The road north was growing colder with each passing day and night. Alethea despised the cold. It brought back memories of many long nights from years gone by that she had spent huddled and shivering against her sister’s frame - the only source of warmth available to her - while she prayed to any of the gods generous enough to hear her plea, that they would both wake up the next morning. She would often pray for more food too.
Alethea hadn’t wanted to leave the relative safety and comfort of the Great City in the south. Pickings were far more favourable there than those of other regions and the rich had more money than sense. However, her recent high-profile heists had earned her a reputation - and a price on her head. While she was wary of bounty hunters and their ilk, it was other thieves that had ultimately been behind her decision to accept an offer from a nobleman to steal something up north. The thieves and con-artists of the Great City were very territorial and had not taken kindly to a newcomer stepping on their toes and taking what they viewed as their bounty and loot. People said there was honour among thieves, but Alethea knew that if you were to ask any real thief, they would tell you you were sorely mistaken.
Traveling the Great Northern Road alone was too risky, Alethea had decided, especially now that winter was drawing in. While the south enjoyed a moderate winter, the north truly did battle with the elements. Furthermore, if she decided to only travel when she thought she could pass unnoticed all the way to the north, it would take her an age to reach her destination. Thus, the most practical and safest avenue open to her was to join the wagons belonging to various traders that were heading that way. Choices were slim given the time of year, but Alethea secured herself a spot on one of them. Well, two spots really as Baego, the young lad that had stuck to her side like an adhesive for the past few months had decided to join her on her sudden journey.
The wagons were less than a days ride from the heart of the north, the home of the infamous Weades. Alethea had so far tried to limit her contact with members of the trading company. The men soon got the message that no, she would not be warming their beds along the way and mostly left her alone now. The few women traveling with the wagons did try to draw her into idle chatter, but this always made Alethea feel uncomfortable. Simply talking with people had always been difficult for the young woman. She was never sure on what she should say or how to act. In such circumstances, Baego was her hero. He had sensed her discomfort right from the get go and would step into conversations or even answer for her. Baego had no problem talking - in fact, there was rarely a time when he wasn’t talking. Even in his sleep he would murmur.
The thief pulled her cloak tighter around her thin frame as a rather strong gale started to pick up. She hadn’t managed to purchase thicker clothing for herself or Baego before they had left the Great City and the pair was suffering for it. Though neither had come down with an illness, Alethea was thankful that on the morrow she would be able to buy something more substantial to ward off the chill in the air. In the coming days, Alethea knew she would be receiving more information from her current employer on where exactly she would be stealing from as the nobleman had been rather vague on that particular aspect of the heist, simply telling her he would reveal such things when he knew she was in the north. Alethea did not like accepting work when there were such matters concealed and unknown to her, but the excitement she felt over what she was about to steal had swayed her decision. | ALETHEA
I once asked the gods for a lace ribbon, but I quickly found out they didn’t work like that. So I stole the ribbon and instead asked them for forgiveness.
Full name: Alethea
Titles: She has no titles or names beyond that of ‘Alethea’. It was the name given to her as a child, that and no other. Though she does take a certain degree of mirth in telling people she is Alethea of No Name and Nowhere. Her chosen profession as earned her several names, some of great admiration and others of scorn depending on who you ask. Her favourite so far has been Poison Ivy.
Social rank: Alethea has no memories before the orphanage and workhouse her and her identical twin sister grew up in. Born the poorest of the poor, the girls guessed they were either orphaned or given up because they were the result of less than pure activities.
Job or societal position: Alethea takes great pride in her work for, though she would not want to tempt fate by being hubris, she is very good at it. Very good at it indeed. Alethea is a thief. Not the petty thief she was in her childhood who would steal from market stalls and people’s pockets. No, such trivial things are long behind her. Alethea’s speciality lies in entering otherwise untouchable places and taking the treasures they house. As much as Alethea loves the thrill of stealing for herself, if one can find a way to her (and there are very few as over the years her chosen profession as earned her a few enemies as apparently people don’t like having their possessions taken from them from right under their noses - who knew?), then she may be willing to steal what you desire - providing the theft is enticing enough to tempt her.
Age: Alethea suspects she has passed her twentieth year, but by how many seasons is unknown to her. Hazarding a guess, she would put her age in the early twenties, but she wouldn’t swear by it.
Gender: Female
Alethea has never been bothered with her appearance. She has been told many times that she is beautiful, but instead of feeling flattered she views her beauty as a nuisance. She would rather be unremarkable and go about unnoticed. Alethea has deep brown hair that doesn’t quite reach her shoulders and lovely, sea-green eyes. She stands at 5’5, a little taller than the average woman and she has slightly darker skin than most of the residents of Borhilon. Having been malnourished as a child, she is rather lanky and lacks feminine curves that are so desired by most. However, her muscles are strong. Alethea has a branding on her left hand, her dominant hand, of the sign of a thief from where she was caught stealing as a child. The skin around the branding is slightly pinker than the rest of her, but the branding itself has turned white where the skin is raised from it. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Alethea never takes her fingerless gloves off.
Personality: Alethea gives off a very calm demeanour to the outside world and is rarely moved to doing something out of anger. Her temper is kept in check, as is her tongue. In years gone by her tongue would have earned her lashings, but since those childhood days she has learned to keep what she thinks to herself. These days, not much riles her and if it does, she would not show it. Why let people know what she is thinking?
Alethea has no great love of the expensive things she steals. Her love and pride that she takes in her profession come from the thrill of a successful theft - the more difficult and dangerous, the more satisfying. However, Alethea is no idiot. She would not rush in blindly to a heist or simply take a job because the payment is large and appealing. Meticulous research is done behind the scenes on both the location she will have to breach unseen and the person’s motives behind hiring her.
She cares little for petty feuds between people and has no time for those wanting to hire her services as a means for seeking revenge. Then again, the intricacies of human nature and its relationships have always been a mystery to Alethea. She has yet to find a lock she cannot eventually pick and only wished people were so uncomplicated. Jealously, guilt, love, hate, grief, loyalty - the whole range and spectrum of human emotions are something that make her uncomfortable.
Alethea thinks that people might think of her as uncaring - if she allowed people to know her, that is - but there are things she cares about. She despises when people overwork their animals and then beat them for their tiredness. Those people always find themselves missing their coin purses not soon afterwards. Another thing to affect her is children. Perhaps because no one gave her a helping hand growing up, she keeps an eye of the children who live in the alleyways and are seen as a pest by most people. Coins are dropped in the laps regularly for them to buy food and medicine by her as she passes by.
History: Alethea and her twin sister do not know where they came from, but they were raised in a rundown orphanage in a neighbouring kingdom. As soon as they were old enough, both girls were put to work in the town’s workhouse to earn their keep. The work was hard for such young children, but it was their lot in life and neither girl complained. It was several years later, when they were to be separated due to the growing number of children the workhouse had, that the girls dared to brave the outside world they had been warned against. “Thieves, cutthroats and bandits - not an honest man amongst them out there” was the warning they had headed for so long.
The girls stayed together throughout the years that followed. They would pick pocket and barely survived the winter’s cold each year. The days of unending hunger are burned in Alethea’s mind to this day. As are the cold winter nights. Stealing food and coin became easier as their skill set grew. Marga, her twin, would in time, become a seasoned grifter. She could manipulate people into revealing their darkest desires without them even realising. Alethea grew into her role as a thief too. The shadows became her home and she could pass unseen by all and locked doors were no longer an issue or obstacle.
What ultimately separated the girls was a man. Alethea fell in love and entertained the foolish notion of being able to marry and raise a family with him - to finally have everything she had never had before. She gave the man her heart and virtue. However it was Marga that won the man’s affections. Alethea knew no man could resist her sister. Though they were identical in looks, Alethea did not have the way with people as she did. She would often joke that Marga could charm the birds from the trees with just her sweet words. Thus, the man she loved fell in love with her sister and they married. Alethea knew her sister married the man for his good fortune and standing in society, but a small part of her wondered if Marga had actually done it out of jealousy. Jealousy that Alethea had almost achieved something on her own. Though Alethea would never admit to the deep hurt their marriage had caused her, she has not visited her sister since the news that Marga was expecting her first child. That was five years ago now.
Alethea left the kingdom they had grown up in, claiming their were richer pickings in Borhilon and not once has she looked back. Though her heart aches for her sister, she doesn’t see a future where she could come to terms with what has passed between them and thus, she stays away, only sending money to Marga once a month. Since her first, and really only, experience of love, Alethea has closed herself off to such things, deeming them unnecessary.
Without Marga by her side, Alethea had to learn how to thieve again. She no longer had a partner to steal the secrets of the location hidden treasure boxes or weaknesses in a home’s defence. Given that she had no other skill set, she hurriedly evolved into a solo artist, lest she become destitute and have to turn to other, less scrupulous means in order to feed herself. Alethea thus learned to pick out faults and possible entrances into places by herself on sight alone, or closer inspection once night had fallen. She learned how to read guard routines, knowing she could no longer rely on Marga for distractions. Most importantly, she learned how to pick locks. Her first night in a jail cell was a harrowing experience and one she did not care to repeat if it could be avoided.
Alethea has only gained a reputation in recent months. A year ago she was relatively unknown, but after a series rather risky endeavours in the rich region of the Great City, that is no longer the case. This new turn of events brings with it benefits and cons to Alethea. She is now sought out and payed handsomely to steal for others, but it means that if caught, the punishment would be certain death, not a mere branding as was the case when she was caught once as a child.
The other new addition to Alethea’s life is a child of about ten years who had tried to pickpocket her one day several moons back. Alethea had been highly amused by his cheek and had spent the next few days watching him before she stepped forward to offer in a few tips to avoid him being caught and punished. Since that, he’s followed her from region to region, almost like her second shadow.
Skills: Hand Alethea a sword and she will be able to tell you the region it was made in, the extent of its quality, what its true value is and then what she could sell it for and to whom. However, ask her to wield it and she wouldn’t have a clue. Alethea's survival skills in a situation involving conflict are to run - run hard and run fast. Being a thief, combat is not something she factors into the equation during a heist. Passing unseen and undetected however are. Alethea is proud of her skills in lock picking. To date, she is unrivalled in her expertise. She is also very adapt at climbing as scaling walls of great height is just part of her profession. Thankfully she has the necessary grace and balance to allow running along an embarkment or a rooftop without the fear of falling. Passing unnoticed and being light of foot are good attributes of hers too. Her only skill with weapons of any description would be a crossbow as sometimes a line is needed as part of her escape or entry into a domicile. Her daggers are more for show than anything - an insurance policy almost.
Dreams and fears: Alethea once dreamed of raising a family and no longer having to steal and though she would never admit it a part of her still hopes for just that. However, she does not linger on such notions. Nowadays she just prays she is not caught. Having no combat skills, she does fear that one day her luck will run out and she will not be able to escape a heist if her presence in undetected.
Favored equipment: Two daggers are hidden underneath her clothes for protection - one strapped to her thigh and the other hidden inside her boot. Otherwise her only constants are her lock picking kit, her dark-coloured cloak and a green bandana to cover the lower half of her face. All other things she can steal.
Extra: Just an FYI, I'm open to romance with this character if anyone is interested.
BAEGO
It is not necessary to be educated to be intelligent.
Full name: Baego Thatchrite
Social rank: Commoner
Job or societal position: Pick-pocket, street rat
Age: 10
Gender: Male
Baego is tall for his age, already being just shy of 5 feet tall. His straw-coloured hair is naturally curly and he has green eyes.
Personality: Baego is a highly intelligent young lad, despite never having received any proper education. He prides himself on being smarter than others his age. He has a great love of the theatre as he and the other street children used to go and watch the plays from their precarious positions in the rafters. He admires the artistry of the playwrights and fancies himself quite the wordsmith. Baego is not a timid lad, but neither is he reckless. He has a kind soul and makes friends easily due to his easy manner, cheeky demeanour and ability to charm most.
History: Though there is great wealth and prosperity in the southern Great City, there is also poverty - it just goes unseen. Baego knows little of his parents other than his mother died in childbirth and his father was a thatcher who took a fatal fall off a roof he was working on when Baego was very young. Having no other family, he grew up as one of many children who had no homes and were forced to live on the streets. Being too scrawny to do any manual labour, Baego could get little work to earn coin to buy himself food and therefore resorted to pick-pocketing people. Which is incidentally how he met Alethea.
Alethea is the first adult to take a genuine interest in him and since the day she approached him to offer him advise on how not to get caught, he has clung to her. When she told him she would be leaving the south, he was distraught as apart from his father, who he only has a few hazy memories of, no one had ever cared about his well being. Not wanting to loose Alethea, he joined her on her journey north.
Dreams and fears: Baego dreams of one day writing great plays that will out-live him for many generations. However, first he needs to master how to read and write. He is making progress, but each mistake he makes frustrates him greatly. Additionally, he fears the day when Alethea will leave him. |
55,878 | 1,531 | 3 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Joakim sat upon the throne for several more minutes, as some of the earls had not yet left and he didn't want to seem rude by leaving before them. They were talking to eachother while overlooking the strategic map on the large table in front of the throne, pointing at several holdings of their own, to the north where recent reports of barbaric woodspeople have surfaced, an old annoyance to the Weade that Joakims' father had thought dealt with. Apparently they hadn't been dealt with.
After pointing at the north, their hands shifted south to the border of the Forklands and the Whitelands. The few things Joakim heard from them related to the trade resuming there after a road had become unaccesible due to a heavy storm. It's good that trade resumed, whatever small amount of trade passed through. After discussing all that they bowed for Joakim, whom nodded in return and made a small gesture with his hand, before they left. Joakim was about to follow suit and retire for the night, but it seemed ser Rolland had urgent news of some sorts. He walked towards Joakim with a Northerners stride, it seemed, and handed him the daily raven messages.
An annoyed look becrept Joakims face, more so for the messages than ser Rolland, for he had already gotten plenty of messages. No doubt these were more letters of support in this time of mourning. Joakim shook his head, they were merely trying to rub the Weades' the right way for the most part as most of them paid no mind to Rikard unless they needed something. However a certain letter caught his eye, being sealed with the seal of an Athos man. Quickly he opened it, and read it carefully. It seemed Jovan Athos was on his way to the north, a dangerous escapade for anyone, and more so this plagued man. But he was welcome none the less.
Joakim turned back to Rolland, throwing the other letters onto the table without paying them more mind. From his jackets' pocket he revealed a letter, marked with the sign of Harrighfield, meaning it must've been written by lord Perris himself. “A message from the Harrighfields,” he spoke softly, to not allow anyone other than Rolland to hear. “he claims the right to sit on our throne, as according to him Gregar is not fit to rule. And more so, he claims that right by force. We are going to war, it seems. I want you to raise the guards, and double the patrols. There will be no tresspassers here tonight.” Joakim gave him a serious, stern and strict look before rolling the letter back to a mere roll of paper, and stuffed it back in his jacket. What he didn't mention to Rolland was the chance for a peaceful solution, though Gregar would not like it, most likely. His hands went over to the table again, grabbing the pile of letters, before greeting Rolland with a nod and walking away to his chambers. He would probably have to spend a night writing the 'thank you' letters to everyone, and then the entire tomorrow to rewrite them, as his handwriting was rather sloppy.
Gregar smiled at Amber, who seemed intent on mocking him as he did her. “Aye, that horse was a tough one.” His head turned around the room once again, spotting amidst the crowd that had gathered a man he knew as Tomas, the bastard. The man had somewhat short hair and a small beard, with a pair of blue eyes that would make any woman swoon as soon as the next. Gregar had never really been interested in him, and usually talked to him only when he had to, but he was sure the boy was a fine man. A bastard, but a fine man. A hand went up as he waved at Tomas slightly, almost as if he was trying to be funny doing it.
He noticed some others, amongst others a tradesman he knew to be.. less than trustworthy, but very rich. He hadn't understood why Amber had kept the tradesman turned noble around, but then again Gregar didn't understand the concept of wealth either. Some armed man stood around the tradesman, but Gregar paid him no mind, since he blent in with the environment rather easily.
Besides Amber were the advisors, all looking the part with their fancy robes and clothes, and a devilous grin on their face, as if they were so happy to spend their days listening to commoners' pleas. Or perhaps they were happy because they could rub their grubby little hands all over the Rossrics' wealth. “However if you'd excuse me, I wish to rest and the road to my home is yet long. Perhaps you have a quarters for me, after which I can stay the rest of tomorrow, leaving in the evening? I'd reach the border before midnight, and after that it would be not much longer.” | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,879 | 1,531 | 4 | 333 | 325 | Amber nodded. She beckoned to one of the guards next to her, the Captain of the Guard, the man she trusted most after Tomas. "Please find lodgings for our good friend Lord Gregar. I should think my father's chambers are in order," she said. She hoped he would not be modest and refuse. The truth was most of the other chambers were now full, the royal one being among the few empty ones. She had chosen to keep her old room, and her brother and Tomas both avoided the royal chambers, leaving it unused.
No one seemed shock at offering the old Duke's chambers, as Gregar was a reknowned nobleman and fighter. Amber thought for a second, then added "We'd be glad to entertain you for the night and tomorrow. Will you dine with us in the hall?". She made a mental note to ask the cooks to prepare a feast tonight, in honour of their guest. A few bards could be in order. She'd have to find a maid to see to the seating, as well.
The Guard Captain came back to stand next to the queen. The manservant he'd brought came next to Gregar, waiting for his answer before bringing him to his chambers. | ALETHEA
I once asked the gods for a lace ribbon, but I quickly found out they didn’t work like that. So I stole the ribbon and instead asked them for forgiveness.
Full name: Alethea
Titles: She has no titles or names beyond that of ‘Alethea’. It was the name given to her as a child, that and no other. Though she does take a certain degree of mirth in telling people she is Alethea of No Name and Nowhere. Her chosen profession as earned her several names, some of great admiration and others of scorn depending on who you ask. Her favourite so far has been Poison Ivy.
Social rank: Alethea has no memories before the orphanage and workhouse her and her identical twin sister grew up in. Born the poorest of the poor, the girls guessed they were either orphaned or given up because they were the result of less than pure activities.
Job or societal position: Alethea takes great pride in her work for, though she would not want to tempt fate by being hubris, she is very good at it. Very good at it indeed. Alethea is a thief. Not the petty thief she was in her childhood who would steal from market stalls and people’s pockets. No, such trivial things are long behind her. Alethea’s speciality lies in entering otherwise untouchable places and taking the treasures they house. As much as Alethea loves the thrill of stealing for herself, if one can find a way to her (and there are very few as over the years her chosen profession as earned her a few enemies as apparently people don’t like having their possessions taken from them from right under their noses - who knew?), then she may be willing to steal what you desire - providing the theft is enticing enough to tempt her.
Age: Alethea suspects she has passed her twentieth year, but by how many seasons is unknown to her. Hazarding a guess, she would put her age in the early twenties, but she wouldn’t swear by it.
Gender: Female
Alethea has never been bothered with her appearance. She has been told many times that she is beautiful, but instead of feeling flattered she views her beauty as a nuisance. She would rather be unremarkable and go about unnoticed. Alethea has deep brown hair that doesn’t quite reach her shoulders and lovely, sea-green eyes. She stands at 5’5, a little taller than the average woman and she has slightly darker skin than most of the residents of Borhilon. Having been malnourished as a child, she is rather lanky and lacks feminine curves that are so desired by most. However, her muscles are strong. Alethea has a branding on her left hand, her dominant hand, of the sign of a thief from where she was caught stealing as a child. The skin around the branding is slightly pinker than the rest of her, but the branding itself has turned white where the skin is raised from it. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Alethea never takes her fingerless gloves off.
Personality: Alethea gives off a very calm demeanour to the outside world and is rarely moved to doing something out of anger. Her temper is kept in check, as is her tongue. In years gone by her tongue would have earned her lashings, but since those childhood days she has learned to keep what she thinks to herself. These days, not much riles her and if it does, she would not show it. Why let people know what she is thinking?
Alethea has no great love of the expensive things she steals. Her love and pride that she takes in her profession come from the thrill of a successful theft - the more difficult and dangerous, the more satisfying. However, Alethea is no idiot. She would not rush in blindly to a heist or simply take a job because the payment is large and appealing. Meticulous research is done behind the scenes on both the location she will have to breach unseen and the person’s motives behind hiring her.
She cares little for petty feuds between people and has no time for those wanting to hire her services as a means for seeking revenge. Then again, the intricacies of human nature and its relationships have always been a mystery to Alethea. She has yet to find a lock she cannot eventually pick and only wished people were so uncomplicated. Jealously, guilt, love, hate, grief, loyalty - the whole range and spectrum of human emotions are something that make her uncomfortable.
Alethea thinks that people might think of her as uncaring - if she allowed people to know her, that is - but there are things she cares about. She despises when people overwork their animals and then beat them for their tiredness. Those people always find themselves missing their coin purses not soon afterwards. Another thing to affect her is children. Perhaps because no one gave her a helping hand growing up, she keeps an eye of the children who live in the alleyways and are seen as a pest by most people. Coins are dropped in the laps regularly for them to buy food and medicine by her as she passes by.
History: Alethea and her twin sister do not know where they came from, but they were raised in a rundown orphanage in a neighbouring kingdom. As soon as they were old enough, both girls were put to work in the town’s workhouse to earn their keep. The work was hard for such young children, but it was their lot in life and neither girl complained. It was several years later, when they were to be separated due to the growing number of children the workhouse had, that the girls dared to brave the outside world they had been warned against. “Thieves, cutthroats and bandits - not an honest man amongst them out there” was the warning they had headed for so long.
The girls stayed together throughout the years that followed. They would pick pocket and barely survived the winter’s cold each year. The days of unending hunger are burned in Alethea’s mind to this day. As are the cold winter nights. Stealing food and coin became easier as their skill set grew. Marga, her twin, would in time, become a seasoned grifter. She could manipulate people into revealing their darkest desires without them even realising. Alethea grew into her role as a thief too. The shadows became her home and she could pass unseen by all and locked doors were no longer an issue or obstacle.
What ultimately separated the girls was a man. Alethea fell in love and entertained the foolish notion of being able to marry and raise a family with him - to finally have everything she had never had before. She gave the man her heart and virtue. However it was Marga that won the man’s affections. Alethea knew no man could resist her sister. Though they were identical in looks, Alethea did not have the way with people as she did. She would often joke that Marga could charm the birds from the trees with just her sweet words. Thus, the man she loved fell in love with her sister and they married. Alethea knew her sister married the man for his good fortune and standing in society, but a small part of her wondered if Marga had actually done it out of jealousy. Jealousy that Alethea had almost achieved something on her own. Though Alethea would never admit to the deep hurt their marriage had caused her, she has not visited her sister since the news that Marga was expecting her first child. That was five years ago now.
Alethea left the kingdom they had grown up in, claiming their were richer pickings in Borhilon and not once has she looked back. Though her heart aches for her sister, she doesn’t see a future where she could come to terms with what has passed between them and thus, she stays away, only sending money to Marga once a month. Since her first, and really only, experience of love, Alethea has closed herself off to such things, deeming them unnecessary.
Without Marga by her side, Alethea had to learn how to thieve again. She no longer had a partner to steal the secrets of the location hidden treasure boxes or weaknesses in a home’s defence. Given that she had no other skill set, she hurriedly evolved into a solo artist, lest she become destitute and have to turn to other, less scrupulous means in order to feed herself. Alethea thus learned to pick out faults and possible entrances into places by herself on sight alone, or closer inspection once night had fallen. She learned how to read guard routines, knowing she could no longer rely on Marga for distractions. Most importantly, she learned how to pick locks. Her first night in a jail cell was a harrowing experience and one she did not care to repeat if it could be avoided.
Alethea has only gained a reputation in recent months. A year ago she was relatively unknown, but after a series rather risky endeavours in the rich region of the Great City, that is no longer the case. This new turn of events brings with it benefits and cons to Alethea. She is now sought out and payed handsomely to steal for others, but it means that if caught, the punishment would be certain death, not a mere branding as was the case when she was caught once as a child.
The other new addition to Alethea’s life is a child of about ten years who had tried to pickpocket her one day several moons back. Alethea had been highly amused by his cheek and had spent the next few days watching him before she stepped forward to offer in a few tips to avoid him being caught and punished. Since that, he’s followed her from region to region, almost like her second shadow.
Skills: Hand Alethea a sword and she will be able to tell you the region it was made in, the extent of its quality, what its true value is and then what she could sell it for and to whom. However, ask her to wield it and she wouldn’t have a clue. Alethea's survival skills in a situation involving conflict are to run - run hard and run fast. Being a thief, combat is not something she factors into the equation during a heist. Passing unseen and undetected however are. Alethea is proud of her skills in lock picking. To date, she is unrivalled in her expertise. She is also very adapt at climbing as scaling walls of great height is just part of her profession. Thankfully she has the necessary grace and balance to allow running along an embarkment or a rooftop without the fear of falling. Passing unnoticed and being light of foot are good attributes of hers too. Her only skill with weapons of any description would be a crossbow as sometimes a line is needed as part of her escape or entry into a domicile. Her daggers are more for show than anything - an insurance policy almost.
Dreams and fears: Alethea once dreamed of raising a family and no longer having to steal and though she would never admit it a part of her still hopes for just that. However, she does not linger on such notions. Nowadays she just prays she is not caught. Having no combat skills, she does fear that one day her luck will run out and she will not be able to escape a heist if her presence in undetected.
Favored equipment: Two daggers are hidden underneath her clothes for protection - one strapped to her thigh and the other hidden inside her boot. Otherwise her only constants are her lock picking kit, her dark-coloured cloak and a green bandana to cover the lower half of her face. All other things she can steal.
Extra: Just an FYI, I'm open to romance with this character if anyone is interested.
BAEGO
It is not necessary to be educated to be intelligent.
Full name: Baego Thatchrite
Social rank: Commoner
Job or societal position: Pick-pocket, street rat
Age: 10
Gender: Male
Baego is tall for his age, already being just shy of 5 feet tall. His straw-coloured hair is naturally curly and he has green eyes.
Personality: Baego is a highly intelligent young lad, despite never having received any proper education. He prides himself on being smarter than others his age. He has a great love of the theatre as he and the other street children used to go and watch the plays from their precarious positions in the rafters. He admires the artistry of the playwrights and fancies himself quite the wordsmith. Baego is not a timid lad, but neither is he reckless. He has a kind soul and makes friends easily due to his easy manner, cheeky demeanour and ability to charm most.
History: Though there is great wealth and prosperity in the southern Great City, there is also poverty - it just goes unseen. Baego knows little of his parents other than his mother died in childbirth and his father was a thatcher who took a fatal fall off a roof he was working on when Baego was very young. Having no other family, he grew up as one of many children who had no homes and were forced to live on the streets. Being too scrawny to do any manual labour, Baego could get little work to earn coin to buy himself food and therefore resorted to pick-pocketing people. Which is incidentally how he met Alethea.
Alethea is the first adult to take a genuine interest in him and since the day she approached him to offer him advise on how not to get caught, he has clung to her. When she told him she would be leaving the south, he was distraught as apart from his father, who he only has a few hazy memories of, no one had ever cared about his well being. Not wanting to loose Alethea, he joined her on her journey north.
Dreams and fears: Baego dreams of one day writing great plays that will out-live him for many generations. However, first he needs to master how to read and write. He is making progress, but each mistake he makes frustrates him greatly. Additionally, he fears the day when Alethea will leave him. |
55,880 | 1,531 | 5 | 1,395 | 460 | Cregan had been stoically beside Joakim throughout the meeting of earls and small lords and other titles Cregan could barely be bothered to remember. He hadn't been paying very much attention to the mumbling of the lords milling through the great hall as his job was to protect Joakim, not spy on the dealings of underlings. Not that Joakim needed that much protection, the boy had grown into quite the warrior, but appearances mattered and if someone really wanted the boy dead it would be significantly harder to get through Cregan.
When Joakim opened with his speech Cregan began to pay more attention, watching the faces of the crowd to determine who would be loyal and who might cause problems, and it took him a fair bit of willpower not to lash out at Earl Redford when the blithering fool spoke up, but he knew that would reflect poorly on Joakim, so he kept himself in check. He politely stepped away when Rolland arrived to give him privacy to speak with Joakim, not that it particularly mattered, he was already aware of the situation with Harrighfield, and was quite ready to help Gregar prove that the Whitelands were not as weak as the Harrighfields seemed to believe.
Finally after Joakim had safely retired to his quarters Cregan relaxed, taking a brisk walk outside the halls into the yard, where he saw Rollands men training both against eachother and against straw targets. He casually walked over to a wall, leaning against it and regarding the lads training with a slight smirk. Occasionally he worked with Rolland to train particularly promising recruits, but none of the ones in the yard stood out to him. | Cregan Hart
"Honor and Loyalty are stronger than steel, and mine will not break"
Full name: Cregan Hart
Titles: Ser, “Weade's wolf”
Social rank: Knight
Job or societal position: Assigned to guard Joakim Weade
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Appearance: See picture above.
Height: 6'2”
Weight: 164 lbs
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Personality: Cregan can often come across as gruff or rude, but he has no cruelty in his heart. He easily loses his temper when he perceives something as a slight against his lords, which is due to his complete loyalty to the Weades.
History: Cregan was born into a family that had served the Weades for generations as bannermen, but as the fourthborn son he had almost no chance to inherit. Almost as soon as he was old enough he became squire for Lord Rikard Weade, his age resulting in a fast friendship with Rikards son, Gregar.
As he grew from a boy into a young man it became clear he was an exceptionally talented warrior, and Rikard began putting more effort into Cregan's martial education than would often be considered reasonable for a squire. Cregan excelled at his swordwork, though he was never one to lead troops, and always looked up to Gregar, being loyal to a fault. By the time he was granted a knighthood he was already something of a renowned warrior in Borhilon, bringing pride both to his own family and the Weades who he adored. When Rikard and Gregar left for war Cregan begged Rikard to take him with them, but Rikard insisted Cregan stay to protect the Wintershouse.
Skills: Exceptional combatant with most weapons, both in battlefield and dueling scenarios.
Dreams and fears: Cregan aspires to be the greatest knight in the Whitelands, or perhaps even Borhilon as a whole. His fear is to fail in his duties to protect the Weades.
Favored equipment: Cregan wields a large two handed sword in battle, though he also carries a shield and axe for when he needs to fight more defensively. See image for armor.
Extra: Sigil is a white wolf with antlers, the sigil of his family. |
55,881 | 1,531 | 6 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Gregar smiled and nodded, with a polite bow added onto the end of that social scene. “Ofcourse, miss Rossric, if it humors you I shall attend your feast.” He gave the entire room one final glance, making sure to take a peek at the advisors too. The manservant bowed before Gregar before leading him away to the royal chambers. It was.. an awkward room, after the passing of Amber's father, and it seemed out of place to sleep here. Gregar decided he'd just spend most his time avoiding this room - after all, he'd be attending a feast most of the night. Oh, the headache he'd have in the morrow. The manservant was about to leave when Gregar raised his hand to him, calling him closer. “Good man, help me take off my armour would you? I can hardly attend a feast in battledress.” He grinned slightly, almost appearing as if he was a normal soldier, but at the same time there was a tone of authority and respect in his voice. He certainly seemed to try hard to be kind and noble at the same time.. a combination most noblemen wouldn't even think of.
The manservant seemed happily surprised with the tone Gregar used, and Gregar could read off of the poor mans' face that he'd been mistreated by some noblemen in this area before, as kindness from nobles was often far too seek in any area that wasn't the North. Well, that's not true, as many nobles in the North were cruel as well. The man helped him with his armor, neatly putting it in a nearby chest, and resting the shield with the Weade crest on it against the chest. When he moved to fetch Gregars sword to put it away, Gregar stopped his hand and smiled. “I will carry this. No man should be caught unarmed. No smart man, either way. I am sure you have a knife somewhere. You seem smart enough to realize value in a weapon.” The man responded, again, awestruck. Gregar needed no more information, the reaction was enough to see that this man did indeed carry a knife - somewhere. As did most other men, and some women. Gregar simply changed into more comfortable clothes, smiling at the manservant who had yet to say a single word to Gregar.
When Gregar left the room, the manservant led him back to the grand hall. However before they entered, Gregar stopped the man one final time. “Before we enter, what is your name, peasant? I wish to commend your services to the duchess. Perhaps you will find some fortune in that.” The man nodded and opened his mouth, barely any sound coming out before pushing himself to say it. “I-It's Rowan, s-ser Oakheart.” Gregar tilted his head slightly when he heard his nickname, but smiled and continued the way inside. He opened the large single door, and stepped inside, traversing down the steps with gentle, tough but gracious steps, with a remarkable and characteristical hand placed on the hilt of his sword. He wore a burgundy red tunic with simple decorations on the trims of the shirt, and some fine woolen pants under his tunic. His boots never left his feet.
Gregar stepped closer to the main table, where Amber and Tomas would be seated, and although it was rather strange to see a bastard at the main table, Gregar paid no mind and instead focussed on the environments. In a short period of time, Amber had managed to transform the room into a feasting hall, put together with minstrels, bards and poets. But what caught Gregars eye the most was the table on the left, closest to Amber, where the three advisors were seated. They were the commonly found set of advisors, one being a master at arms, the other a tradesman and finally the spymaster, someone who you couldn't be sure of what he exactly did, except for spying.
The feast continued deep into the night, and Gregar had a few too many wine glasses, when the fattest of advisors stood up and raised his glass. “I wish to propose a greeting to Gregar Weade, the Oakheart!” A grin twisted on his face, but Gregar was far too drunk to pay mind to that. For that reason he'd also not noticed the spymaster slip out of his seat and slip into a passageway, and if anyone noticed, they'd likely think he went to relieve himself. “And a celebration to duchess Rossric! Under your rule we will live in prosperity and wealth, may the gods protect you.” It was then that a scream was heard from the upper balcony, where a set of four archers had appeared, longbow in hand and arrow nocked, ready to fire at the part of three sitting at the main table. Before anyone would be able to react, a group of guardsmen with spears entered the hall through the man door, and another one through the door that led to the quarters. As Gregar got up to defend himself, drunkenly throwing over the chair he had sat upon, the first volley of arrows was loosed, narrowly missing Gregar and Amber, but a single arrow grazing past Tomas' calves. It wouldn't hurt much, but it was sure that the archers knew how to aim.
As Gregar got up from the chair he drew his sword, preparing to meet the guard that came from behind them through the door first. As the guardsmen closed the distance, Gregar stepped forward too, sending his sword for the mans arm. Ofcourse, the man saw it coming from miles away and parried it with ease, but Gregar had something else up his sleeve. His sword having been blocked, he swung his left fist for the mans head and “OW!” The man stammered back, one hand on his eye as he stumbled around. It was enough time for Gregar to send another strike at the mans shoulder, hitting it and giving him a deep cut. The man dropped his sword and was now grasping for his shoulder when he felt a foot hit his knee sending him face first into the ground.
When he turned to face towards the small stairs leading up to the heightened platform with the main table, he noticed one of the soldiers from the larger door had come to him, where as the other two had gone for the other side to get to Amber and Tomas. Everyone in the hall was busy trying to get out, causing a ruckus as they pressed for the door. At the very least the three of them had some moments time before the archers could get a better aim at them, the peasantry and nobles that attended the feast busy blocking their shots to get away. Gregar was too drunk to notice the soldier approaching him had already cocked his arm back to strike him with the spear, but was saved by a peasant with a knife. “Oakheart! RUN!” the voice was familiar, as was the face, but Gregar couldn't remember the name that went along with the face; perhaps it was because the face was bloodied from the blood squirting from a soldiers neck. Before Gregar had a chance to react another arrow flew past him, notching itself into a wooden beam behind him.
With no time to react to anything other than the 'Run!' command, from a peasant no less, Gregar moved swiftly towards Amber in an attempt to grab her arm, after which he would quickly run back towards the stairs he came from before heading towards the door. He was sure Tomas could fend for himself, given that Amber had had plenty of time to deal with an attacker of her own herself. As he ran outside, with or without Amber, he headed for the peasant that had helped him earlier, who appeared to be waiting with his horse. “W-wait, I can.. cannot leave without my battledr..” Ah, yes. The wine was certainly delicious at these events. “Ser Oakheart, I.. I had known of their plot to kill duchess Rossric for some time, and I was even involved at one point.. but you made me realize my error. Not all noblemen are cruel. In fact, it is these imposters that are cruel, taking my taxes and raising them every week. I fear they have too many in this complot of theirs, as you could see they have even bribed the guards with their wealth. I took the chance after you would commend my name to gather your equipment and prepare your horse. I just fear I wasn't quick enough. Please, hurry before it is too late.” The entire idea of a plot to kill Amber was ridiculous, but then again they just got shot at with arrows, and stabbed at with spears. Perhaps it was true, and perhaps the peasant saved Gregars drunk life. Without asking any more questions Gregar mounted the horse, looked over to see if Amber and Tomas were there and then rode off, sure that they would follow. If they'd ride through the night, they'd arrive at the Wintershouse by the next afternoon.
As Gidja was standing guard, a scrawny and pale skinned man entered the palisades of the village, one who she hadn't seen before. He certainly wasn't from around the village, that was sure. Leaving her post was dangerous.. but then again, a stranger in the village that she didn't know was probably just as dangerous. She shrugged and approached the man, hailing him with her left hand while gripping her spear tightly with the right. “Hail and welcome to the Wintershouse. Might I ask what your bussiness here is, traveler?” she said with her most guardly voice, one that seemed just and respectful, rather than oppressive and mean. “It's- it's the wagons, m'lady. We were travelin' to Wintershouse, ye' see? And our wagons, we got them travelin' here ye' see? But there be a blizzard comin' and they don' know if they'll be makin' it 'ere. Might freeze to death, hear me?” Well, the man certainly had a thick lower class Ironhills accent. “I hear you. I'll get the captain of the guard, and we can decide if we'll send someone out.” Knowing the captain of the guard, most likely Gidja would get sent out. For some reason she always got the annoying and hard jobs, and she never got to stand around doing nothing for more than an hour before he had some task for her that needed special attention.
She told the man to wait in the courtyard, stay in the inn and stay warm. She wouldn't have him freezing to death, the man seemed fair despite being from the Ironhills. She headed back inside towards the armory, where she'd likely find captain Rolland. On her way she passed young lord regent Joakim, who seemed to be retiring to his quarters. She bowed shortly before continueing on her way past the large hall designated for meeting the earls for strategic discussions or anything of the sorts. She took a peak inside and spotted Rolland, who for some reason wasn't in the armory. “Captain Rolland! Urgent news!” she almost yelled when she entered the hall, “A wagon group is caught in the weather. They say there's a blizzard coming. I'm not sure about that, but it might be best if we send someone out.” She smirked at him before continueing. “Perhaps you want to get some real experience again? I can take you with me to go fetch these wagons, give you something to do other than standing around here picking your noooooos..” She didn't even see ser Cregan until she spoke her last word, slowly letting it fall out of her mouth while staring at Cregan. “I mean.. maybe you would like to accompany me, sir captain, to show me how to best fulfil this task?”
That was stupid of her, making the captain look like an idiot in front of Cregan.. I hope I don't get watchtower duty for this.. she thought to herself, a light blush coming onto her face. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,882 | 1,531 | 7 | 1,914 | 229 | Vincent's morning began earlier than most others as he woke to the diming stars. He had always woken up early and now he had a reason to wake up earlier. The coals of the forge were burning, though cool, and it was Vincent's job to add more coal to the fire so that it would burn hot enough. As the coals started to glow red, Vincent pumped the great bellows of the forge and forced air to flow into the space between the coals. Jerald walked into the forge in his usual garb, a simple leather apron with pockets for his tongs hammers, and such and simple woolen pants an shirt. "Ah, up already Vincent! Ya certainly are better than the other two lazy slugs. But, how am I suppose to be your Master if you get up before me?" Jerald said as he used the back of his hand to check the heat of the forge.
"Ha, well of course I am better than those two fools. They stay up late drinking in the tavern while I am here clsoing the forge. As for that, if I didn't get up earlier than you, you would throw a bucket of water on me." Vincent said jokingly as he pumped the bellows once more. The air throughout the forge grew warmer as the fires began to burn hotter. Jerald responded to Vincent's joke with a chuckle as he read an order from the guards and and stables. "Well, we certainly do have quite a few orders. Says here we need six horse shoes, three nails for each, and minor reapirs for three hauberks," Jerald quickly looked at the hauberks before continuing," and it appears that the reapirs here are quite simply replacing seven links in the first two and at least twelve on this third one here."
With a final grunt, Vincent finished pumping the bellows and groaned. Jerald's other two apprentices, Tychus and Hubert, both walked in to the forge with an obvious hanger to much of Jerald's displeasure. "Ah! So you two fools are finally here and I don't have to send out a search crew to hall your asses back here." Jerald yelled much to his pleasure. Both rubbed their foreheads as Jerald kept railing on before he issued orders. Tychus was to craft the horse shoes and Hubert was to make the nails for the shoes. Vincent, on the other hand, would be helping Jerald with the repairs to the hauberks and delivering finished products when they were done.
It was nearing night when all the finished products were done and Vincent was to deliver them. The cold night air was crisp and cooled the sweat on his face as he hauled the box of horse shoes and nails out to the stables and handed them over to the stable master. Vincent rested for only a few minutes in the stable before running back to the forge and hauling the hauberks to the quarter master for the guards. With his work done, Vincent was free to wonder through the courtyard. It was only afterwards that he realized that Gidja, one of the guards he had seen plenty of times in Wintershouse, was running into the armory with a singular purpose. Vincent's eyes wondered around the courtyard before he noticed there was a man who Gidja must have been dealing with before she left. The man seemed to be ill dressed for the cold of the north but most people were like that if they were coming from the south. Vincent wondered towards the door of the forge only to stand in the doorway in case anything exciting happened. | Full Name: Vincent Tigas White
Titles: Bastard, Fatherless, Whoreson
Social Rank: Bastard
Job or Societal Position: As a Bastard child, Vincent has no real position in society and is often publicly shunned by basically anybody. But, Vincent has taken up a recent apprenticeship with the forge master in Wintershouse. Vincent has been an apprentice smith for nearly three months before Lord Rikard died. Nobody truly knows who Vincent's parents were other than the late Lord Rikard and his son Gregar.
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Apperance: Refer to the Above Picture
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 212lbs
Hair Color:Dark Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Notable Body Features: Vincent has a scar on the upper left side of his torso from a burn that is in the shape of a circle with a line cutting it vertically in half.
Personality: Vincent's personality is most definently a product of his raising. As a Bastard child of no known origin, Vincent was shunned almost like one would shun a leper or man who produced a child out of wedlock. Parents would guide their children away from Vincent and Vincent eventually came to accept that there was no way he could ever live a normal life. Most of the time Vincent will outright avoid being near people. Sometimes he unconsciously blocks people out who are just trying to be friendly to him. If one could work their way through Vincent's shell, they would find that he is really a nice person that not a man of many words.
History: Vincent grew up without a Mother nor Father, an outcast from normal society. Raised as a Ward of the Weades, Vincent was taught to read, write, and adress people of higher status than him. He was not allowed to mingle with any of the Weades and was only kept with what few wards there were in Wintershouse. Vincent's place in society became painfully obvious as he grew older and he became more observent. He was quick to realize that the glares cast at him were not because of hatred but because of disgust. Everybody looked at him with disgust because he was a Bastard child who had no known mother or father. But Vincent's life was not without its own happiness for he had friends.
The single friend who treated Vincent the best was the forge master in Wintershouse, Jerald. Their friendship began early in Vincent's life when he ran into the forge crying after several of the guard recruits bullied him for being a bastard. Jerald offered Vincent a rag to dry his eyes on after a few minutes. It was one of the few acts of kindness Vincent has experienced in his life. From then on, Vincent would sit and watch Jerald for items varying from new horse shoes and nails to sword guards and chain mail repairs. Jerald was happy for Vincent's presence for, though Jerald had two other apprentinces, Vincent was most like his then deceased son. It was Jerald who took care of Vincent after a drunk guard recruit took a burning hot brand to Vincent after Vincent walked away from the guard. Jerald had found Vincent on the ground with the burn of a brand on his chest and took him to the infirmary where Jerald payed for Vincent's care.
Skills: Vincent is by far one of Jerald's most skilled apprentices and was quick to learn the basics of smithing in his first three months of apprenticeship. He is also quite quick to learn and a rather good reader despite how little actual schooling he has in reading. Vincent fancies himself a swordsman but has no training beyond knowing how to hold a sword.
Dreams and Fears: Vincent dreams for a day when he is know for his prowess as a smith rather than the fact that he was a Fatherless and Motherless bastard child. He fears failing and disappointing Jerald, the one person who has put his trust in Vincent.
Favored Equipment: Vincent doesn't really have anything he can call his own. His clothing were loaned to him by Jerald as well as his smithing equipment. The only thing that is actually Vincent's is a banded iron ring he forged on his second month of apprenticeship.
Extra:Vincent's Iron ring |
55,883 | 1,531 | 8 | 1,601 | 88 | Rolland nodded with a curtsy to Cregan as Joakim out of respect. Having known the man for quite sometime and also immensely respected him for his unwavering loyalty as Joakim’s personal guard. Remaining at attention as the young regent lord sorted threw the messages. His attention drifted at the other nobles around the court at least until he heard the name Harrighfield was voiced. He hated the Lord Perris’s son as they fought over a whore a few years ago, ever since it made for bad times between the two young men. The name brought further discomfort as he heard that war was about them.
“It will be done at once my lord.” Bowing back to Joakim before taking his leave to relay orders for the guard patrol and prepare. First stop the barracks. His stride quick as he carried out his order without delay. The men would be agitated being woken from their sleep or still carrying hangovers but their job was more urgent than petty desires. “Wake up the lot of you!” Rolland yelled with urgency. “We got a possible threat so double patrols. Until I can organize set patrol everyone out on the walls for the time being.” Nothing but grumbles, he’d make it up to them later.
Returning back to the courtyard to find Gidja but instead the woman had found him first. In the hall past the earls, hearing her in depth about the wagon train but had made the mistake of not being subtle. From the gesture of picking his noose to her lack of being quite in matters that other noble shouldn’t be privy to. He’d decide on the punishment later but for now the wagon’s safety was paramount.
“Gidja, round up Eirik and another strong lad to meet me at the gates with the man from the wagons. I’ll have horses ready and saddled. We’ll handle this mess. And on the double.” Rolland next went to Cregan, grabbing his head in a firm grip as he accounted the man as a friend. “Organise and set the double patrols until I get back. Reprimand the men if they fall out of line. Do this for me and your next drink is on me. You have the guard until my return.” Releasing the shake as he went to the stables preparing the mounts for travel.
His thick bearskin cloak weaved slightly as he made way to the gates. Passing through the courtyard he spotted one of the smiths, one of the apprentice's standing in the doorway. An extra able body would be helpful in securing the wagon train. Pulling beside him with the extra horses tethered to his own. “I’m in need of an extra able bodied man. Boring and hard work but will grant you extra coin. If this suits you go to the keep and tell them the Black Whale sent you. Saddle a horse and meet me at the gates with haste.” Rolland needed more people but besides himself and the three others a wagon train was a daunting task but the double patrol was more paramount. Seeing the young man provided him with an extra able body to help if he did come to assist. | Amber Rossric
In Verba Virtus, In Terra Pietas, In Anima Dignitas, In Gladio Gravitas
Full name: Lady Amber Rossric
Titles: Lady
Social rank: noblewoman
Job or societal position: Lady Amber Rossric is a member of the Rossric family and looks after the Forklands. She also is head of the army as Lady Commander.
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Appearance: See above. Most people describe her as beautiful.
Personality: Strong-willed, fiesty. She has a relatively short fuse, and usually gets angered quite easily. She tries to keep zen but often the bottled up anger comes out, sometimes on innocent people. She genuinely cares for the well-being of her people, and helps them almost too much, destroying the economy little by little by giving them too much luxury, through too much confidence in their wealth. She doesn't have many friends, outside a few men in her guard, her brother, mother and a few female cousins who don't mind her being a warrior.
History: Amber was born the the Lord of the Forklands and his wife, a daughter of the Lord of Athos. When her father died of an unknown illness, she became the ruler, her father having left no legitimate sons. She does however have a half-brother, a bastard son of the late Lord Rossric.
In her youth she trained with a sword and bow unlike the other girls, and showed a talent for it. She often would go near the Forks with her brother and spar. They were evenly matched, but she seemd to have the upper edge, much to his annoyance. Towards the end of his life, her father realised he was no longer going to bear any more children and taught her about how she should rule. She listened closely, but still trained more than learned. She read some of the books her father gave her, mainly military ones, about the tactics and conquests of past leaders of the kingdoms. This knowledge and strength made her Lady Commander of the army, on top of being the Lady Regent. She does not bother to surround herself with any guards in her modest palace, but relies heavily on her advisors in matters of economy or general ruling. Perhaps too much.
Her brother often visits, but many people mistreat him for being a bastard, despite him fitting in, being loved by his father and sister. He is looking for his true mother's identity, which only the Regent Mother knows. Though she's not willing to tell him, as she has harboured a hate of him for being her husband's bastard. Amber does not care about these distinctions, and relies on her brother's help to account for her inexperiences. She knows she can trust him above any advisors. Her father's most impacftul words in his teachings to her were: "Trust no one in your court, and be on your guard."
Skills: Impressive use of a sword. General mastery of most weapons, though her bowmanship is just above sub-par. Above average Leadership and Command (Tactics, Military). She uses her shield and horse clumsily, despite her father's chief of army trying to teach her, so she prefers to use just a sword or wield a weapon in each hand.
Dreams and fears: She dreams of being the strongest kingdom, and though she's satisfied with what she has, she dreams of more. She fears her advisors, some of them could only be seeking monetary gain in her ruling, and even try to overthrow her. There have been two attacks on her person since she became regent two months ago. Her brother has started accompanying her to most places, despite her wishes, to provide backup.
Favored equipment: She generally wears a leather tabard with her house's sigil as her everyday clothes. In battle, she opts for heavier plate, covering her whole body, topped off with a armet. In the Forkish fashion, she wears a small cape under her right shoulderguard, and a small sigil pin on her left breast. She wields a longsword called "Honour", and an axe she calls "Valour".
Extra: N/A
Tomas Rossric
In Verba Virtus, In Terra Pietas, In Anima Dignitas, In Gladio Gravitas
Full name: Ser Tomas Rossric
Titles: Knight/Ser
Social rank: Nobleman/Bastard
Job or societal position: He's been granted a few honours by his sister, even though people look down on him. Officially he's a knight, and must protect the kingdom.
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: See above.
Personality: Witty. He often gets out of situations with his tongue and not his sword. He's not very good at fighting. He likes to have a lot of fun, drinking, gambling. He's very different from his sister, but still loves her.
History: Tomas was born a bastard to the late Lord Rossric. He does not know who his mother is, but based on his looks she was probably a northerner unlike Amber's mother, an Athosi. She does not like him, unlike his sister, for she always thought her husband was faithful. She looks down on him and rarely speaks to him.
Many of the other inhabitants of the Forklands also look down on him, though some don't care of his bastardice and some even hold him in higher regard for not being a "typical nobleman". After discovering he wasn't very good at fighting, his father decided to get him more interested in books and literature. Tomas often reads, writes and this has developed him into a smart man. He constantly uses his wit and charm to get what he wants, or get out of certain situations.
Skills: Use of wit and intellect, knowledge. Can only use a sword and shield, badly. Moderately good at riding.
Dreams and fears: He dreams of knowing who his mother is, and also being accepted by society despite his bastardice to be less lonely.
Favored equipment: He usually wears a loose tunic. In battle he covers it with chainmail and a tabard with his sigil, but with a white stripe across it showing his illegitimacy. He carries a wooden shield with a similar slashed crest, and a standard-issue hand-and-a-half (or aptly named Bastard) sword.
Extra: N/A |
55,884 | 1,531 | 9 | 1,395 | 460 | Tomas watched as Amber followed Gregar out. She had put on leather armour, as always, but he'd opted for some light cloth. The arrow had shot right into his calf and ripped it on the side.
He was hiding under the table. He looked around the room. The guards were fighting each other, indistinguishable as to whom was on whom's side. He grabbed a carving knife off a nearby chicken and got up. He saw a clear path to the Battlemaster, who was fighting two men at once. One was a guard, the other was the General of the army. He'd not turned his cloak, Tomas was grateful for that, as he was the man Amber trusted most besides him.
He staggered towards the fight and tried to stab the battlemaster. A quick parry slammed the knife out of his hand, and another blow sent him out of the way. Horvik the Battlemaster slashed again, slitting the guard's throat and smashing General Turnham's jaw in one go. A thin spurt of blood splattered on his face, which he let trickle down. Turnham was on the floor, his jaw completely ripped off, writhing.
Tomas leapt forward and jumped on Horvik. He had leather armour under his cloak, he could feel it. They both fell to the ground, and he tried to punch the battlemaster in the face. But he was too quicK. The sword flashed again and cut his arm. Tomas recoiled as Horvik tried another swing, bringing the flat of the sword on his shoulder. Tomas realised he was going to die. Nuns always told tales of your life flashing in front of your eyes. But Tomas only saw death. That grin on Horvik's face. The blood of good men on his face. And Amber. The only person who ever loved him.
Tomas turned. The sword slammed into his hip, but he didn't cry out. He grabbed a knife and brought all his force down on the Battlemaster. The sword stopped and caught in his armour. "Fuck!" was all he had time to say, before his hand spun around and knocked Tomas off his feet. As the blade slid out of his hip, his vision went fuzzy and the searing pain went away.
Someone let out a roar. The General had gotten up, and was wrestling with Horvik on the ground. Tomas got up. "A bastard and a coward. This'll make a good song," he though, and ran out through the open gates.
-------------------------------------
Amber followed Gregar, who had grabbed her arm. She paused briefly at the servant, who she could vaguely recall having seen before. "You shall be knighted for this," she commented briefly. The insurrectors had killed a few horses, but not harmed hers or Tomas'. She saw he hadn't followed her. Stubborn fool. If he got killed she couldn't forgive herself.
She gingerly tried a few steps with the horse. "Woah, there," she said. The horse stopped. Satisfied that she'd manage not to fall off, she kicked the horse and followed after Gregar. | Cregan Hart
"Honor and Loyalty are stronger than steel, and mine will not break"
Full name: Cregan Hart
Titles: Ser, “Weade's wolf”
Social rank: Knight
Job or societal position: Assigned to guard Joakim Weade
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Appearance: See picture above.
Height: 6'2”
Weight: 164 lbs
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Personality: Cregan can often come across as gruff or rude, but he has no cruelty in his heart. He easily loses his temper when he perceives something as a slight against his lords, which is due to his complete loyalty to the Weades.
History: Cregan was born into a family that had served the Weades for generations as bannermen, but as the fourthborn son he had almost no chance to inherit. Almost as soon as he was old enough he became squire for Lord Rikard Weade, his age resulting in a fast friendship with Rikards son, Gregar.
As he grew from a boy into a young man it became clear he was an exceptionally talented warrior, and Rikard began putting more effort into Cregan's martial education than would often be considered reasonable for a squire. Cregan excelled at his swordwork, though he was never one to lead troops, and always looked up to Gregar, being loyal to a fault. By the time he was granted a knighthood he was already something of a renowned warrior in Borhilon, bringing pride both to his own family and the Weades who he adored. When Rikard and Gregar left for war Cregan begged Rikard to take him with them, but Rikard insisted Cregan stay to protect the Wintershouse.
Skills: Exceptional combatant with most weapons, both in battlefield and dueling scenarios.
Dreams and fears: Cregan aspires to be the greatest knight in the Whitelands, or perhaps even Borhilon as a whole. His fear is to fail in his duties to protect the Weades.
Favored equipment: Cregan wields a large two handed sword in battle, though he also carries a shield and axe for when he needs to fight more defensively. See image for armor.
Extra: Sigil is a white wolf with antlers, the sigil of his family. |
55,885 | 1,531 | 10 | 2,677 | 6,563 | Gray Marsh Warlord Kaziden Ceceryan galloped onwards towards the first real sign of civilization since they had come to this land. This was at no small part of luck or misfortune- the White Tundra tracker he had brought with them had been told, very clearly, that they were going to have to avoid all civilization, up until they meet the Northern authority here. And the first White Tundra tracker had been beheaded, because he lead them nearly right into a village of considerable size- enough to warrant a couple dozen watchmen, most simply farmers or teenagers who wanted to brag about facing down nonexistent wolves.
Skanda, beneath him, shuddered again, his hide vibrating back and forth in a way usually meant to fend off insects. He didn't like the cold weather, and neither did Kaz- it was unnatural, it was the opposite of what he had grown up in. Oh, the days were boiling hot and the nights cold enough to lightly freeze water, in the winter, but it was never so persistent as this. Day after day after day of constant cold weather, a week and a half of traveling in weather so unlike his own he was sure White Tundra shamans had conjured it up to punish him for the souls he held in his blade. It was needless to say that all but the White Tundra clansmen suffered from the cold, and he was looking forward to warmth- and he'll have it, through welcomed words or bared sword.
His horse slipped, catching himself before anything could happen, on the icy rocks that were common in this country. He muttered a curse under his breath, blaming his father and his White Tundra clansmen for this fool trip. They should've just built ships, and sailed overseas to this land, rather than try and cross by foot or horseback. His thoughts quickly changed, however, when the castle that was supposedly the seat of this land appeared ahead of him. Where he was, there was no need for large, towering walls, or great big keeps of stone blocks- they had lower, domed buildings, walls only a little higher than a cavalryman's head, with the largest buildings only three stories tall, maximum. The castle showed itself to be much, much more impregnable than even the Gray Marsh's capital.
So why not ride straight up to the riders leaving the castle's gates, a dozen armed men. | Kaziden Ceceryan
"He who strikes first is he who strikes the killing blow."
Full name: Kaziden Valerian Ceceryan of the Gray Marsh Clan of Hesh
Titles: Gray Marsh Warleader, Heshan Warlord, Sir Gray Ceceryan
Aliases: "Kaz" by friends- "Gray" to majority- "Velnias" to him in armor.
Social rank: Natively he is the Warlord or Warleader, but in this country he is a Nobleman turned Knight
Job or societal position: Diplomat, Spy
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Big man, standing at 6'7, weighing over 300lbs, more so because of his armor. Built like a mountain, black/brown beard and hair, thick, with tanned skin from years in harsh weather and in the sun. He's got the symbol for his clan marked into his left cheek, right under his eye, and his armor (which he wears everywhere) is from the best smiths in his country, shaped after the great hunters of his less-than-hospitable homeland. Had he not worn armor as heavy as it most of his life, and trained in it for countless hours, then it would weigh heavily- as it is, it still slows him some.
Kaz can be blunt at some times, uncomfortably straightforward about sensitive matters. He has very little head or patience for real politics, though he is likely to be more clever than people would initially think. Despite his people being prideful, and hot-headed because of it- he knows how to contain his temper and to use a different set of expression for different occasions. He's not likely to lie, though he can be very evasive. He's honest and evasive at the same time- he can slip around any topic, and yet if he gives you a compliment, he's likely to be underestimating. He also knows when to let anger show, and when not to.
Growing up on the continent of Hesh, unknowingly connected to Borhilon through a sort of land-bridge in the far North, he found himself part of an esteemed group- the Gray Marsh Kifzo. From an early childhood he was raised to be a warrior, and there was one thing that fueled his training more than anything- the mutual hate for his brother, who, when they were children before they had seen even ten years, his brother killed his mother. His brother was more vicious and aggressive than him- he always won the fights, always beat him up, always had his father's favor, while his mother favored him and sheltered him when he was hurt or when his father was in a rage. When his mother died, he didn't understand that it was, for the most part, an accident- instead, he blamed his brother for the loss.
His brother went into shock, and when he emerged, he was withdrawn, amnesiac, not even remembering he had a mother. He became softer than Kaz, became weaker, while Kaz's anger drove him into Kifzo training to beat his brother forever. Kaz grew even more vicious than his brother, eventually going so far as to break his arm, take his bow, and put an arrow in his knee, forever crippling him. An arrow to the knee is the worst punishment for a Kifzo, because before Kaz came to age, the continent of Hesh never used metal armor, crossbows, or more advanced medicines. They were somewhat nomadic, always fighting, and the only honor they could have comes from battle.
When Gray Marsh decided to launch a campaign against the other dozen clans, the White Tundra Clan wasn't part of the original plans- they lived on the ice, away from everyone else, with land that was nearly worthless. Years later, after the Gray Marsh Conquest they decided that the White Tundra Clan would no longer remain independent. The one and only battle the White Tundra put up ended quickly in the Gray Marsh's favor, and when investigating what all they knew, they found that there more land- uncharted, unexplored, but White Tundra said there were signs of more advanced, powerful people across.
It was then that Kaz, a renowned warrior and the leader of the many battles that brought Gray Marsh much honor and prosperity, volunteered and ordered armor similar to what the White Tundra had seen. Originally, he had only worn less decorative metal armor, one of the few sets in his entire country. Once seeing what the Tundra people had, he ordered something more showy, more unique. Something that, if he had to fight, would mark him as someone distinct, someone dangerous.
And then he set out on horseback with a dozen men, to travel the ice wastes and reach this foreign land, whether for alliance or for conquest, all depending on his time spent with the foreign people.
Strategy, Close Combat, a little politics, hunting, and construction/architecture. He's a warrior through and through, and will do everything from felling a warrior, to felling a city.
Dreams of a time when war is of no need, where battles are not over land or disagreements, but to prove oneself, and not facing death for failure. Also terribly fears housecats, and falling snow on an overcast-y day, and for snakes of pretty much any kind.
The Gray Velnias Armor, or Gray Demon Armor, which is what he wears day in and day out. Prefers his Gray Shield- a wooden shield with gray leather pulled over it, bolted by steel and edged by steel, with a steel boss painted a light green. In addition, he has a unique hand-and-a-half longsword that's a bit larger than the standard longsword, complimenting his unusually great strength to increase his reach. When going into a battle of some kind, he also carries a greatsword- a two-handed really big sword- in a great scabbard on his back. In addition to the two swords and shield, he has a saxe (really big knife) and six throwing knives, with the saxe opposite of his longsword, allowing for double-blade combat, and the throwing knives in various hidden pockets throughout his armor.
He doesn't really have an insignia- if he stays in the country for a while, then he might write one up for himself and Gray Marsh, but really, he's just gray and light green. Also has a stallion bred in the deserts of his country named "Skandalistas," meaning "Kicker" or "Brawler," literally. He's named so for a reason- his name is often shortened to "Skanda."
A "map" with a comparison on where he came from, Hesh.
_______________________________________________
--------------------------|.........|------------^^^^^
--------------------------|.........|------------^^^
------------o------------|====|------------^^^^
--------Bahrilon--------|.........|------------^^^ Hesh
-------------------------/...........|------------^^
-----------------------/...............\----------^^^
---------------------/......................\--------^^
o = the center of the Northern fief
^ = mountains
The cyan being cold and tundra-y, green being varying amounts of vegetation, orange being desert. |
55,886 | 1,531 | 11 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Gidja left swiftly, not wishing to emberass herself nor her superior any further. The captain said to fetch Eirik, the green one, so she went to do just that. She made sure to not get caught up in anything on the way there, as she had a tendency to do just that. Approaching the stairs she noticed the boy, standing at the balcony leaning on the wooden supports on the side, nodding his head down and back up, falling asleep slowly. If the captain saw that...
Walking up on him she slapped his back, awakening him fully again. “Wakey wakey, Eirik. We have to fetch some tradesmen who were dumb enough to travel to the Whitelands.” She rubbed her nose as she often did when speaking of foreigners. “Don't they know the Weades' have little interest in trinkets?” she said, smiling at Eirik who cracked a smile in return. Together they left for the gate where they'd find the captain with some horses, talking to Vincent. Gidja knew Vincent a tiny bit, seeing him pass by every now and then when she was on duty in the courtyard. Never having talked, her opinion on him had always been something of 'he looks nice enough'. But that's just a general statement.
“Captain, we're ready.” she said softly, trying not to interrupt the captain as she mounted the horse, Eirik following suit. Deciding not to wait too long, she headed out the front gate already to take a quick look, Eirik slowly trotting the horse to somewhere between the captain and Gidja, not wishing to leave without the captain.
Gidja took a quick look around and through the falling snow noticed a formation of riders. “Captain, I think the caravan already found us. No need to r- wait.. where's the wagons? The man mentioned wagons. It's not the caravan. And they carry weaponry. Call Joakim!” her words went directed at the captain, and then into a more general statement. It didn't matter who called Joakim.
Joakim was taking a stroll in the castle as he passed a slit in the wall for archers, hearing screams outside. “Call Joakim!” it sounded, and realizing that it must be some sort of serious issue for him to be called, he immediately headed downstairs in the large stairwell that was on the right side of the castle. As he got downstairs he ran into a servant who had gone to fetch him, but he raised his hand at him and continued on his way. “Fetch my sword and shield from the armory!” he managed to yell as he crossed a corner. He took the time while walking to fasten his belt tighter and quickly adjust his armor a bit, but missed his helmet. He'd have to do without. By God and his children, Joakim wasn't even sure what was coming.
As he walked into the courtyard at a speedy pace he noticed the captain and Cregan, calling out to them. “To me! What's going on?” Joakim had heard something about a caravan, that much Gidja had yelled out at the top of her lungs, loud as ever. And then something about armed riders. Without much time to prepare, and a stuck caravan that was out there apparently, Joakim issued some orders. “Gidja, go on your way with that new recruit, and fetch the caravan. Cregan, Rolland, stick with me and see what these riders want.” By now the situation had gathered attention from others, too, including several soldiers of the bannermen that were called on by Joakim, and those that weren't completely drunk of ale went to stand by Joakim, attempting to listen in on what was being said. Riders? Armed? It would all sound very interesting to them, perhaps some fun to be had with would be knights, attempting to rob the Weades' of their riches. Or perhaps it was some famed traveler, that they could host a small combat competition with. Either way, they wished to see who was there.
Joakim turned around as his servant reached him, and handed him his sheathed sword and the shield with the Old Oak emblazoned on it. Thanking him with a nod he quickly attached the sheath to his belt and put his hand on the handle of his sword, gripping his shield tightly with the other hand. Whoever was there would be matched in strength by a welcoming party, looking both menacing as well as diplomatic with Joakim, the young boy, standing at the front with Cregan and Rolland at his sides. Well, maybe that smith boy looked sort of imposing too, with his muscled arms.
Gidja nodded at Joakim and reared her horse for the gate, Eirik in close pursuit. She pushed her feet into it's flanks and rode off, taking a quick glance at the approaching band of men, before riding off with her horse which kicked up snow behind them. Surely the riders would notice the shadow riding off into the snow. She just hoped they were more interested in the castle than in her.
After some time of riding as fast as she could, the silhouettes of wagons doomed up in front of her, and if that wasn't enough to alarm her, Eirik made sure to point out the obvious. “Gidja, it's the wagons.” She glanced at him with a semi annoyed look in her eyes. “Thanks.” she grumbled at him, before bursting out laughing. What an idiot. Approaching the caravan fast, she hailed the man on the front wagon. “Hail and welcome to the Whitelands. Just passing through then? Going to visit the whales in the north, sell them some trinkets?” Ofcourse, that could mean two things. ''The Whales'' could refer to the family of captain Rolland, who had a crest that was a whale or something. Supposedly they hunted whales, an incredibly dangerous.. but apparently fun way to pass the time and get some food while doing it. Besides that, whale bone was often carved into nice hangers and lockets, or sometimes even knifes. Mostly ceremonic.. well, that's what southerners thought anyway.
And apart from Rollands family, she could also mean literal trade with whales. As in, setting up shop on a frozen beach and selling stuff to whales. The idea was more funny than when it was said, noticeable by the man responding with a firm 'No. Just lead us to the Wintershouse.' Gidja nodded and held her laugh in, pointing at Eirik and telling him to lead the way back. Greenie could use some training, she thought. Besides fighting, you'd have to deal with people a lot - people like this grumpy old tradesman.
Ofcourse, Gidja didn't want to do boring stuff like leading a caravan so instead decided to check what was in the wagons. Productive, as there were some wares that were forbidden from trade in Borhilon - such as any cheese that wasn't yellowish in color. It seemed stupid, but the king had his mandates and the people were to follow suit. In that aspect, any cheese that was blue was not allowed to be traded, but if you made it yourself you were allowed to eat it. It was rules like that that came from a couple of mad kings, who were all crazy in their later years and made up royal laws that acted on the kings' superstitions or beliefs - more often than not, a result of so called 'witches and wizards' who would whisper things to the king for some coin.
Passing by the last wagon, she saw a woman and a child huddled up in a bunch, shivering the both of them, but the child more so than the woman. The woman looked southern, and the kid looked like he crawled out of a roadside sewer in the big city. Most kids looked like that, though. Dirty bunch, especially boys. Most girls were pretty clean for children standards. “He looks cold.” Gidja said softly as she made her horse trot behind the wagon line, continueing her conversation with these Southerners. “You're from the South? Should've known to take some clothes with you. Gets cold here, much colder than this. You'll get used to it, might even grow on you.” she said to the boy with a smile. Her left hand went to her right shoulder swiftly and unclasped the cloak she wore, grabbing it before it could fall, and rolled it into a ball before tossing it at the two. “Roll yourself in that. Keeps you warm - warmer than you are.” She started riding her horse forward again before slowing down, seeming to remember something. “I want that back - it's mine. Killed a wolf for it, so it's not a cheap thing... might be some bloodstains left on it from when I hunted that wolf.” She cracked a grin at the boy and lady before riding to the front again, in an attempt to see how far they were from the castle. Not too far, it seemed.
Gregar turned his head, and upon seeing Amber, rode off through the gate, under the portcullis and towards the direction of the Whitelands. He had no intent to stay in this land - not with murderous bastards that were seeking to take control of lands by force. What remained to be seen was which side would win - there were still people loyal to Amber, but it was doubtful they'd continue fighting for long if even Amber herself had fled the scene. Perhaps they'd go to the Whitelands, or perhaps they'd die. Gregar was too drunk to care, at that moment.
After riding a fair amount, and surely crossing the border which lay close to the Mosskeep, the sun started rising again. They must've been riding for atleast 3 hours. Sighing, Gregar turned around and looked at Amber with a tired set of eyes almost shut. “S-shall we rest here..” he mumbled, but didn't bother waiting for an answer as he'd made up his mind already. He dismounted from his horse and led it to an opening in the thick line of trees, where he'd tie it to a tree and sit down leaning against a pinetree. His head would fall backwards to follow example of his body, and get some support from the tree. “They say that spirits of the children of god rest in these trees. Ever given it much thought? Not just any trees, I mean. Just pine trees. That would mean your lands have no spirits of any children. I don't think that's right - is there any superstitions about gods' children in your lands, Amber?”
However, before she'd be able to answer, he'd have dozed off into a sleep far too deep to awaken him from unless she'd slap him. And knowing Amber, she probably wouldn't. Then again, the last time they'd met was a long time ago, and she had grown into a woman.. a fierce woman, at that. Perhaps she would slap him. If he pushed her hard enough. A grin curled onto Gregars sleeping face as he let out a few snores and grunts. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,887 | 1,531 | 12 | 220 | 2,530 | Amber sat next to him, and closed her eyes in exasperation. "He certainly isn't any more polite than last time," she thought. It was true what he had said, though. Forklandish legend claimed god's son and daughter had created the rivers that divided into a fork, and lead all the way to the ocean. Other religions had always fascinated her, as her father had tried to explain them to her. She'd ended up with the local beliefs, as was customary.
Her thighs were sore from having ridden with no saddle. There had been no time to put one on her horse, and riding for so long had made it a painful ride. She was relieved when Gregar stopped, as she didn't want to stop on account of any problem she had. A minor one, too.
She thought about dozing off, but then someone might ambush them or steal their supplies. She decided to keep watch until Gregar woke up. She thought about Tomas, maybe he'd follow the same road? Or had he... Best not to think about it. She played around with her dagger, planting it in the ground. After a while she got up and paced around, humming the hymn of the Forklands. It was a beautiful tune, usually sung by a woman accompanied by a group of harps. Forklandish women often sang it to their childrens in their cribs. Soldiers had their own rowdy version of it to lift their spritis up.
Finally, she got tired of waiting, and stepped up to Gregard, lightly shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, Oakheart" | Ash of the Whitelands
"No gloriae suae in bello"
Full name: Ash, or Ash of the Whitelands, denoting his humble origin.
Titles: The Sellsword Scholar, and the less flattering titles of Ser Whoreson and Knightslayer
Social rank: Whoreson peasant.
Job or societal position: Black Knight Sellsword. Part time teacher and folk entertainer.
Gender: Male
Appearance: He's an average sized, well built man, with dark scruffy hair and a clean-shaved face. He has gray eyes that give him a piercing, vivid stare. Cuts and chinks can be seen throughout his body, a couple of them on his face. He usually wears worn out and simple but serviceable clothes, and a black, equally worn but still useable armor (it's painted black to prevent rust) when in combat. He walks with carefully measured steps and he has a deep voice.
Personality: Despite his ignoble origin, Ash is a polite and well mannered man. He always answers a greeting, and answers with the utmost respect to whomever talks to him, be it noble or gentile. He's also rather patient and slow to anger, with an almost nigh unflappable stoicism. Yet at the same time, one could feel that sometimes he's not here, and just stares at the horizon rather than at people, reliving who knows what demons of the past. Lowborn, whores and orphans do manage to bring some more reaction in the man, and he's known to have a chipper, quick-wit and enthusiastic easygoing attitude with them. He is also more than willing to share his knowledge and experience to whomever lends him an ear, and he's partial to honest plights. Meeting him on the battlefield or as enemy is another matter. Bereft of any kind of remorse or honor, Ash strives to survive and win to see another morning, and he has very few qualms on using underhanded methods.
History: Ash was simply a byproduct of a camp follower and an unnamed man-at-arms in the Whitelands. He could have ended like many street rats and pickpockets, if it had not been for the hardest and most clever decision his mother had: To give him to a wandering troupe of entertainers after some convincing. Even from his early age, Ash revealed himself as a bright lad and a fast learner, and some of the troupe felt that they had to polish the formidable intellect the boy had, out of goodwill. They taught him manners, literature and writing, in the hopes he could become one of the narrators of the troupe. They weren't so successful at teaching him to sing and dance, as the poor lad was unfortunately tonedeaf, but he managed to pick other skills to compensate, like knowledge of healing and poisons from the troupe's wise woman, and some minor sleight-of-hand tricks to draw and interest peasants.
By the time he was a young man, he had already made a name for himself among the troupe, becoming one of the storytellers while others did the dancing and singing, as well as one of the faces for negotiation, given his politeness and wit. Unfortunately, he had also hit the foolish age where everyone wanted to be a knight and save and kingdom, and in a regrettable hotheaded decision, parted with the troupe to become a sellsword. Of course, his actual fighting ability was made much fun of by the time he tried to join, but the wizened leader of the sellsword group decided to keep him around, if only because he had prized skills like healing, poisons and writing. Knowing fully well his status as ''favored kid'' of the leader, he trained diligently and tried his best to not make mistakes. He also swallowed his qualms about doing less than regrettable brigand jobs, in an effort to become more like the mercenaries that he had surrounded himself with. However, it was all for naught, because even as he managed to garner himself a name among the mercenaries and become one of the de-facto liutenants of the band, he kept meeting scorn and cold shoulders. When a quarrel about payment shares broke between him and other lieutenants, Ash realized that no matter what he did, he would always be treated as an outsider by everyone. Skilled enough to beat knights in single combat, yet lowborn. Capable of philosophical debates yet as base as the son of a prostitute.
Heartbroken and bitter by the many horrors he chose to endure pursuing an empty ideal, he returned to his homeland, only to find the shadow of the war haunting the lands, and a rather cold and crude gravestone where his mother once stood. Still, he decided to stay, and perhaps make himself a place little by little, starting by subverting the suspiciousness of people around him by entertaining folks and doing odd errands.
Skills: Ash is an incredibly mentally gifted individual. He has a good grasp of a variety of subjects like tactics, economics, literature, manners and even odd things like castle building and sieges. He is also a good sellsword, able to use competently swords, shields, daggers, and bows, and skilled on horseback and with lances. He can also do some minor prestidigitation tricks like vanishing coins and minor escapism. He is a decent storyteller. He is rather skilled in the arts of healing as well as poisons, though people only know him for the poison part and his skill at arms.
Dreams and fears:He dreams of finding a good place to settle in, without even having to resort to the sword again. Sadly, in these times, his sword is all what he has to earn himself a living, as he's considered a foul person even by fellow peasants. He fears dying alone and forgotten, and losing himself to the madness of war and forgetting how to be kind.
Favored equipment: He's usually seen in comfortable, humble clothes with a dagger by his hip and a money purse when he's not in combat. When he's fully suited, he dons a black-painted armor, with a black shield and a longsword. Or alternatively a bow. He keeps the armor, arrows and weapons on his horse's saddlebags when he's not fighting. He also owns three books. One about healing and poisons, the other about war tactics, and the third one is his personal diary. He also keeps some oil and a whetstone to polish and keep his gear, as well as a flint.
Extra: He owns a warhorse named Spot he won in a bet. It's quite a temperamental stallion and has a rather worrying fondess for wine. All his worldly possessions can fit on his horse's saddlebags.
Brier Weade
"We can only move forward"
Full name: Brier Catryn Weade / Brier Catryn Morrigh
Titles: Countess of Blackwood (Formerly), Kitty for her friends, and Witch of Blackwood to her detractors.
Social rank: Noblewoman
Job or societal position: Former Royal Court Musician, Countess, Healer and Alchemist.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Personality: Brier was once a high spirited merry girl who always questioned everyone and everything. Sociable and curious to the extreme, she wasn't put off by appearances or standing whatshoever. She also shared the generous good nature of her elder brother Gregar Weade, as well as the lack of malice. Like her sibling, this bit her in the back quite a few times at first, but as she grew older, more focused and wiser, she learned how to read the intentions of people and developed a friendly, polite, but very defensive demeanor. Brier is a woman of intellect and culture and she enjoys learning new knowledge or discussing with akin minds. Bitterly accepting that not everyone is nice, and that there are wicked people out of there, she can be quite vindictive, throughout and manipulative if any member of her family is at stake.
History: Brier was born between the twins Janus and Gregar, and the thirdborn Joakim. Little Brier was a chatterbox and a relentless chaser of odd things, when she wasn't too busy sticking to Gregar like glue. She however, didn't neglect her education, and she followed her mother diligently just as Gregar did with their father. Education that was soon put to test, as she tended to her younger brother Joakim whenever others were not available. When Gregar's bethrodal was announced, Brier was for the first time, wary of an stranger coming to the house, but soon took a liking to Lady Elisandre as the elder sister she never had. By Elisandre's suggestion, Brier managed to convince his father the Duke to go to the King's court to receive more education.
Although initially reluctant, her family conceded to Brier's petition, as becoming part of the court and with Brier's easygoing nature, she would probably find a good groom later on. With her skill with the harp and sociable nature, Brier found herself befriended several people of all sorts. While comfortable with the people of her age and social status like princes, princesses, and sons and daughters of other nobles, Brier's sharp mind also sought out three people that usually were beneath notice: the King's spymaster, an old alchemist who had somehow gained prestige as royal advisor, and a portly and coarse yet skilled woman who was the Royal Physician.
Brier would seek their presence whenever she felt the whole court scenery and upbringing was too repetitive and dull, and she ended up learning several skills that a noblewoman was not suppossed to have in the first place. The ability to read people's lies in their faces, alchemy and healing arts. Brier didn't know how dangerous this combination was until much later, a year after Elisandre's death. While playing matchmaking to find her a suitable husband, Brier unadvertedly drove all of them off with her skill to read people. Only one succeeded to not be cowed, earl Kevin Morrigh of Blackwood.
Earl Kevin was perhaps thirty years her elder and he was looking for a second wife after the first one had died without giving him any descendants. He was a stout man of rotund features, a bristly beard, a large booming voice, and the most important feature of them all. He didn't even bother to hide his true intentions in the slightlest. He had heard rumours of Brier being a healer and an alchemist, and precisely for that he was proposing her. He also acknowledged he didn't have a big status as nobleman, but he had a rather important mining and timber site in the Ironhills. He did not want a wife who only stood idlely to be coddled. Brier was taken aback by the man's honesty and accepted to become his wife.
Life at the Ironhills was just as Kevin described. There wasn't a single idle moment. If it wasn't helping blacksmiths identify and refine ores, it was helping injured lumberjacks and workers. She often delighted the earl's men with her harp at the end of the day. Never she had felt so drained and yet at the same time she was happy. She even had her first son by him, which both named Brian. And then the war struck out, and everything went down in a quick succession. Earl Kevin, thinking more with the heart than with the head, defied his lord, the duke of Harrighfield, and tossed his support in favor of the King and his father-in-law, duke Weade of Whitelands, only to be cut down in the same battle as Rikard. While brave and commending, this did not bode well for Brier, who soon was in the wrong of a lynching mob who took her castle, spurred by the less than honorable family members of the Morrigh. Being accused as a witch who had twisted earl Kevin's mind, she was all but helpless when the mob killed her infant two-year-old son in a fit of rage and bloodlust, and threatened to burn her at the stake.
She was saved by the timely intervention of Ser Wilhem, a recently ordered knight who had been left behind to ensure the safety of the countess. The lad, although brave, did not survive the wounds sustained, no matter what Brier died, and in the end, she reluctantly buried the young, brave and unfortunate knight beneath a large oaktree, while she took his horse for herself, and headed north to seek refuge in the Forklands and Whitelands.
Skills: Brier has an active mind, and she can engage in social conversation with practically anyone. She also knows how to cook decently, and she's greatly skilled at sewing and playing the harp. She can also sing quite well. More importantly, Brier can detect who lies to her by merely looking at the body language of the person before her. She is also a master healer, able to perform advanced bonesetting and even surgeries (where her sewing skills once again help), with the associated knowledge of herbalism. Last but not least important, Brier is an alchemist, and as such she can easily identify ores and create black powder and alchemic fire should she need to. Brier can also ride a horse quite decently.
Dreams and fears: Brier dreams of getting back at the insult suffered in the Blackwood, and avenge her dead son by the mob, and then maybe start over a new life. She obviously fears losing more family members.
Favored equipment: Brier usually is seen with her harp, although that one was lost when she was nearly killed. She always carries a hidden dagger in her thigh. Whenever she has to hit the road, it is not uncommon for her to carry a large knapsack with her healing materials as well as a staff for support. She also carries the Weade family ring and the Morrigh family ring.
Extra:Brier is thought to have perished in the riot, if news of such reached the north. |
55,888 | 1,531 | 13 | 899 | 318 | Gavin spent most of his day wandering the halls doing the bidding of his young master. But today was different, many of the lords were in the halls due to the recent death of there Duke. For some reason Joakim wanted to keep Gavin, a simple humble servant, near by. Gavin had done away with his usual smile. His face stern as he stood off the side beside Joakim. This was normal for him though, if there were no needs that needed his personal attention he was not far from Joakim. He looked around, he recognized every noble in the room, had met most of them. Though they had seen him many times, ask one of them his name. Most of the time they probably didn't even notice he was in the room. Nobles seem to be blind to servants, At least until they needed there wine glasses filled or there chamber pots emptied. Telth liked this, it meant he was unnoticed.
Soon Joakim was speaking, calling order to the room. Telth watched Joakim, despite the recent death of his father he kept himself strudy, speaking sternly. He was rather impressed and even a little reminded of himself at that age, both were forced to grow quickly and for that never had a real childhood, the only by the time he was by Joakim's age, Telth had already killed four people. Telth's eyes however looked over the crowd, watching them all, there reactions and movements. Soon a noble stepped out, Earl Redford, he was pompous fool in Telth's opinion. Despite that lashing he was a dog with no teeth, and if he really did try anything, Cregan was there. If he wasn't fast enough, Telth was. No the earl would hire somebody like Telth rather then do anything himself.
Much of the proceedings seemed to be going on as Gavin stood quietly. Watching others, they were speaking of things, that frankly he already knew of. You learned a lot when you were invisible, also though other channels that Telth had access too. Soon though these were over, and Joakim left. Gavin fallowed after him, he kept quite as his young master seemed to be preoccupied in thought, though that little smile was soon on his as he clasped his hands behind his back fallowing. He of course was mostly un-noticed by people, even though he stood at his masters side.
Gavin looked over out the muderhole hearing some one calling for Joakim. Soon he looked over to him, he was told to get his sword and shield as Gavin nodded "Of course young lord" was all he said before he was gone. It didn't take long for him to be outside, his coat on now as he handed the weapons to his lord. The cold didn't bother him, despite being from the falklands, he had to endure worse during training. "Is there 'Anything' you need of me m'lord" he spoke. His accent was a mix of nobles high speech and peasants slurred words. It helped cement his guise of Gavin. | Telth
"Always appear less then you are"
Full name: Telth
Titles: Gavin Simon
Social rank: none. Peasant
Job or societal position: Assassin, spy, Personal Servant for Joakim
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Appearance: He stands at 5'10 and dresses smartly. Being the personal servant to Joakim he is required to keep a certain level of presentation. Also he appears rather skiny, but his body is very well toned from years of training.
Personality: Gavin is a very happy fun loving person. When alone with other servants he is often found making jokes with them and is a happy person. When working as the personal servant to Joakim he often has a smile on his face as the age of his lord maters little to him. Though he knows when to put his carefree little smile away when important matters are being talked about. He is also very serious about his job, doing everything in his power to help his lord.
Telth is very different. Telth is quite and reserved, speaking only when spoken too and choosing his words very carefully, often taking a few moments before answering. He is ever observant, watching everything around him, assessing everything and everyone, from threat level to the quickest way to strike a killing blow if need be.
History: Telth in truth doesn't remember his true name. He has been an orphan as long as he could remember. Living in an orphanage in the Falklands children were often used for the criminal element. Delivering packages or messages, spying on people as the orphans were fore the most part ignored by people. The "Ring" was organized by one of the older children ,Rickard, who worked with the adults taking jobs and passing them down to the younger children. The boy was of course roped into this, and it wouldn't of been to much a problem, If you did well you were rewarded with food. However if you failed you were beaten by the older kids. Rickard was a cruel and sadistic person. He would beat the younger kids for no reason other then to prove that he was the biggest and the strongest of them all. The boy kept to himself, though did his job and tried to ignore what was going on.
When The boy was eight though things changed. One of his friends was beat to near death. She couldn't move for days, and Rickard ordered that no one was to feed her or help her. The boy ignored this and would sneak her food and bandage her up as best he could. He was discovered however and ended up having running, but he couldn't get away as they caught up to him and beat him. He was left to die in the streets. He laid there awaiting death when some one walked up to him "You just going to lay there and die" the man said as he looked up "no one is going to help you, you have to help your self". The boy didn't know what was going on, why would some one stop to just to talk to him this way. Was he really that cruel?. He started to stand up "That's more like it, stand on your own feet boy" Once up he looked at the man "You want to learn how to fight boy? You want to never be afraid again? I can teach you. But first you must prove that you are worth teaching" he told him. He wanted nothing more then that, so he asked what he had to do. It was simple really, find the people that did this to him, and kill them.
The boy agreed. But he couldn't just out right attack them, they were older, bigger, stronger, but they weren't smarter. So he came up with a plan. He knew how the operation ran, who did what and when they were vulnerable. He was quickly forgotten and used that to his advantage as well. Intercepting messages, placing false drops he was able to lure them out and ambush them. He picked them off one by one, killing all three of them. Once he was finished the man approached him again. He told him that he would train with him, and that the boy he was died the night on the street. Only Telth remained.
Everyday after that was spent training. Fighting, Poisons, stealth, spying, observation, Noble families, crest, orginizations. Every day from wake to sleep these things were beat into him, both literally and metaphorically. Though oddly enough though this man was the closest thing he ever had to a father.
After years of training and travailing with his mentor he woke up one day, what was odd was this was the first time he woke up with out there being some trap trying to kill him, some late night ambush. After a few hours he realized that his mentor was gone. As fast as that man came into his life, he was gone. Telth carried on though, he had connections, ways to get work. It wasn't like he was left with nothing. On a mission though he took a mission, to kill a noble men. On planing out his attack he learned that this target was planing the assassination of another, a young noble named Joakim. The noble was taking precautions, having gone to ground. Telth instead planned to assassinate Joakim himself, not to actually do it, but to catch the man hired by the noble to lead him to him. The plan worked, he intercepted the would be assassin before the attempt was made. What he didn't know was that he wasn't as stealthy as he thought. After he had dispatched the noble and accepted his payment. After that he was approached by a man, offered a more permanent line of work. Thus Gavin Simon was born.
Skills: Master swordsman, Poisoner, Stealth, Very agile, very skilled with daggers and throwing knives, also has training with most weapons. He is also very Observant, very little gets past him.
Dreams and fears: As of this day he has very little dreams or fears. He has nothing that he truly holds of any value.
Favored equipment: Telth's favored weapon is a curved single sided blade, throwing daggers and two daggers he keeps concealed. Also while on mission he sometimes uses a bow if need be.
Gavin, keeps very little weapons on him. Though he ussually has two throwing daggers concealed in his sleaves as well as two daggers he keeps hidden on him.
Extra: |
55,889 | 1,531 | 14 | 1,787 | 2,152 | As soon as the band of riders had reached the castle, Joakim would step forward, his sword still sheathed but his hand resting on it warily. Behind him was the small band of warriors that had gathered, but given the fact that there were many lords visiting with their own following, the group was much larger than it would be if this had happened throughout any period earlier than the death of Joakim's father. “Welcome to the Whitelands, traveller. I take it you are here to rest from the cold weather?” The young boy would stand readily, looking at the pack leader with eyes of a warrior - not a politician or lord. The added presence of Cregan and Rolland would make it pretty clear that the boy was not a lord of sorts, but a replacement or even an invaluable guard captain. He was not, but that was besides the point.
Joakim would look at the men and their outfits. They were out of place, outlandish almost. Resembled the Northern tribes in some way, but those had been conquered nearly a hundred years ago. “... you have travelled a long way, have you? Where are you from? You look Northern, the lot of you, in dress, but not you, big man.” He would direct himself to face Kaz, the biggest of them all, and also the most imposing. “Your armor is different. I would like to know more.” Any thing of martial importance was interesting to Joakim, given his bring-up and interests. Furthermore, there were foreign influences on the armor that were not from Borhilon. A traveller from the West? Perhaps, unlikely but perhaps.
The boys eyebrows raised, before he would step forward. A couple of soldiers behind Joakim raised their shields, and put themselves on edge, making ready for.. whatever the young lord regent was planning. But the boys hand left the hilt of his sword, and instead went forward, an invitation to shake hands. “I'd like to welcome you to my halls. I take it your men have tents?” While waiting for an answer he'd face around, nodding to Cregan and Rolland. He was hoping that it would put them and the rest at ease. “Your men can camp outside the palisades of the village. You, yourself, are welcome in my halls. If you'd agree, I'd like to speak to you about your weapons and armor. ..You are.. not from Borhilon, are you?” Well, that was obvious, but the question was more where he was from if not Borhilon. Somehow all the events of the day had caused the day to progress relatively fast, and it was quite dark outside - a sign that morning would come quite soon.
Gidja was about to ride for the gates ahead of the caravan, just to make sure that Joakim was alright with the riders, but then she noticed a rider in the distance through the thick snow. A rider with heavy armor none the less. Perhaps a hedgeknight, or perhaps just a figment of her imagination. “Eirik, I see a rider over there. Guard the caravan while I go see what he wants. Here I was hoping this'd be a quiet night..” Giving him a small nod as comfort she turned the horse to the side and rode for the rider, and as she got closer noticed his black armor.
Not usually a good sign, that. “HAIL!” she said in a loud tone, gripping her spear tighter as she closed the distance. “State your name and bussiness traveller! This is not a good time to be riding about, especially with this blizzard picking up. Now, if you hurry, we can get back to the Wintershouse in time without having to trudge through the snow.” She aimed her spear at him, subtly just in case. Black armored knights were generally not the friendliest people around, and the Whitelands had the luck to not see many of them. It made her wonder.. what was this man doing so far North.
Gregar grunted as he got woken up, in a particularily rude fashion. “Damnit Amber.. I was just dreaming.” He grinned at her and slowly got up, rubbing his back slightly to alleviate the soreness he got from leaning against the tree. “Alright, are we heading for the Wintershouse then? We can find a company of mercenaries there no doubt to bring you back your throne. No rush, though. You should profit from some time away from your duties.” The lighthearted comments were starting to come out now that he wasn't required to be more courtly than he really was. “I'll show you the gardens - they are lovely this time of the year. All covered in white snow. Now that I think of it, they're not much different than any other time of the year.. you should probably skip the gardens. Try our wine.” He smiled at Amber in a friendly manner and walked over to his horse where he'd pull on the saddle, ensuring it was well attached.
Slowly he climbed up, grunting slightly and rubbing over the back of his knee, where a wound from the war was obstructing movement at the moment. It might've opened up last night, something he'd have to get looked at in the Wintershouse. He turned the horse towards the road again, calling on Amber to follow him swiftly or get left behind. Then again, Amber was probably already ahead of him. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,890 | 1,531 | 15 | 220 | 2,530 | Ash clenched the reins of his horse tightly. He had been spotted. Quickly examining his options, he maintained a semblance of tranquility while in his mind the options raced like startled doves. Fighting in the snow was definitely out of the question. Fleeing back towards the hovel was going to be difficult, as the very steps he had taken were quickly erased. He then heard the voice of the guard.“HAIL!” Surprisingly the guard was definitely a woman. While not impossible, Ash could count on the hands the occassions in which he had seen female guards around. Although, this could be worked in his favour, as well. “State your name and bussiness traveller! This is not a good time to be riding about, especially with this blizzard picking up. Now, if you hurry, we can get back to the Wintershouse in time without having to trudge through the snow.” Women usually were more down to earth and slightly less prone to stupid bouts of righteousness and honor, and this seemed to be the case.
"Hail, m'lady" Ash answered back, in a calm, composed tone, an accent similar to hers. "I am Ash, son of Lily." He decided to disclose the truth about himself, not that he had much to lose. Although this was more of a formality. He doubted that a female guard would be acquainted with prostitutes enough to know who Lily was. "I was hunting for bounty when night and this blizzard fell upon me. I decided to follow the caravan to not be trapped on the snow. At a certain distance, m'lady. Because as you can see, I am not bound to give a good impression with my current guise." He added, pointing at both his armor and the severed heads next to his horse's saddle. He then pondered.
"No one likes to be in the middle of such a fierce snowstorm. Give me the word, m'lady, and I'll see to help your lot move the caravan to a safe shelter." He concluded. Perhaps a token of goodwill might mull things over. "I do have a flask of brandy aswell."
The world was going mad. The things she had considered for granted had been turned into ash and dust, and there wasn't any single friendly shoulder around her. Brier clutched her shoulders, as some sort of self embrace, trying to lessening the blow that she had suffered. A part of her mind refused to acknowledge it as real, but Briar knew better. If only Kevin had not tried to do the right thing with that big heart of his, none of this would have happened. If only she knew how to wield a sword like her elder brother... she would've been able to save Brian.
Yet, Kevin laid dead, at the side of her father, and for his actions, she had lost everything but her life. Even though that she herself had suffered only mild wounds, the pain inside her was much much worse. Clenching her teeth, she eyed her surroundings once more. Abundant grass and trees around her. She gathered she had moved into the Forklands some time ago in her frantic escape, only letting her horse rest when it was threatening to die on her. She would've killed it with exertion if she didn't knew better than she had no guarantee of getting a new one, and as such the beastie was in front of herself, grazing in the meadow quietly.
"You surely have an easy life." She managed to quip, half in jest, half in bitter acknowledgement. She checked her clothes once more. Dirty with soot and blood, snagged in all sort of places, her headpiece missing, but still pretty much in a decent condition. She also revised her dagger, the only thing that could help her guarantee her safety when things turned against her again. The high blade quality was enticing, and slitting her wrists or neck was a growing temptation in the back of her mind.
"No, Kitty, you're a daughter of Rikard. You're better than this." She grasped the dagger tightly, and put it back in the sheath. If only Joakim or Gregar were here. She could vividly portray them. Joakim with his measured but stern way of talking. And Gregar warmly urging her to follow him. It was as if almost she could hear his voice.
No, definitely she was hearing his voice.
What could that mean? Had she gone mad with grief? Quickly, she twisted the skin in one of her shoulders, causing herself a jolt of pain. No, his voice was real, she could feel it. Her heart skipped a beat, as she jumped upright, eyes wide.
"The gods haven't abandoned me." She whispered to herself as she quickly reached for the reins of her mount, jumping on the saddle quickly and then spurring the horse to head in the direction of the voice. It was him!
"GREEEG!" She yelled at the top of her lungs, speeding towards the road. "You are no ghost, aren't you!?? | Ash of the Whitelands
"No gloriae suae in bello"
Full name: Ash, or Ash of the Whitelands, denoting his humble origin.
Titles: The Sellsword Scholar, and the less flattering titles of Ser Whoreson and Knightslayer
Social rank: Whoreson peasant.
Job or societal position: Black Knight Sellsword. Part time teacher and folk entertainer.
Gender: Male
Appearance: He's an average sized, well built man, with dark scruffy hair and a clean-shaved face. He has gray eyes that give him a piercing, vivid stare. Cuts and chinks can be seen throughout his body, a couple of them on his face. He usually wears worn out and simple but serviceable clothes, and a black, equally worn but still useable armor (it's painted black to prevent rust) when in combat. He walks with carefully measured steps and he has a deep voice.
Personality: Despite his ignoble origin, Ash is a polite and well mannered man. He always answers a greeting, and answers with the utmost respect to whomever talks to him, be it noble or gentile. He's also rather patient and slow to anger, with an almost nigh unflappable stoicism. Yet at the same time, one could feel that sometimes he's not here, and just stares at the horizon rather than at people, reliving who knows what demons of the past. Lowborn, whores and orphans do manage to bring some more reaction in the man, and he's known to have a chipper, quick-wit and enthusiastic easygoing attitude with them. He is also more than willing to share his knowledge and experience to whomever lends him an ear, and he's partial to honest plights. Meeting him on the battlefield or as enemy is another matter. Bereft of any kind of remorse or honor, Ash strives to survive and win to see another morning, and he has very few qualms on using underhanded methods.
History: Ash was simply a byproduct of a camp follower and an unnamed man-at-arms in the Whitelands. He could have ended like many street rats and pickpockets, if it had not been for the hardest and most clever decision his mother had: To give him to a wandering troupe of entertainers after some convincing. Even from his early age, Ash revealed himself as a bright lad and a fast learner, and some of the troupe felt that they had to polish the formidable intellect the boy had, out of goodwill. They taught him manners, literature and writing, in the hopes he could become one of the narrators of the troupe. They weren't so successful at teaching him to sing and dance, as the poor lad was unfortunately tonedeaf, but he managed to pick other skills to compensate, like knowledge of healing and poisons from the troupe's wise woman, and some minor sleight-of-hand tricks to draw and interest peasants.
By the time he was a young man, he had already made a name for himself among the troupe, becoming one of the storytellers while others did the dancing and singing, as well as one of the faces for negotiation, given his politeness and wit. Unfortunately, he had also hit the foolish age where everyone wanted to be a knight and save and kingdom, and in a regrettable hotheaded decision, parted with the troupe to become a sellsword. Of course, his actual fighting ability was made much fun of by the time he tried to join, but the wizened leader of the sellsword group decided to keep him around, if only because he had prized skills like healing, poisons and writing. Knowing fully well his status as ''favored kid'' of the leader, he trained diligently and tried his best to not make mistakes. He also swallowed his qualms about doing less than regrettable brigand jobs, in an effort to become more like the mercenaries that he had surrounded himself with. However, it was all for naught, because even as he managed to garner himself a name among the mercenaries and become one of the de-facto liutenants of the band, he kept meeting scorn and cold shoulders. When a quarrel about payment shares broke between him and other lieutenants, Ash realized that no matter what he did, he would always be treated as an outsider by everyone. Skilled enough to beat knights in single combat, yet lowborn. Capable of philosophical debates yet as base as the son of a prostitute.
Heartbroken and bitter by the many horrors he chose to endure pursuing an empty ideal, he returned to his homeland, only to find the shadow of the war haunting the lands, and a rather cold and crude gravestone where his mother once stood. Still, he decided to stay, and perhaps make himself a place little by little, starting by subverting the suspiciousness of people around him by entertaining folks and doing odd errands.
Skills: Ash is an incredibly mentally gifted individual. He has a good grasp of a variety of subjects like tactics, economics, literature, manners and even odd things like castle building and sieges. He is also a good sellsword, able to use competently swords, shields, daggers, and bows, and skilled on horseback and with lances. He can also do some minor prestidigitation tricks like vanishing coins and minor escapism. He is a decent storyteller. He is rather skilled in the arts of healing as well as poisons, though people only know him for the poison part and his skill at arms.
Dreams and fears:He dreams of finding a good place to settle in, without even having to resort to the sword again. Sadly, in these times, his sword is all what he has to earn himself a living, as he's considered a foul person even by fellow peasants. He fears dying alone and forgotten, and losing himself to the madness of war and forgetting how to be kind.
Favored equipment: He's usually seen in comfortable, humble clothes with a dagger by his hip and a money purse when he's not in combat. When he's fully suited, he dons a black-painted armor, with a black shield and a longsword. Or alternatively a bow. He keeps the armor, arrows and weapons on his horse's saddlebags when he's not fighting. He also owns three books. One about healing and poisons, the other about war tactics, and the third one is his personal diary. He also keeps some oil and a whetstone to polish and keep his gear, as well as a flint.
Extra: He owns a warhorse named Spot he won in a bet. It's quite a temperamental stallion and has a rather worrying fondess for wine. All his worldly possessions can fit on his horse's saddlebags.
Brier Weade
"We can only move forward"
Full name: Brier Catryn Weade / Brier Catryn Morrigh
Titles: Countess of Blackwood (Formerly), Kitty for her friends, and Witch of Blackwood to her detractors.
Social rank: Noblewoman
Job or societal position: Former Royal Court Musician, Countess, Healer and Alchemist.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Personality: Brier was once a high spirited merry girl who always questioned everyone and everything. Sociable and curious to the extreme, she wasn't put off by appearances or standing whatshoever. She also shared the generous good nature of her elder brother Gregar Weade, as well as the lack of malice. Like her sibling, this bit her in the back quite a few times at first, but as she grew older, more focused and wiser, she learned how to read the intentions of people and developed a friendly, polite, but very defensive demeanor. Brier is a woman of intellect and culture and she enjoys learning new knowledge or discussing with akin minds. Bitterly accepting that not everyone is nice, and that there are wicked people out of there, she can be quite vindictive, throughout and manipulative if any member of her family is at stake.
History: Brier was born between the twins Janus and Gregar, and the thirdborn Joakim. Little Brier was a chatterbox and a relentless chaser of odd things, when she wasn't too busy sticking to Gregar like glue. She however, didn't neglect her education, and she followed her mother diligently just as Gregar did with their father. Education that was soon put to test, as she tended to her younger brother Joakim whenever others were not available. When Gregar's bethrodal was announced, Brier was for the first time, wary of an stranger coming to the house, but soon took a liking to Lady Elisandre as the elder sister she never had. By Elisandre's suggestion, Brier managed to convince his father the Duke to go to the King's court to receive more education.
Although initially reluctant, her family conceded to Brier's petition, as becoming part of the court and with Brier's easygoing nature, she would probably find a good groom later on. With her skill with the harp and sociable nature, Brier found herself befriended several people of all sorts. While comfortable with the people of her age and social status like princes, princesses, and sons and daughters of other nobles, Brier's sharp mind also sought out three people that usually were beneath notice: the King's spymaster, an old alchemist who had somehow gained prestige as royal advisor, and a portly and coarse yet skilled woman who was the Royal Physician.
Brier would seek their presence whenever she felt the whole court scenery and upbringing was too repetitive and dull, and she ended up learning several skills that a noblewoman was not suppossed to have in the first place. The ability to read people's lies in their faces, alchemy and healing arts. Brier didn't know how dangerous this combination was until much later, a year after Elisandre's death. While playing matchmaking to find her a suitable husband, Brier unadvertedly drove all of them off with her skill to read people. Only one succeeded to not be cowed, earl Kevin Morrigh of Blackwood.
Earl Kevin was perhaps thirty years her elder and he was looking for a second wife after the first one had died without giving him any descendants. He was a stout man of rotund features, a bristly beard, a large booming voice, and the most important feature of them all. He didn't even bother to hide his true intentions in the slightlest. He had heard rumours of Brier being a healer and an alchemist, and precisely for that he was proposing her. He also acknowledged he didn't have a big status as nobleman, but he had a rather important mining and timber site in the Ironhills. He did not want a wife who only stood idlely to be coddled. Brier was taken aback by the man's honesty and accepted to become his wife.
Life at the Ironhills was just as Kevin described. There wasn't a single idle moment. If it wasn't helping blacksmiths identify and refine ores, it was helping injured lumberjacks and workers. She often delighted the earl's men with her harp at the end of the day. Never she had felt so drained and yet at the same time she was happy. She even had her first son by him, which both named Brian. And then the war struck out, and everything went down in a quick succession. Earl Kevin, thinking more with the heart than with the head, defied his lord, the duke of Harrighfield, and tossed his support in favor of the King and his father-in-law, duke Weade of Whitelands, only to be cut down in the same battle as Rikard. While brave and commending, this did not bode well for Brier, who soon was in the wrong of a lynching mob who took her castle, spurred by the less than honorable family members of the Morrigh. Being accused as a witch who had twisted earl Kevin's mind, she was all but helpless when the mob killed her infant two-year-old son in a fit of rage and bloodlust, and threatened to burn her at the stake.
She was saved by the timely intervention of Ser Wilhem, a recently ordered knight who had been left behind to ensure the safety of the countess. The lad, although brave, did not survive the wounds sustained, no matter what Brier died, and in the end, she reluctantly buried the young, brave and unfortunate knight beneath a large oaktree, while she took his horse for herself, and headed north to seek refuge in the Forklands and Whitelands.
Skills: Brier has an active mind, and she can engage in social conversation with practically anyone. She also knows how to cook decently, and she's greatly skilled at sewing and playing the harp. She can also sing quite well. More importantly, Brier can detect who lies to her by merely looking at the body language of the person before her. She is also a master healer, able to perform advanced bonesetting and even surgeries (where her sewing skills once again help), with the associated knowledge of herbalism. Last but not least important, Brier is an alchemist, and as such she can easily identify ores and create black powder and alchemic fire should she need to. Brier can also ride a horse quite decently.
Dreams and fears: Brier dreams of getting back at the insult suffered in the Blackwood, and avenge her dead son by the mob, and then maybe start over a new life. She obviously fears losing more family members.
Favored equipment: Brier usually is seen with her harp, although that one was lost when she was nearly killed. She always carries a hidden dagger in her thigh. Whenever she has to hit the road, it is not uncommon for her to carry a large knapsack with her healing materials as well as a staff for support. She also carries the Weade family ring and the Morrigh family ring.
Extra:Brier is thought to have perished in the riot, if news of such reached the north. |
55,891 | 1,531 | 16 | 899 | 318 | Gavin looked out at the approaching men as Joakim spoke to them. He found it a bit curious, seeing as he didn't recognize them, there garb, there faces. This is something Gavin felt more troubling then anything, He knew of very noble family and anybody of any importance. Once more none of his own people saw him coming, which meant he came from the only direction that he never watched, north. Taking a step back it seemed that this wasn't information that he would have to convey at the moment. With a smile though his hands reached behind his back as he held them there. "M'lord" He left out the Young part when they weren't alone, mostly leaving his little quips and jabs for when it's just the two of them "Shall I prepare a room, and perhaps tell the kitchens to make more. I'm sure he and his men must be hungry, a sign of good will such as food might help with most foreign relations." He spoke in a very particular way, hoping that Jakim would pick up on his more subtle Nature. He hopped the young lord would pick up on what he meant: These mean were of none of the known kingdoms, including Borhilon, and that he wanted to send his own people out to investigate. | Telth
"Always appear less then you are"
Full name: Telth
Titles: Gavin Simon
Social rank: none. Peasant
Job or societal position: Assassin, spy, Personal Servant for Joakim
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Appearance: He stands at 5'10 and dresses smartly. Being the personal servant to Joakim he is required to keep a certain level of presentation. Also he appears rather skiny, but his body is very well toned from years of training.
Personality: Gavin is a very happy fun loving person. When alone with other servants he is often found making jokes with them and is a happy person. When working as the personal servant to Joakim he often has a smile on his face as the age of his lord maters little to him. Though he knows when to put his carefree little smile away when important matters are being talked about. He is also very serious about his job, doing everything in his power to help his lord.
Telth is very different. Telth is quite and reserved, speaking only when spoken too and choosing his words very carefully, often taking a few moments before answering. He is ever observant, watching everything around him, assessing everything and everyone, from threat level to the quickest way to strike a killing blow if need be.
History: Telth in truth doesn't remember his true name. He has been an orphan as long as he could remember. Living in an orphanage in the Falklands children were often used for the criminal element. Delivering packages or messages, spying on people as the orphans were fore the most part ignored by people. The "Ring" was organized by one of the older children ,Rickard, who worked with the adults taking jobs and passing them down to the younger children. The boy was of course roped into this, and it wouldn't of been to much a problem, If you did well you were rewarded with food. However if you failed you were beaten by the older kids. Rickard was a cruel and sadistic person. He would beat the younger kids for no reason other then to prove that he was the biggest and the strongest of them all. The boy kept to himself, though did his job and tried to ignore what was going on.
When The boy was eight though things changed. One of his friends was beat to near death. She couldn't move for days, and Rickard ordered that no one was to feed her or help her. The boy ignored this and would sneak her food and bandage her up as best he could. He was discovered however and ended up having running, but he couldn't get away as they caught up to him and beat him. He was left to die in the streets. He laid there awaiting death when some one walked up to him "You just going to lay there and die" the man said as he looked up "no one is going to help you, you have to help your self". The boy didn't know what was going on, why would some one stop to just to talk to him this way. Was he really that cruel?. He started to stand up "That's more like it, stand on your own feet boy" Once up he looked at the man "You want to learn how to fight boy? You want to never be afraid again? I can teach you. But first you must prove that you are worth teaching" he told him. He wanted nothing more then that, so he asked what he had to do. It was simple really, find the people that did this to him, and kill them.
The boy agreed. But he couldn't just out right attack them, they were older, bigger, stronger, but they weren't smarter. So he came up with a plan. He knew how the operation ran, who did what and when they were vulnerable. He was quickly forgotten and used that to his advantage as well. Intercepting messages, placing false drops he was able to lure them out and ambush them. He picked them off one by one, killing all three of them. Once he was finished the man approached him again. He told him that he would train with him, and that the boy he was died the night on the street. Only Telth remained.
Everyday after that was spent training. Fighting, Poisons, stealth, spying, observation, Noble families, crest, orginizations. Every day from wake to sleep these things were beat into him, both literally and metaphorically. Though oddly enough though this man was the closest thing he ever had to a father.
After years of training and travailing with his mentor he woke up one day, what was odd was this was the first time he woke up with out there being some trap trying to kill him, some late night ambush. After a few hours he realized that his mentor was gone. As fast as that man came into his life, he was gone. Telth carried on though, he had connections, ways to get work. It wasn't like he was left with nothing. On a mission though he took a mission, to kill a noble men. On planing out his attack he learned that this target was planing the assassination of another, a young noble named Joakim. The noble was taking precautions, having gone to ground. Telth instead planned to assassinate Joakim himself, not to actually do it, but to catch the man hired by the noble to lead him to him. The plan worked, he intercepted the would be assassin before the attempt was made. What he didn't know was that he wasn't as stealthy as he thought. After he had dispatched the noble and accepted his payment. After that he was approached by a man, offered a more permanent line of work. Thus Gavin Simon was born.
Skills: Master swordsman, Poisoner, Stealth, Very agile, very skilled with daggers and throwing knives, also has training with most weapons. He is also very Observant, very little gets past him.
Dreams and fears: As of this day he has very little dreams or fears. He has nothing that he truly holds of any value.
Favored equipment: Telth's favored weapon is a curved single sided blade, throwing daggers and two daggers he keeps concealed. Also while on mission he sometimes uses a bow if need be.
Gavin, keeps very little weapons on him. Though he ussually has two throwing daggers concealed in his sleaves as well as two daggers he keeps hidden on him.
Extra: |
55,892 | 1,531 | 17 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Amber stayed silent. The only thing on her mind right now was the kingdom she'd just lost, and where her brother was. She'd find lodgings in the Winterlands, of course, but this betrayal was unnerving. Tomas had warned her of her advisors, but she had only ever thought them greedy, never capable of treason. She'd see them hang. If only she'd stayed and fought, maybe she could have avoided this. Were they already celebrating their victory and control of the Forklands, or had someone struck them down? She'd seen Lord Battlemaster Horvik cut down several men in a few seconds. Not an easy foe to bring down.
She noticed from where the Sun was that it was about midday. The sky was a deep blue, with no clouds overhead. A cool breeze swept her hair around, and she basked in the relaxing feeling of being free. Exempt from politics, warfare. One with nature.
Her thoughts were cut by a voice. It seemed to call out Gregar. She turned her horse around and faced him.
"Shall we keep going? It could be another trap." | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,893 | 1,531 | 18 | 220 | 2,530 | As usual, Gregar's straightforwardness was a welcome balm for Kitty's wounds, as hard as those questiosn rang in her ears. Words didn't come from her mouth at first, all while Gregar was making presentations with lady Rossric."No, Gregar. I come not to mourn father." She finally managed to piece together, fist clenched."They took all from me. Because Kevin perished with Father. Harrighfield miscreats riled up a mob, and drove me out. They killed my little boy, Gregar. Brian. I couldn't do a thing." Brier struggled to find words, as tears welled into her face, and she barely struggled to coherently talk. "I would've died, but a brave knight saved me with his life. And I could only flee north. I don't want to lose more people..." The noblewoman finally broke in tears, and all her further words were wails for quite a section of the road. After what seemed an eternity, Brier reached the castle she was born in. She felt lost, weak, much like a five year old child again.
Kitty could barely smile at Gregar's clumsy attempts of lighting the mood, which unfortunately, was still striking on too many raw emotions. "I borrowed it from his owner, and I am afraid he will never need it back." She curtly said. She took notice of the grin of her brother when looking at Lady Rossric.
Why don't you sort your heart out, your clumsy oaf, and seek another woman? Elisandre would've understood. She thought to herself while trying to arrange her mess of a dress and hair into something... less haggard. "Home, how much I longed for it." She weakly said before heading after Gregar.
Ash huffed. It was a good thing this particular guard couldn't see his eyes rolling inside his helmet. "It's a long story, m'lady. My kind mother, bless her soul, handed me to a troupe of entertainers. And one day I decided to try and live my own stories. Before I knew, I already was knee-deep in this awful world of violence and swords." He paused his rant for a slight moment. "Mark my words, m'lady, never take what stories say for fully true."
The Knight paused slightly before dismounting, once the gates were reached, and did a small nod to Gidja. Intrusive or not, she had been reasonable and had let a couple of pieces of information. "I appreciate the honest advice m'lady." Ash said. The trickier part came now. Probably Joakim Weade, the current lord had not heard of his exploits on the south...as mercenary of duke Perris. Had it been the Oakheart, Gregar, things would bode much worse. He then took a sip of his flask, and gave another to his horse, which greedily drank, before tying the beastie somewhere safe, and pulling the severed heads from the horse's back. He then headed towards where the lord held the audiences, muttering under his breath as random servants hushed at his back and gave him wide berth.
Well, he was still half-frozen, with blood on his armor and a couple of severed heads. So that couldn't be helped. | Ash of the Whitelands
"No gloriae suae in bello"
Full name: Ash, or Ash of the Whitelands, denoting his humble origin.
Titles: The Sellsword Scholar, and the less flattering titles of Ser Whoreson and Knightslayer
Social rank: Whoreson peasant.
Job or societal position: Black Knight Sellsword. Part time teacher and folk entertainer.
Gender: Male
Appearance: He's an average sized, well built man, with dark scruffy hair and a clean-shaved face. He has gray eyes that give him a piercing, vivid stare. Cuts and chinks can be seen throughout his body, a couple of them on his face. He usually wears worn out and simple but serviceable clothes, and a black, equally worn but still useable armor (it's painted black to prevent rust) when in combat. He walks with carefully measured steps and he has a deep voice.
Personality: Despite his ignoble origin, Ash is a polite and well mannered man. He always answers a greeting, and answers with the utmost respect to whomever talks to him, be it noble or gentile. He's also rather patient and slow to anger, with an almost nigh unflappable stoicism. Yet at the same time, one could feel that sometimes he's not here, and just stares at the horizon rather than at people, reliving who knows what demons of the past. Lowborn, whores and orphans do manage to bring some more reaction in the man, and he's known to have a chipper, quick-wit and enthusiastic easygoing attitude with them. He is also more than willing to share his knowledge and experience to whomever lends him an ear, and he's partial to honest plights. Meeting him on the battlefield or as enemy is another matter. Bereft of any kind of remorse or honor, Ash strives to survive and win to see another morning, and he has very few qualms on using underhanded methods.
History: Ash was simply a byproduct of a camp follower and an unnamed man-at-arms in the Whitelands. He could have ended like many street rats and pickpockets, if it had not been for the hardest and most clever decision his mother had: To give him to a wandering troupe of entertainers after some convincing. Even from his early age, Ash revealed himself as a bright lad and a fast learner, and some of the troupe felt that they had to polish the formidable intellect the boy had, out of goodwill. They taught him manners, literature and writing, in the hopes he could become one of the narrators of the troupe. They weren't so successful at teaching him to sing and dance, as the poor lad was unfortunately tonedeaf, but he managed to pick other skills to compensate, like knowledge of healing and poisons from the troupe's wise woman, and some minor sleight-of-hand tricks to draw and interest peasants.
By the time he was a young man, he had already made a name for himself among the troupe, becoming one of the storytellers while others did the dancing and singing, as well as one of the faces for negotiation, given his politeness and wit. Unfortunately, he had also hit the foolish age where everyone wanted to be a knight and save and kingdom, and in a regrettable hotheaded decision, parted with the troupe to become a sellsword. Of course, his actual fighting ability was made much fun of by the time he tried to join, but the wizened leader of the sellsword group decided to keep him around, if only because he had prized skills like healing, poisons and writing. Knowing fully well his status as ''favored kid'' of the leader, he trained diligently and tried his best to not make mistakes. He also swallowed his qualms about doing less than regrettable brigand jobs, in an effort to become more like the mercenaries that he had surrounded himself with. However, it was all for naught, because even as he managed to garner himself a name among the mercenaries and become one of the de-facto liutenants of the band, he kept meeting scorn and cold shoulders. When a quarrel about payment shares broke between him and other lieutenants, Ash realized that no matter what he did, he would always be treated as an outsider by everyone. Skilled enough to beat knights in single combat, yet lowborn. Capable of philosophical debates yet as base as the son of a prostitute.
Heartbroken and bitter by the many horrors he chose to endure pursuing an empty ideal, he returned to his homeland, only to find the shadow of the war haunting the lands, and a rather cold and crude gravestone where his mother once stood. Still, he decided to stay, and perhaps make himself a place little by little, starting by subverting the suspiciousness of people around him by entertaining folks and doing odd errands.
Skills: Ash is an incredibly mentally gifted individual. He has a good grasp of a variety of subjects like tactics, economics, literature, manners and even odd things like castle building and sieges. He is also a good sellsword, able to use competently swords, shields, daggers, and bows, and skilled on horseback and with lances. He can also do some minor prestidigitation tricks like vanishing coins and minor escapism. He is a decent storyteller. He is rather skilled in the arts of healing as well as poisons, though people only know him for the poison part and his skill at arms.
Dreams and fears:He dreams of finding a good place to settle in, without even having to resort to the sword again. Sadly, in these times, his sword is all what he has to earn himself a living, as he's considered a foul person even by fellow peasants. He fears dying alone and forgotten, and losing himself to the madness of war and forgetting how to be kind.
Favored equipment: He's usually seen in comfortable, humble clothes with a dagger by his hip and a money purse when he's not in combat. When he's fully suited, he dons a black-painted armor, with a black shield and a longsword. Or alternatively a bow. He keeps the armor, arrows and weapons on his horse's saddlebags when he's not fighting. He also owns three books. One about healing and poisons, the other about war tactics, and the third one is his personal diary. He also keeps some oil and a whetstone to polish and keep his gear, as well as a flint.
Extra: He owns a warhorse named Spot he won in a bet. It's quite a temperamental stallion and has a rather worrying fondess for wine. All his worldly possessions can fit on his horse's saddlebags.
Brier Weade
"We can only move forward"
Full name: Brier Catryn Weade / Brier Catryn Morrigh
Titles: Countess of Blackwood (Formerly), Kitty for her friends, and Witch of Blackwood to her detractors.
Social rank: Noblewoman
Job or societal position: Former Royal Court Musician, Countess, Healer and Alchemist.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Personality: Brier was once a high spirited merry girl who always questioned everyone and everything. Sociable and curious to the extreme, she wasn't put off by appearances or standing whatshoever. She also shared the generous good nature of her elder brother Gregar Weade, as well as the lack of malice. Like her sibling, this bit her in the back quite a few times at first, but as she grew older, more focused and wiser, she learned how to read the intentions of people and developed a friendly, polite, but very defensive demeanor. Brier is a woman of intellect and culture and she enjoys learning new knowledge or discussing with akin minds. Bitterly accepting that not everyone is nice, and that there are wicked people out of there, she can be quite vindictive, throughout and manipulative if any member of her family is at stake.
History: Brier was born between the twins Janus and Gregar, and the thirdborn Joakim. Little Brier was a chatterbox and a relentless chaser of odd things, when she wasn't too busy sticking to Gregar like glue. She however, didn't neglect her education, and she followed her mother diligently just as Gregar did with their father. Education that was soon put to test, as she tended to her younger brother Joakim whenever others were not available. When Gregar's bethrodal was announced, Brier was for the first time, wary of an stranger coming to the house, but soon took a liking to Lady Elisandre as the elder sister she never had. By Elisandre's suggestion, Brier managed to convince his father the Duke to go to the King's court to receive more education.
Although initially reluctant, her family conceded to Brier's petition, as becoming part of the court and with Brier's easygoing nature, she would probably find a good groom later on. With her skill with the harp and sociable nature, Brier found herself befriended several people of all sorts. While comfortable with the people of her age and social status like princes, princesses, and sons and daughters of other nobles, Brier's sharp mind also sought out three people that usually were beneath notice: the King's spymaster, an old alchemist who had somehow gained prestige as royal advisor, and a portly and coarse yet skilled woman who was the Royal Physician.
Brier would seek their presence whenever she felt the whole court scenery and upbringing was too repetitive and dull, and she ended up learning several skills that a noblewoman was not suppossed to have in the first place. The ability to read people's lies in their faces, alchemy and healing arts. Brier didn't know how dangerous this combination was until much later, a year after Elisandre's death. While playing matchmaking to find her a suitable husband, Brier unadvertedly drove all of them off with her skill to read people. Only one succeeded to not be cowed, earl Kevin Morrigh of Blackwood.
Earl Kevin was perhaps thirty years her elder and he was looking for a second wife after the first one had died without giving him any descendants. He was a stout man of rotund features, a bristly beard, a large booming voice, and the most important feature of them all. He didn't even bother to hide his true intentions in the slightlest. He had heard rumours of Brier being a healer and an alchemist, and precisely for that he was proposing her. He also acknowledged he didn't have a big status as nobleman, but he had a rather important mining and timber site in the Ironhills. He did not want a wife who only stood idlely to be coddled. Brier was taken aback by the man's honesty and accepted to become his wife.
Life at the Ironhills was just as Kevin described. There wasn't a single idle moment. If it wasn't helping blacksmiths identify and refine ores, it was helping injured lumberjacks and workers. She often delighted the earl's men with her harp at the end of the day. Never she had felt so drained and yet at the same time she was happy. She even had her first son by him, which both named Brian. And then the war struck out, and everything went down in a quick succession. Earl Kevin, thinking more with the heart than with the head, defied his lord, the duke of Harrighfield, and tossed his support in favor of the King and his father-in-law, duke Weade of Whitelands, only to be cut down in the same battle as Rikard. While brave and commending, this did not bode well for Brier, who soon was in the wrong of a lynching mob who took her castle, spurred by the less than honorable family members of the Morrigh. Being accused as a witch who had twisted earl Kevin's mind, she was all but helpless when the mob killed her infant two-year-old son in a fit of rage and bloodlust, and threatened to burn her at the stake.
She was saved by the timely intervention of Ser Wilhem, a recently ordered knight who had been left behind to ensure the safety of the countess. The lad, although brave, did not survive the wounds sustained, no matter what Brier died, and in the end, she reluctantly buried the young, brave and unfortunate knight beneath a large oaktree, while she took his horse for herself, and headed north to seek refuge in the Forklands and Whitelands.
Skills: Brier has an active mind, and she can engage in social conversation with practically anyone. She also knows how to cook decently, and she's greatly skilled at sewing and playing the harp. She can also sing quite well. More importantly, Brier can detect who lies to her by merely looking at the body language of the person before her. She is also a master healer, able to perform advanced bonesetting and even surgeries (where her sewing skills once again help), with the associated knowledge of herbalism. Last but not least important, Brier is an alchemist, and as such she can easily identify ores and create black powder and alchemic fire should she need to. Brier can also ride a horse quite decently.
Dreams and fears: Brier dreams of getting back at the insult suffered in the Blackwood, and avenge her dead son by the mob, and then maybe start over a new life. She obviously fears losing more family members.
Favored equipment: Brier usually is seen with her harp, although that one was lost when she was nearly killed. She always carries a hidden dagger in her thigh. Whenever she has to hit the road, it is not uncommon for her to carry a large knapsack with her healing materials as well as a staff for support. She also carries the Weade family ring and the Morrigh family ring.
Extra:Brier is thought to have perished in the riot, if news of such reached the north. |
55,894 | 1,531 | 19 | 899 | 318 | Tomas walked up to the on-duty guard.
"Hello good sir, would you let me through?"
"No one gets in without special authorization. King's orders," the guard grunted. Tomas saw in his cold expression that it was no use insisting, and walked off. He needed to get in, since this would have been the logical stop for his sister after the events of last night. He looked down at his leg. He'd been putting maggots in it every few hours, and it wouldn't infect now. It would leave a nasty reminder, though. The material of his trousers hung around the wound, still soiled with blood.
He'd have to find another way to get in. In the meantime, he needed to eat and drink. He went down to a small river that surrounded the city and drank some water, taking the opportunity to wash his face. Seeing nothing to eat, he sat down and watched the gates. It must be a boring job, being a guard, he thought. Just standing there doing nothing.
He saw the guards change shifts. Now that it was midday, the one who'd refused him left and was replaced by a young girl. Strange to see one as a guard, thought Tomas. Maybe she'll be more willing to let me in.
He made his way back. Hopefully I've still got it, he thought, as he closed in on her.
"Hello, fair lady. How about letting me in through that door? I'm sure one man getting through here is no trouble."
--------------------
Amber rode on. She'd not met this girl before, or at least had no recollection of it. "We all long for our homes. One only realises how much one misses something when it's taken from them..." Too true, too soon.
She followed the others at a trot behind. Doubtless they'd have much to say to each other. She had to avenge her kingdom. She wouldn't become a failed Duchess, another page in a history book. She'd take back what was hers, no matter how long it would take. But now, her main focus was finding her family. Where were her brother and mother? Had they escaped? Were they still there? Or... no. No use thinking like that.
She did her best to hide her sorrow. You're a duchess now, emotions can't be shown, especially around people you don't know so well. | Telth
"Always appear less then you are"
Full name: Telth
Titles: Gavin Simon
Social rank: none. Peasant
Job or societal position: Assassin, spy, Personal Servant for Joakim
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Appearance: He stands at 5'10 and dresses smartly. Being the personal servant to Joakim he is required to keep a certain level of presentation. Also he appears rather skiny, but his body is very well toned from years of training.
Personality: Gavin is a very happy fun loving person. When alone with other servants he is often found making jokes with them and is a happy person. When working as the personal servant to Joakim he often has a smile on his face as the age of his lord maters little to him. Though he knows when to put his carefree little smile away when important matters are being talked about. He is also very serious about his job, doing everything in his power to help his lord.
Telth is very different. Telth is quite and reserved, speaking only when spoken too and choosing his words very carefully, often taking a few moments before answering. He is ever observant, watching everything around him, assessing everything and everyone, from threat level to the quickest way to strike a killing blow if need be.
History: Telth in truth doesn't remember his true name. He has been an orphan as long as he could remember. Living in an orphanage in the Falklands children were often used for the criminal element. Delivering packages or messages, spying on people as the orphans were fore the most part ignored by people. The "Ring" was organized by one of the older children ,Rickard, who worked with the adults taking jobs and passing them down to the younger children. The boy was of course roped into this, and it wouldn't of been to much a problem, If you did well you were rewarded with food. However if you failed you were beaten by the older kids. Rickard was a cruel and sadistic person. He would beat the younger kids for no reason other then to prove that he was the biggest and the strongest of them all. The boy kept to himself, though did his job and tried to ignore what was going on.
When The boy was eight though things changed. One of his friends was beat to near death. She couldn't move for days, and Rickard ordered that no one was to feed her or help her. The boy ignored this and would sneak her food and bandage her up as best he could. He was discovered however and ended up having running, but he couldn't get away as they caught up to him and beat him. He was left to die in the streets. He laid there awaiting death when some one walked up to him "You just going to lay there and die" the man said as he looked up "no one is going to help you, you have to help your self". The boy didn't know what was going on, why would some one stop to just to talk to him this way. Was he really that cruel?. He started to stand up "That's more like it, stand on your own feet boy" Once up he looked at the man "You want to learn how to fight boy? You want to never be afraid again? I can teach you. But first you must prove that you are worth teaching" he told him. He wanted nothing more then that, so he asked what he had to do. It was simple really, find the people that did this to him, and kill them.
The boy agreed. But he couldn't just out right attack them, they were older, bigger, stronger, but they weren't smarter. So he came up with a plan. He knew how the operation ran, who did what and when they were vulnerable. He was quickly forgotten and used that to his advantage as well. Intercepting messages, placing false drops he was able to lure them out and ambush them. He picked them off one by one, killing all three of them. Once he was finished the man approached him again. He told him that he would train with him, and that the boy he was died the night on the street. Only Telth remained.
Everyday after that was spent training. Fighting, Poisons, stealth, spying, observation, Noble families, crest, orginizations. Every day from wake to sleep these things were beat into him, both literally and metaphorically. Though oddly enough though this man was the closest thing he ever had to a father.
After years of training and travailing with his mentor he woke up one day, what was odd was this was the first time he woke up with out there being some trap trying to kill him, some late night ambush. After a few hours he realized that his mentor was gone. As fast as that man came into his life, he was gone. Telth carried on though, he had connections, ways to get work. It wasn't like he was left with nothing. On a mission though he took a mission, to kill a noble men. On planing out his attack he learned that this target was planing the assassination of another, a young noble named Joakim. The noble was taking precautions, having gone to ground. Telth instead planned to assassinate Joakim himself, not to actually do it, but to catch the man hired by the noble to lead him to him. The plan worked, he intercepted the would be assassin before the attempt was made. What he didn't know was that he wasn't as stealthy as he thought. After he had dispatched the noble and accepted his payment. After that he was approached by a man, offered a more permanent line of work. Thus Gavin Simon was born.
Skills: Master swordsman, Poisoner, Stealth, Very agile, very skilled with daggers and throwing knives, also has training with most weapons. He is also very Observant, very little gets past him.
Dreams and fears: As of this day he has very little dreams or fears. He has nothing that he truly holds of any value.
Favored equipment: Telth's favored weapon is a curved single sided blade, throwing daggers and two daggers he keeps concealed. Also while on mission he sometimes uses a bow if need be.
Gavin, keeps very little weapons on him. Though he ussually has two throwing daggers concealed in his sleaves as well as two daggers he keeps hidden on him.
Extra: |
55,895 | 1,531 | 20 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Joakim sat down in the simple wooden throne, taking his sword and leaning it against the throne. He leaned back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire before another servant approached him - again. Gavin had really ought to handle these things alone, rather than send a message every time he did something. He had barely gotten a nights rest with all the troubles and such going on, and by now many lords were freshly awoken from their nights rest so there was no chance to get some shut eye. Some sat in the hall conversing with others, sitting on the simple wooden benches. Wealth wasn't a thing prominent in the North. Others might already be preparing to leave, mostly the men from the North that had a long ride ahead of them. They would be returning as soon as they could, and hopefully with an army of bannermen.
Joakim wanted to wave the servant away, wishing some time to himself to reconsider the position they were in, and to look after his mother for a moment. She seemed to be caving in more and more, and hadn't stayed for the ceremonies yesterday. Her servants, Arryn Thorne and Rosemary Yewstring, had been taking care of her so far but Joakim had the idea it would only take time before his mother caved completely and he would be forced to keep her locked in her room with an embroidery set. It was a fate many widows had seen before, and he felt sorry that it had to be his mother too.
Before he could wave the servant away he was already closeby and speaking to Joakim. He notified him of approaching people, who appeared to be lord Gregar Weade, as well as an unknown woman and lady Amber Rossric of the Forklands. Although Joakim knew her only by seeing her at the tourneys that he took part in, he knew she was duchess and commanded a decent amount of respect. More so, she was a good friend of Gregar. Joakim nodded and attempted to hide his satisfaction, but failed at that miserably when he walked towards the door to greet them. Closing the distance, the door opened and Gregar stepped through with that characteristical grin of his. Joakims walk turned into a run as he clashed with Gregar in a firm hug. “Brother!” he let out, nearly ramming Gregar to the ground as they connected. All Gregar did was put his hand on Joakims head and smile. He looked around the room, to see all the noblemen that had now stood up. Some smiled at him, others bowed their heads and a single lord even dropped on one knee. It was certain that Gregar had a far better standing amongst the nobles than Joakim.
After a long hug, Joakim released him and then noticed Brier behind him too. He was far too happy to see her to even think of why she was here. It was uncommon for Brier to make the long journey to the Whitelands, especially because she had a busy live in the Ironhills. Her skills went largely unknown to Joakim, who knew merely that she had some idea what plants were edible and which were not, but besides that he knew little of her. They never got to spend time together before, because by the time he was mature enough to realise what was what in the world of politics and traits, she was already married off. All the memories he had of her were childhood ones, where she would watch him and teach him. He smiled at her and approached her after, leaving Gregar to tend to the noblemen. As he approached her too, he would give her a hug. “Good to see you Brier, are you staying for long?” His dog, Bravery, would sit next to them and pant heavily. He'd twist his head slightly at Brier in a comedic way. Granted, the dog was brave.. but not very smart.
Gregar turned to the nobles and gave them all his attention. “Good of you to be here still.” His eyes gazed over the visages of the nobles, as he walked to his throne and touched it's cold wood. He'd then turn around and face the lord who was on one knee. “Rise, please, ser Redarde, there are more pressing matters than formalities.” The lord rose slowly, still bowing his head. Other nobles lined up with him, to make ready for what Gregar was about to say. The lords that had already left would have to give their oaths by contract, these men could do it in person. “Do you all swear allegiance to me, Gregar Weade, the Oakheart of the North, true heir to the title of duke of the Whitelands, and rightful owner of the Wintershouse? Do you swear to uphold my name, my honor and my faith in front of those who would oppose us? Do you swear your banners to me, to aid me when I call on you?” The lords drew their swords and set the tips down into the stone, before kneeling and bowing their heads. In unison they replied, 'I do'.
Gregar looked around with a satisfied look. “Good. Because we have a war to fight. It will be weeks before Harrighfields army gets to the Whitelands, but our northern armies must travel even longer. We will be outnumbered for the first weeks, months even. But we have a good position, namely that we are free to bargain with others, where as lord Perris Harrighfield has suffered a diplomatic blow when he struck against the king! We still have allies in the realm of the King, although it may seem like it is not so.” The lords nodded, some said a quick word such as 'He's right' or 'I can send a letter to my niece in the Falkhalls'. It seemed Gregars arrival was timely, and he had lifted the spirits and given them hope, or atleast commanded such respect that none of them would speak against him. “And after the war is over, we have another matter to attend to. Lady Amber Rossric has been de-throned by pretenders and men of the cloak and dagger. Our families are tied together ever since the birth of Borhilon, and they hopefully will continue to be tied after all of us lie in the ground, feasting with Gods' children. As such we have a duty to help her gain back what is hers. There may be yet nobles in the Forklands that support her cause. We must search them out and ask them to aid us, so we may aid them in return by returning their duchess.” The lords nodded, some looked as though they weren't prepared to fight another womans' war, but if the duke commanded it so it was to be done.
“Now that we've done all that.. servants! BRING US WINE!” The crowd cheered and even the servants looked happy, because when there was a feast, they were usually invited to join. Some men left to go fetch their friends and comrades, who would by now be awake after a long night of drinking, and visiting women of satin covers. As the servants would go to fetch wine and food, no doubt upsetting the cooks even more than they already were, Joakim approached the throne again and leaned towards his ear, where he would tell them of the foreign warlord that had taken up residence on invitations of Joakim. Gregar would nod and make sure to invite him later on. Joakim retreated to sit with Brier and Amber at a table of.. higher nobility, where people would swap seats every now and then to sit close to these influential people, for small talk and hopefully for them to get favors from them. As Gregar sat there, he noticed a peculiar person roaming the backside of the hall, a knight dressed in a suit of black. An uncommon sight in the Whitelands, but a sight more common in the South. Whenever there was a war, it seemed the knights of Black crawled from under their rocks to participate. He stood up and pointed at the knight. “Knight of the Black! Come closer and undo your helmet!” An eerie quiet would overcome the hall as many would turn to face the black knight. “.. Tell us of your name and your birthplace, knight. Black knights are a sight uncommon here, so we must take our chances to talk to them.. you lot are interesting.”
Gidja was just switched out with the castle guard who guarded the gate, another more relaxed position were it not for the blizzard that was picking up pace. Many peasants and soldiers had retreated inside, but she had no such chance to do so. She was about to lean against the wall when a man approached, coming from the snow and approaching her, almost in a straight line. “Hail stranger.” she said as he approached and started talking to her. He even called her fair lady. She rolled her eyes at him and replied with a quick tongue. “Flattering me won't get you inside. I see you have a weapon, and while that is not forbidden, I should warn you that if you try anything funny - we have men inside from all the lords of the realm, and they are veterans of many wars. You look like you've never seen a trickle of blood run from your blade, so be careful who you offend..” She would nod towards the gate urging him to hurry inside. “And don't bother the ladies of pleasure lest you have coin. Many of them are close friends of mine, and I'd hate to skewer you on my spear. Now go, you might be able to get some food at Gregar Weades' hall.”
Arryn rushed to the windowsill to grab a pillow for lady Catryn, and noticed the wind and snow was picking up. She leaned over and grabbed the wooden boards that could cover the window, before pulling them in and closing off the window. The room suddenly turned very dark, and she let her eyes adjust to that for a second before rushing back to lady Catryn, who was laying in bed in silence. Catryns quiet, soft but singing voice broke the silence. “Lady Catryn.. can you raise your head so I can place down the pillow, my lady?” Lady Catryn complied, either out of sheer sadness, or because she couldn't be bothered with this.. child. Arryn promptly placed the pillow down before rushing to the other side of the room again, where she would take a candle and take it outside. Starting a fire was always a hassle, so she generally just used the burning torch on the outside of the room, hanging from a wall.
As she headed back inside she noticed that the other handmaiden, Rosemary, was coming back from an errant. As such she left the door open for her and went inside. She placed the candle near lady Catryn on a table, and sat down close to the table waiting for lady Catryn to ask for something. As Rosemary entered she seemed.. happy. It was strange in such a turbulent time to be happy, so she continued looking at Rosemary waiting for her to tell what was so good. 'Lady Catryn, your son and daughter have returned. Gregar and Brier are both here, as is Amber Rossric.' This was news that would normally make a mother happy, but she didn't reply, only stare at the wall in silence. She had cried all her tears yet, and so she couldn't cry anymore. The two handmaidens stayed in silence for a while before lady Catryn ushered her first words in days. 'Leave me.' she said, softly and quiet, whispering almost. Her voice had changed, and while it was beautiful before, her voice now sounded old and devoid of any emotions.
The two left the room and slowly walked together to the halls. Before Arryn could say anything, Rosemary was already talking like a madman. 'Oh, Arryn, Gregar is so handsome.. He got scarred in battle, but he's still pretty. It just makes him look more like a man than before! Maybe he'll ask me to dance..' Arryn shook her head. She liked Gregar, but more like a friend. Besides, Arryn was much too young to even be thinking of stuff like this. Rosemary on the other hand was already 18, and would be sent away for marriage soon. Being lowborn, she'd probably be married off to some 3rd born son, someone like Joakim. That was not neccesarily bad, it was definetely a step up from being a handmaiden, but.. it wasn't like she'd be married to a king, or a lord. It was stupid to think of Gregar, she'd never get him. Arryn couldn't help but wonder who she'd be married to.. she'd much rather stay in the Wintershouse. But she didn't tell Rosemary that, preferring to keep quiet. She just smiled and went along with Rosemary's rambling. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,896 | 1,531 | 21 | 220 | 2,530 | Ash's mood just seemed to worsen by moments. Earlier the day, he had hoped to somehow get by and remain unnoticed. After some talks, a bounty, a blizzard, and a perhaps too observant guard, he had all the stares of every single lesser Lord and Bannermen the Weades had. And to top it off, the one person he was not supposed to meet to avoid trouble was actually calling him. Gregar godsbedamned Weade, the Oakheart. What a fine mess. Last time I saw him, he bounded me in chains and didn't take too kindly of his men falling to my weapons. And there were the stares. It was like...if they were awaiting a performance.
He paused, and raised his hands to his helmet. Well, what the hell, let's give them the show of their lives, then. He added, while dropping it, revealing his face in full. He intensified his stare, eyes directly glaring at Gregar Oakheart.
"You know me well, Oakheart. I am after all, the Knightslayer and the bane of your troops." Ash said with his deep voice. "Yet, I come here not as lackey of Duke Perris, for my relationship with him has ended.I have no desire to fight you over nothing." He added, his hand slowly reaching for his sword. "However my life is all I have, and I will not part with it easily. Pardon my rudeness if I fight back." He added, to back up his defensive stance."You asked for my name, m'lord, and that much I'll give. Know that I am Ash, son of Lily the prostitute, and my place of birth is the Whitelands." He smirked slightly. "However, if your lordship would be so kind of staying his hand, he will know that money cannot buy blood. I'll gladly lend you my sword to protect the resting place of my mother." He finished, awaiting a response.
Brier clutched the folds of her ruined dress tightly. She wasn't in the mood of tasting food nor wine. The emotion she had when she met Mir, her little Mir, all grown up and regal, had all but faded out. She really wanted to tell how proud she was, and make up for lost time, but more empowering emotions were threatening to burst outside. Specially after Gregar's talk about war, and asserting Amber's rule. Really, these two should marry, I mean, he's chosen to tell about Amber to his troops, and forgotten about me. Not sure if on purpose... I hate war politics. Brier bit her lip, and then gestured for Joakim to lend her an ear.
"Blackwood is lost, Mir. I'm sorry for telling you this way and putting the burden of you, but I can't keep myself in check for much longer. Kevin is dead, and so was my little Brian, killed by a mob who drove me out. I'll excuse myself now, lest i break before all of your brother's lords and bannermen. Tell them I went to see mother." Brier whispered, before gathering all her remaining grace, bowed out and headed towards the tower, where her mother was, struggling to not let her tears out. | Ash of the Whitelands
"No gloriae suae in bello"
Full name: Ash, or Ash of the Whitelands, denoting his humble origin.
Titles: The Sellsword Scholar, and the less flattering titles of Ser Whoreson and Knightslayer
Social rank: Whoreson peasant.
Job or societal position: Black Knight Sellsword. Part time teacher and folk entertainer.
Gender: Male
Appearance: He's an average sized, well built man, with dark scruffy hair and a clean-shaved face. He has gray eyes that give him a piercing, vivid stare. Cuts and chinks can be seen throughout his body, a couple of them on his face. He usually wears worn out and simple but serviceable clothes, and a black, equally worn but still useable armor (it's painted black to prevent rust) when in combat. He walks with carefully measured steps and he has a deep voice.
Personality: Despite his ignoble origin, Ash is a polite and well mannered man. He always answers a greeting, and answers with the utmost respect to whomever talks to him, be it noble or gentile. He's also rather patient and slow to anger, with an almost nigh unflappable stoicism. Yet at the same time, one could feel that sometimes he's not here, and just stares at the horizon rather than at people, reliving who knows what demons of the past. Lowborn, whores and orphans do manage to bring some more reaction in the man, and he's known to have a chipper, quick-wit and enthusiastic easygoing attitude with them. He is also more than willing to share his knowledge and experience to whomever lends him an ear, and he's partial to honest plights. Meeting him on the battlefield or as enemy is another matter. Bereft of any kind of remorse or honor, Ash strives to survive and win to see another morning, and he has very few qualms on using underhanded methods.
History: Ash was simply a byproduct of a camp follower and an unnamed man-at-arms in the Whitelands. He could have ended like many street rats and pickpockets, if it had not been for the hardest and most clever decision his mother had: To give him to a wandering troupe of entertainers after some convincing. Even from his early age, Ash revealed himself as a bright lad and a fast learner, and some of the troupe felt that they had to polish the formidable intellect the boy had, out of goodwill. They taught him manners, literature and writing, in the hopes he could become one of the narrators of the troupe. They weren't so successful at teaching him to sing and dance, as the poor lad was unfortunately tonedeaf, but he managed to pick other skills to compensate, like knowledge of healing and poisons from the troupe's wise woman, and some minor sleight-of-hand tricks to draw and interest peasants.
By the time he was a young man, he had already made a name for himself among the troupe, becoming one of the storytellers while others did the dancing and singing, as well as one of the faces for negotiation, given his politeness and wit. Unfortunately, he had also hit the foolish age where everyone wanted to be a knight and save and kingdom, and in a regrettable hotheaded decision, parted with the troupe to become a sellsword. Of course, his actual fighting ability was made much fun of by the time he tried to join, but the wizened leader of the sellsword group decided to keep him around, if only because he had prized skills like healing, poisons and writing. Knowing fully well his status as ''favored kid'' of the leader, he trained diligently and tried his best to not make mistakes. He also swallowed his qualms about doing less than regrettable brigand jobs, in an effort to become more like the mercenaries that he had surrounded himself with. However, it was all for naught, because even as he managed to garner himself a name among the mercenaries and become one of the de-facto liutenants of the band, he kept meeting scorn and cold shoulders. When a quarrel about payment shares broke between him and other lieutenants, Ash realized that no matter what he did, he would always be treated as an outsider by everyone. Skilled enough to beat knights in single combat, yet lowborn. Capable of philosophical debates yet as base as the son of a prostitute.
Heartbroken and bitter by the many horrors he chose to endure pursuing an empty ideal, he returned to his homeland, only to find the shadow of the war haunting the lands, and a rather cold and crude gravestone where his mother once stood. Still, he decided to stay, and perhaps make himself a place little by little, starting by subverting the suspiciousness of people around him by entertaining folks and doing odd errands.
Skills: Ash is an incredibly mentally gifted individual. He has a good grasp of a variety of subjects like tactics, economics, literature, manners and even odd things like castle building and sieges. He is also a good sellsword, able to use competently swords, shields, daggers, and bows, and skilled on horseback and with lances. He can also do some minor prestidigitation tricks like vanishing coins and minor escapism. He is a decent storyteller. He is rather skilled in the arts of healing as well as poisons, though people only know him for the poison part and his skill at arms.
Dreams and fears:He dreams of finding a good place to settle in, without even having to resort to the sword again. Sadly, in these times, his sword is all what he has to earn himself a living, as he's considered a foul person even by fellow peasants. He fears dying alone and forgotten, and losing himself to the madness of war and forgetting how to be kind.
Favored equipment: He's usually seen in comfortable, humble clothes with a dagger by his hip and a money purse when he's not in combat. When he's fully suited, he dons a black-painted armor, with a black shield and a longsword. Or alternatively a bow. He keeps the armor, arrows and weapons on his horse's saddlebags when he's not fighting. He also owns three books. One about healing and poisons, the other about war tactics, and the third one is his personal diary. He also keeps some oil and a whetstone to polish and keep his gear, as well as a flint.
Extra: He owns a warhorse named Spot he won in a bet. It's quite a temperamental stallion and has a rather worrying fondess for wine. All his worldly possessions can fit on his horse's saddlebags.
Brier Weade
"We can only move forward"
Full name: Brier Catryn Weade / Brier Catryn Morrigh
Titles: Countess of Blackwood (Formerly), Kitty for her friends, and Witch of Blackwood to her detractors.
Social rank: Noblewoman
Job or societal position: Former Royal Court Musician, Countess, Healer and Alchemist.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Personality: Brier was once a high spirited merry girl who always questioned everyone and everything. Sociable and curious to the extreme, she wasn't put off by appearances or standing whatshoever. She also shared the generous good nature of her elder brother Gregar Weade, as well as the lack of malice. Like her sibling, this bit her in the back quite a few times at first, but as she grew older, more focused and wiser, she learned how to read the intentions of people and developed a friendly, polite, but very defensive demeanor. Brier is a woman of intellect and culture and she enjoys learning new knowledge or discussing with akin minds. Bitterly accepting that not everyone is nice, and that there are wicked people out of there, she can be quite vindictive, throughout and manipulative if any member of her family is at stake.
History: Brier was born between the twins Janus and Gregar, and the thirdborn Joakim. Little Brier was a chatterbox and a relentless chaser of odd things, when she wasn't too busy sticking to Gregar like glue. She however, didn't neglect her education, and she followed her mother diligently just as Gregar did with their father. Education that was soon put to test, as she tended to her younger brother Joakim whenever others were not available. When Gregar's bethrodal was announced, Brier was for the first time, wary of an stranger coming to the house, but soon took a liking to Lady Elisandre as the elder sister she never had. By Elisandre's suggestion, Brier managed to convince his father the Duke to go to the King's court to receive more education.
Although initially reluctant, her family conceded to Brier's petition, as becoming part of the court and with Brier's easygoing nature, she would probably find a good groom later on. With her skill with the harp and sociable nature, Brier found herself befriended several people of all sorts. While comfortable with the people of her age and social status like princes, princesses, and sons and daughters of other nobles, Brier's sharp mind also sought out three people that usually were beneath notice: the King's spymaster, an old alchemist who had somehow gained prestige as royal advisor, and a portly and coarse yet skilled woman who was the Royal Physician.
Brier would seek their presence whenever she felt the whole court scenery and upbringing was too repetitive and dull, and she ended up learning several skills that a noblewoman was not suppossed to have in the first place. The ability to read people's lies in their faces, alchemy and healing arts. Brier didn't know how dangerous this combination was until much later, a year after Elisandre's death. While playing matchmaking to find her a suitable husband, Brier unadvertedly drove all of them off with her skill to read people. Only one succeeded to not be cowed, earl Kevin Morrigh of Blackwood.
Earl Kevin was perhaps thirty years her elder and he was looking for a second wife after the first one had died without giving him any descendants. He was a stout man of rotund features, a bristly beard, a large booming voice, and the most important feature of them all. He didn't even bother to hide his true intentions in the slightlest. He had heard rumours of Brier being a healer and an alchemist, and precisely for that he was proposing her. He also acknowledged he didn't have a big status as nobleman, but he had a rather important mining and timber site in the Ironhills. He did not want a wife who only stood idlely to be coddled. Brier was taken aback by the man's honesty and accepted to become his wife.
Life at the Ironhills was just as Kevin described. There wasn't a single idle moment. If it wasn't helping blacksmiths identify and refine ores, it was helping injured lumberjacks and workers. She often delighted the earl's men with her harp at the end of the day. Never she had felt so drained and yet at the same time she was happy. She even had her first son by him, which both named Brian. And then the war struck out, and everything went down in a quick succession. Earl Kevin, thinking more with the heart than with the head, defied his lord, the duke of Harrighfield, and tossed his support in favor of the King and his father-in-law, duke Weade of Whitelands, only to be cut down in the same battle as Rikard. While brave and commending, this did not bode well for Brier, who soon was in the wrong of a lynching mob who took her castle, spurred by the less than honorable family members of the Morrigh. Being accused as a witch who had twisted earl Kevin's mind, she was all but helpless when the mob killed her infant two-year-old son in a fit of rage and bloodlust, and threatened to burn her at the stake.
She was saved by the timely intervention of Ser Wilhem, a recently ordered knight who had been left behind to ensure the safety of the countess. The lad, although brave, did not survive the wounds sustained, no matter what Brier died, and in the end, she reluctantly buried the young, brave and unfortunate knight beneath a large oaktree, while she took his horse for herself, and headed north to seek refuge in the Forklands and Whitelands.
Skills: Brier has an active mind, and she can engage in social conversation with practically anyone. She also knows how to cook decently, and she's greatly skilled at sewing and playing the harp. She can also sing quite well. More importantly, Brier can detect who lies to her by merely looking at the body language of the person before her. She is also a master healer, able to perform advanced bonesetting and even surgeries (where her sewing skills once again help), with the associated knowledge of herbalism. Last but not least important, Brier is an alchemist, and as such she can easily identify ores and create black powder and alchemic fire should she need to. Brier can also ride a horse quite decently.
Dreams and fears: Brier dreams of getting back at the insult suffered in the Blackwood, and avenge her dead son by the mob, and then maybe start over a new life. She obviously fears losing more family members.
Favored equipment: Brier usually is seen with her harp, although that one was lost when she was nearly killed. She always carries a hidden dagger in her thigh. Whenever she has to hit the road, it is not uncommon for her to carry a large knapsack with her healing materials as well as a staff for support. She also carries the Weade family ring and the Morrigh family ring.
Extra:Brier is thought to have perished in the riot, if news of such reached the north. |
55,897 | 1,531 | 22 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Amber sized up the former Lord Regent of the Whitelands. He seemed young, not even a man yet. She knew he looked up to Gregar though, and she'd hopefully see his swordsmanship later on.
On the other hand, she didn't trust Brier. She seemed needy, and... She couldn't quite put a finger on it. Distrustful?
She wondered whether to kneel or not in front of Gregar. She decided to draw her sword. It wasn't her sword Honour, which she'd left along with her axe Valour at the Forklands, but it was a good blade. She'd keep it. As Gregar spoke of her situation, the lords turned to her. She knew some of them would be surprised a woman was fighting and not a whore or at home with her children, but some still offered themselves to her as they did to Gregar.
“Now that we've done all that.. servants! BRING US WINE!”
She stuck close to the Weades but didn't say much. She still wondered about Tomas. Where was he now? Where was mother? The waiting was infuriating, and even her chalice of wine could not calm her.
-----
Tomas nodded, "Many thanks." It was not often that someone had refused his advances, and he was slightly taken aback. He started to walk in. Then the temptation grew too sweet.
"Good, I'm expected there."
It would probably have been best not to mention who he was, but it mattered little at this point. Most people wouldn't know who he was, and in any case they'd pay more respect to a beggar than a bastard this far North. He actually would probably miss the semi-acceptance he'd managed to acquire in the Forklands.
He followed the girl's instructions and found the main hall. He saw Amber. Thank the gods, she's alive. Amber saw him and he saw her try and conceal her emotions. It worked quite well, and she managed to excuse herself from the others to come to him.
"Gods, your leg..." she said as she approached him.
"It'll heal. In the meantime, I wouldn't want to enter the hall like this, I need clean clothes and a shower."
"Of course," she embraced him and he put his hand on her shoulder.
"Do you know where mother is?" he asked her.
Amber looked down at the ground.
"You don't know either, do you?" she asked.
Damn. So there are only two possibilites. And the better one would be that the damned advisors are keeping her prisoner.
"We'll get the bastards," he said, trying to confort her.
Amber nodded. "I know, Gregar is planning to help us. His lords seem more or less inclined to help us as well," she said. "As to your room, I think they've arranged yours next to mine." She briefly gave him the instructions on how to get there.
Amber returned to her hosts. Tomas went up and quickly washed himself, putting on the leather tunic and fur cloak that had been laid out for him. He also took some of the mead on the table and poured it over his wound, biting his lip. The maggots had probably done their job, but he couldnt' be sure. As he walked out of his room to join the Main Hall again, he spotted a pretty maid in the hallway. Not today, he thought, and walked down the steps to the hall.
As he entered, not many people paid him much notice. One lord recognized him and greeted him, and pointed him to his sister. Tomas thanked him and joined Amber and the others. She seemed to be talking to several noblemen. He recognised Gregar, of course, but he also had a boy and man in black armour next to him. Were they his siblings? He'd never met them.
"I don't believe we've had a proper introduction. Ser Tomas Rossric, Bastard of the late Lord Rossric.
-----
Horvik walked across the Great Hall, which had become a battlefield. Crows rested on corpses, feeding off of them, and the Battlemaster was covered in blood. They'd killed nearly every supporter of the foolish girl. How easy it is to crush a kingdom. He thought. Dig away at the surface and all you have is the respect of lords. Lose that, and you have nothing, and can be eliminated easily.
He walked up to the throne. The two other Advisors, the High Priest Jenner and Spymaster Clovis. Both of them were waiting for him.
Jenner spoke up. "My... position as head of the church forbids me of assuming the position of Duke."
Clovis gave a wry smile that made Horvik feel uneasy. "We would not want to anger the Gods."
"Er... Quite. And Clovis cannot become a Duke, as it would impede on his little spy ring. So we believe that in our best interests, you should be duke."
Music to Horvik's ears, he nearly laughed. Too easy. He walked up to Amber's crown, which she had dropped, and seized it. It would have to be remade, of course, but it was her power. All her authority.
"Have this melted and remade. Her weapons, as well," he instructed a servant.
"Y-y-yes sir."
He watched the servant speed off.
"See that the prisoners are rounded up and thrown in the dungeons. Who survived?"
"Not many, Horvik," replied Jenner. "The Duchess' mother. A few distant cousins and other noblemen who threw their swords to the ground during the revolt."
Horvik, "Good. Interrogate the older men, and make sure none of the women are raped. We aren't savages, and I'll see discipline in this army."
"Of course." The two advisors walked off.
Duke Horvik, ruler of the Forklands. It's all mine. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,898 | 1,531 | 23 | 899 | 318 | After greeting Gregar, the lady Rossric and the other woman he walked with them to the keep. Soon he lead them to there rooms, Lady Rossric was in a good enough position that Gavin would to see to her himself. Nodding to her when she asked for a room for her brother. After they were settled he moved back returning to his young lord as he found him in the hall. Keeping back he smiled "seems you are no longer lord regent. Guess you won't be bothered by pestering servants any longer." Gavin knew how much Joakim hated the servants always informing him of things, but as lord regent he needed to be informed of things. He smiled "A win for us both, now I don't have to listen to your constant complaining about it." He smiled weather or not Joakim complained he often found it fun to poke a stick at the young lord, though he spoke softly enough so nobody could hear.
Soon enough though they had come to joining in the great hall. He wasn't all that surprised to learn that the strange woman was the Lady Brier. He heard of her death, but at the same time he had reports on the contrary. Nothing concrete but it was enough to make him question. After there little introduction soon they were all moving up to the tables, Gregar addressing his bannermen, going on with this little ceremony, Telth found these things pointless. Bannermen meant that they wouldn't betray you as long as they didn't have the diplomatic and political standing to do so. It was fickle thing the "oaths" of these noblemen. Many of them looked down on Telth and others like him as they saw him as nothing more then a necessary evil. At the same time at least you knew where you stood with him, he cared little for political manners and social standings, it all came down to one thing: Coin.
Hearing of Lady Rossric's situation was old news to Telth, though now the lady was here he would have to take extra precautions. The world of Assassins and spys was a small one. Everybody knew of everybody, but few knew each others faces. Clovis was a good spymaster, and officially Winterhouse had no spymaster, un-officially though Telth filled that position, which worked to their advantage. He would be sure to make it difficult, spread rumors that Rossric was here, or there. Though at this time he wouldn't do anything until he had a chance to speak to Jakim in private. For now though Gavin had matters to attend to.
As they all sat and drank Gavin was directing most of the servants, Soon he found Lidia, he had a Job for her. She was a sweet girl and a gentle one. Soft spoken, he smiled as he sent her off, she was to assist Lady Brier anyway she could and act as her handmaiden. For Rossric he had some one else in mind, Jessica. She used to work in the brothels, but she had made her self some one Gavin could use. More over she was some one who helped keep him informed. Soon the woman walked up to Amber pouring her wine "Good Evening m'lady, I am Jessica. I'm to be your handmaiden for your stay here in the whitelands" She wouldn't so much spy on her as he wanted some one close to her how knew how to spot other things. Gavin had to act fast positioning his own people however, with the return of Gregar, that also meant some of the senior servants have also returned, for now he was still in charge. But in the morning he would 'turn-over' informing them of changes, new people, and current matters, and after that the running of servants would no longer be his job. Joakim was the only reason it was, him being lord regent, but now Greagar was officially the Duke. Gavin was relived, this was the last night he would be directing the servants, he didn't hate the positions, he was even good at it. But after the night he would simply be Joakim's personal assistant once more, well in the eyes of the public at least.
However soon the black knight who had been lurking in the back was called forward, meating with a bit of hostility, by Joakim most of all. It was that moment that Gavin was reminded that as grown up as Joakim seemed at times, he was still a young man, and was such was prone to such out burst. He wondered if he was that way at his age for a moment, but it seemed Gregar was able to ease his younger brother. The hall seemed to be paused, many of the servants standing in there spots, maybe urging Joakim to keep his real sword wasn't the wisest of ideas, but at the same time...this was entertaining to Telth. | Telth
"Always appear less then you are"
Full name: Telth
Titles: Gavin Simon
Social rank: none. Peasant
Job or societal position: Assassin, spy, Personal Servant for Joakim
Age: 28
Gender:Male
Appearance: He stands at 5'10 and dresses smartly. Being the personal servant to Joakim he is required to keep a certain level of presentation. Also he appears rather skiny, but his body is very well toned from years of training.
Personality: Gavin is a very happy fun loving person. When alone with other servants he is often found making jokes with them and is a happy person. When working as the personal servant to Joakim he often has a smile on his face as the age of his lord maters little to him. Though he knows when to put his carefree little smile away when important matters are being talked about. He is also very serious about his job, doing everything in his power to help his lord.
Telth is very different. Telth is quite and reserved, speaking only when spoken too and choosing his words very carefully, often taking a few moments before answering. He is ever observant, watching everything around him, assessing everything and everyone, from threat level to the quickest way to strike a killing blow if need be.
History: Telth in truth doesn't remember his true name. He has been an orphan as long as he could remember. Living in an orphanage in the Falklands children were often used for the criminal element. Delivering packages or messages, spying on people as the orphans were fore the most part ignored by people. The "Ring" was organized by one of the older children ,Rickard, who worked with the adults taking jobs and passing them down to the younger children. The boy was of course roped into this, and it wouldn't of been to much a problem, If you did well you were rewarded with food. However if you failed you were beaten by the older kids. Rickard was a cruel and sadistic person. He would beat the younger kids for no reason other then to prove that he was the biggest and the strongest of them all. The boy kept to himself, though did his job and tried to ignore what was going on.
When The boy was eight though things changed. One of his friends was beat to near death. She couldn't move for days, and Rickard ordered that no one was to feed her or help her. The boy ignored this and would sneak her food and bandage her up as best he could. He was discovered however and ended up having running, but he couldn't get away as they caught up to him and beat him. He was left to die in the streets. He laid there awaiting death when some one walked up to him "You just going to lay there and die" the man said as he looked up "no one is going to help you, you have to help your self". The boy didn't know what was going on, why would some one stop to just to talk to him this way. Was he really that cruel?. He started to stand up "That's more like it, stand on your own feet boy" Once up he looked at the man "You want to learn how to fight boy? You want to never be afraid again? I can teach you. But first you must prove that you are worth teaching" he told him. He wanted nothing more then that, so he asked what he had to do. It was simple really, find the people that did this to him, and kill them.
The boy agreed. But he couldn't just out right attack them, they were older, bigger, stronger, but they weren't smarter. So he came up with a plan. He knew how the operation ran, who did what and when they were vulnerable. He was quickly forgotten and used that to his advantage as well. Intercepting messages, placing false drops he was able to lure them out and ambush them. He picked them off one by one, killing all three of them. Once he was finished the man approached him again. He told him that he would train with him, and that the boy he was died the night on the street. Only Telth remained.
Everyday after that was spent training. Fighting, Poisons, stealth, spying, observation, Noble families, crest, orginizations. Every day from wake to sleep these things were beat into him, both literally and metaphorically. Though oddly enough though this man was the closest thing he ever had to a father.
After years of training and travailing with his mentor he woke up one day, what was odd was this was the first time he woke up with out there being some trap trying to kill him, some late night ambush. After a few hours he realized that his mentor was gone. As fast as that man came into his life, he was gone. Telth carried on though, he had connections, ways to get work. It wasn't like he was left with nothing. On a mission though he took a mission, to kill a noble men. On planing out his attack he learned that this target was planing the assassination of another, a young noble named Joakim. The noble was taking precautions, having gone to ground. Telth instead planned to assassinate Joakim himself, not to actually do it, but to catch the man hired by the noble to lead him to him. The plan worked, he intercepted the would be assassin before the attempt was made. What he didn't know was that he wasn't as stealthy as he thought. After he had dispatched the noble and accepted his payment. After that he was approached by a man, offered a more permanent line of work. Thus Gavin Simon was born.
Skills: Master swordsman, Poisoner, Stealth, Very agile, very skilled with daggers and throwing knives, also has training with most weapons. He is also very Observant, very little gets past him.
Dreams and fears: As of this day he has very little dreams or fears. He has nothing that he truly holds of any value.
Favored equipment: Telth's favored weapon is a curved single sided blade, throwing daggers and two daggers he keeps concealed. Also while on mission he sometimes uses a bow if need be.
Gavin, keeps very little weapons on him. Though he ussually has two throwing daggers concealed in his sleaves as well as two daggers he keeps hidden on him.
Extra: |
55,899 | 1,531 | 24 | 220 | 2,530 | Never had the pleasure, said Tomas. It's the kind of challenge he loves, thought Amber. Just as long as he doesn't attack this one.
She could tell Tomas and Joakim would get along, both seemed hot headed. And arrogant.
"Hopefully we'll see what this one's made of," he continued. Damn it.
Amber looked at the wine the girl Jessica had poured. She glanced at Tomas, who had clinked his wine glass with Joakim. Wise move, to mix any poison that could be in the glass. She did the same with the man next to her, and, satisfied, started drinking. Can't be too careful anymore.
She looked at Gregar dissuading the Black Knight. Not only was he handsome, but also smart, clearly. Her respect for him soared even further as he avoided conflict with words. The two next to her would have killed him by now. Or gotten killed. Despite being a fighter, she knew the knight could probably beat her in a duel. But it's true it had been some time since she'd fought, and an urge to cross blades with someone would probably soon come. She needed to train later. | Ash of the Whitelands
"No gloriae suae in bello"
Full name: Ash, or Ash of the Whitelands, denoting his humble origin.
Titles: The Sellsword Scholar, and the less flattering titles of Ser Whoreson and Knightslayer
Social rank: Whoreson peasant.
Job or societal position: Black Knight Sellsword. Part time teacher and folk entertainer.
Gender: Male
Appearance: He's an average sized, well built man, with dark scruffy hair and a clean-shaved face. He has gray eyes that give him a piercing, vivid stare. Cuts and chinks can be seen throughout his body, a couple of them on his face. He usually wears worn out and simple but serviceable clothes, and a black, equally worn but still useable armor (it's painted black to prevent rust) when in combat. He walks with carefully measured steps and he has a deep voice.
Personality: Despite his ignoble origin, Ash is a polite and well mannered man. He always answers a greeting, and answers with the utmost respect to whomever talks to him, be it noble or gentile. He's also rather patient and slow to anger, with an almost nigh unflappable stoicism. Yet at the same time, one could feel that sometimes he's not here, and just stares at the horizon rather than at people, reliving who knows what demons of the past. Lowborn, whores and orphans do manage to bring some more reaction in the man, and he's known to have a chipper, quick-wit and enthusiastic easygoing attitude with them. He is also more than willing to share his knowledge and experience to whomever lends him an ear, and he's partial to honest plights. Meeting him on the battlefield or as enemy is another matter. Bereft of any kind of remorse or honor, Ash strives to survive and win to see another morning, and he has very few qualms on using underhanded methods.
History: Ash was simply a byproduct of a camp follower and an unnamed man-at-arms in the Whitelands. He could have ended like many street rats and pickpockets, if it had not been for the hardest and most clever decision his mother had: To give him to a wandering troupe of entertainers after some convincing. Even from his early age, Ash revealed himself as a bright lad and a fast learner, and some of the troupe felt that they had to polish the formidable intellect the boy had, out of goodwill. They taught him manners, literature and writing, in the hopes he could become one of the narrators of the troupe. They weren't so successful at teaching him to sing and dance, as the poor lad was unfortunately tonedeaf, but he managed to pick other skills to compensate, like knowledge of healing and poisons from the troupe's wise woman, and some minor sleight-of-hand tricks to draw and interest peasants.
By the time he was a young man, he had already made a name for himself among the troupe, becoming one of the storytellers while others did the dancing and singing, as well as one of the faces for negotiation, given his politeness and wit. Unfortunately, he had also hit the foolish age where everyone wanted to be a knight and save and kingdom, and in a regrettable hotheaded decision, parted with the troupe to become a sellsword. Of course, his actual fighting ability was made much fun of by the time he tried to join, but the wizened leader of the sellsword group decided to keep him around, if only because he had prized skills like healing, poisons and writing. Knowing fully well his status as ''favored kid'' of the leader, he trained diligently and tried his best to not make mistakes. He also swallowed his qualms about doing less than regrettable brigand jobs, in an effort to become more like the mercenaries that he had surrounded himself with. However, it was all for naught, because even as he managed to garner himself a name among the mercenaries and become one of the de-facto liutenants of the band, he kept meeting scorn and cold shoulders. When a quarrel about payment shares broke between him and other lieutenants, Ash realized that no matter what he did, he would always be treated as an outsider by everyone. Skilled enough to beat knights in single combat, yet lowborn. Capable of philosophical debates yet as base as the son of a prostitute.
Heartbroken and bitter by the many horrors he chose to endure pursuing an empty ideal, he returned to his homeland, only to find the shadow of the war haunting the lands, and a rather cold and crude gravestone where his mother once stood. Still, he decided to stay, and perhaps make himself a place little by little, starting by subverting the suspiciousness of people around him by entertaining folks and doing odd errands.
Skills: Ash is an incredibly mentally gifted individual. He has a good grasp of a variety of subjects like tactics, economics, literature, manners and even odd things like castle building and sieges. He is also a good sellsword, able to use competently swords, shields, daggers, and bows, and skilled on horseback and with lances. He can also do some minor prestidigitation tricks like vanishing coins and minor escapism. He is a decent storyteller. He is rather skilled in the arts of healing as well as poisons, though people only know him for the poison part and his skill at arms.
Dreams and fears:He dreams of finding a good place to settle in, without even having to resort to the sword again. Sadly, in these times, his sword is all what he has to earn himself a living, as he's considered a foul person even by fellow peasants. He fears dying alone and forgotten, and losing himself to the madness of war and forgetting how to be kind.
Favored equipment: He's usually seen in comfortable, humble clothes with a dagger by his hip and a money purse when he's not in combat. When he's fully suited, he dons a black-painted armor, with a black shield and a longsword. Or alternatively a bow. He keeps the armor, arrows and weapons on his horse's saddlebags when he's not fighting. He also owns three books. One about healing and poisons, the other about war tactics, and the third one is his personal diary. He also keeps some oil and a whetstone to polish and keep his gear, as well as a flint.
Extra: He owns a warhorse named Spot he won in a bet. It's quite a temperamental stallion and has a rather worrying fondess for wine. All his worldly possessions can fit on his horse's saddlebags.
Brier Weade
"We can only move forward"
Full name: Brier Catryn Weade / Brier Catryn Morrigh
Titles: Countess of Blackwood (Formerly), Kitty for her friends, and Witch of Blackwood to her detractors.
Social rank: Noblewoman
Job or societal position: Former Royal Court Musician, Countess, Healer and Alchemist.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Personality: Brier was once a high spirited merry girl who always questioned everyone and everything. Sociable and curious to the extreme, she wasn't put off by appearances or standing whatshoever. She also shared the generous good nature of her elder brother Gregar Weade, as well as the lack of malice. Like her sibling, this bit her in the back quite a few times at first, but as she grew older, more focused and wiser, she learned how to read the intentions of people and developed a friendly, polite, but very defensive demeanor. Brier is a woman of intellect and culture and she enjoys learning new knowledge or discussing with akin minds. Bitterly accepting that not everyone is nice, and that there are wicked people out of there, she can be quite vindictive, throughout and manipulative if any member of her family is at stake.
History: Brier was born between the twins Janus and Gregar, and the thirdborn Joakim. Little Brier was a chatterbox and a relentless chaser of odd things, when she wasn't too busy sticking to Gregar like glue. She however, didn't neglect her education, and she followed her mother diligently just as Gregar did with their father. Education that was soon put to test, as she tended to her younger brother Joakim whenever others were not available. When Gregar's bethrodal was announced, Brier was for the first time, wary of an stranger coming to the house, but soon took a liking to Lady Elisandre as the elder sister she never had. By Elisandre's suggestion, Brier managed to convince his father the Duke to go to the King's court to receive more education.
Although initially reluctant, her family conceded to Brier's petition, as becoming part of the court and with Brier's easygoing nature, she would probably find a good groom later on. With her skill with the harp and sociable nature, Brier found herself befriended several people of all sorts. While comfortable with the people of her age and social status like princes, princesses, and sons and daughters of other nobles, Brier's sharp mind also sought out three people that usually were beneath notice: the King's spymaster, an old alchemist who had somehow gained prestige as royal advisor, and a portly and coarse yet skilled woman who was the Royal Physician.
Brier would seek their presence whenever she felt the whole court scenery and upbringing was too repetitive and dull, and she ended up learning several skills that a noblewoman was not suppossed to have in the first place. The ability to read people's lies in their faces, alchemy and healing arts. Brier didn't know how dangerous this combination was until much later, a year after Elisandre's death. While playing matchmaking to find her a suitable husband, Brier unadvertedly drove all of them off with her skill to read people. Only one succeeded to not be cowed, earl Kevin Morrigh of Blackwood.
Earl Kevin was perhaps thirty years her elder and he was looking for a second wife after the first one had died without giving him any descendants. He was a stout man of rotund features, a bristly beard, a large booming voice, and the most important feature of them all. He didn't even bother to hide his true intentions in the slightlest. He had heard rumours of Brier being a healer and an alchemist, and precisely for that he was proposing her. He also acknowledged he didn't have a big status as nobleman, but he had a rather important mining and timber site in the Ironhills. He did not want a wife who only stood idlely to be coddled. Brier was taken aback by the man's honesty and accepted to become his wife.
Life at the Ironhills was just as Kevin described. There wasn't a single idle moment. If it wasn't helping blacksmiths identify and refine ores, it was helping injured lumberjacks and workers. She often delighted the earl's men with her harp at the end of the day. Never she had felt so drained and yet at the same time she was happy. She even had her first son by him, which both named Brian. And then the war struck out, and everything went down in a quick succession. Earl Kevin, thinking more with the heart than with the head, defied his lord, the duke of Harrighfield, and tossed his support in favor of the King and his father-in-law, duke Weade of Whitelands, only to be cut down in the same battle as Rikard. While brave and commending, this did not bode well for Brier, who soon was in the wrong of a lynching mob who took her castle, spurred by the less than honorable family members of the Morrigh. Being accused as a witch who had twisted earl Kevin's mind, she was all but helpless when the mob killed her infant two-year-old son in a fit of rage and bloodlust, and threatened to burn her at the stake.
She was saved by the timely intervention of Ser Wilhem, a recently ordered knight who had been left behind to ensure the safety of the countess. The lad, although brave, did not survive the wounds sustained, no matter what Brier died, and in the end, she reluctantly buried the young, brave and unfortunate knight beneath a large oaktree, while she took his horse for herself, and headed north to seek refuge in the Forklands and Whitelands.
Skills: Brier has an active mind, and she can engage in social conversation with practically anyone. She also knows how to cook decently, and she's greatly skilled at sewing and playing the harp. She can also sing quite well. More importantly, Brier can detect who lies to her by merely looking at the body language of the person before her. She is also a master healer, able to perform advanced bonesetting and even surgeries (where her sewing skills once again help), with the associated knowledge of herbalism. Last but not least important, Brier is an alchemist, and as such she can easily identify ores and create black powder and alchemic fire should she need to. Brier can also ride a horse quite decently.
Dreams and fears: Brier dreams of getting back at the insult suffered in the Blackwood, and avenge her dead son by the mob, and then maybe start over a new life. She obviously fears losing more family members.
Favored equipment: Brier usually is seen with her harp, although that one was lost when she was nearly killed. She always carries a hidden dagger in her thigh. Whenever she has to hit the road, it is not uncommon for her to carry a large knapsack with her healing materials as well as a staff for support. She also carries the Weade family ring and the Morrigh family ring.
Extra:Brier is thought to have perished in the riot, if news of such reached the north. |
55,900 | 1,531 | 25 | 1,787 | 2,152 | Gregar listened to the black knight, evaluating his words with a skeptic look as the man was a black knight after all - a warrior for hire, or outlaw if he desired to be one. But he spoke with a remarkable tone, and even knew a motto in the language of Kings. “Well, it seems we have common grounds then. Your source is here, if I am correct. I never knew your mother, you'll have to forgive me for that. But if this is where you were born then it looks like you might have problems.” Gregar spun the wine in his cup around and then took a sip, looking at the black knight and judging him at the same time.
The man was not truly a master at arms, more so just a very dirty fighter. That was no insult, it was just a style. Gregar had seen him in combat and could conclude that this man, while skilled, had no godly boon that others did not have. He was mortal, as anyone, and certainly seemed to be more unlucky than lucky. Never the less.. the man was interesting. “I have little to offer to you, there is no land I can give you for the Whitelands are not so fertile. I have little wealth as I am a simple duke in the North, not a Southerner. But I can assure you our loyalty and values are stronger than that of anyone else, and that is what I can offer you.” It would be unclear what Gregar meant exactly with this, but he was getting to a point.
“You have no doubt heard of the army that marches here? Undoubtedly, you were part of the very same army after all. They are coming here, 'your source' as you worded it, and they're not coming to liberate it. They will burn it if we give them the chance. So I need every man and woman that can wield a weapon to be here, on the walls, in the keep, defending it.” The hall remained rather quiet, everyone maintaining their conversations at a hushed tone while Gregar spoke to the knight. Many of them did so out of respect, others out of interest for what was being said. “So I can offer you just that. Loyalty and values. If you accept, then you will no longer need to toil in that armor of yours, blackened not by paint but by other people's views of you. Instead you will be one of the men you sung about in your troupe - a knight in service, fighting for the honor of his lord.”
Gregar smiled at the man, as an offer of knighthood was extended rarely, and even more rarely to a black knight. Never the less it was not a free offer, as the man would have to agree to it first, and then swear an oath. Finally, he would be expected to fight for Gregar. “Perhaps God has not forsaken you. Maybe your heart didn't choose the North for you, maybe God did. God and his children work subtly, knight of the black. There is certainly glory in war, you just need to find it.”
Joakim grumbled as Gregar offered the black knight a place amongst his knights - a group filled mostly with noblemen and noble sons, all of which Joakim had known for years and, in some cases, even trained with for years. And then this man walks in, and gets offered a place almost instantly. Just because he can juggle apples about. He stuffed more pork into his mouth, chewing and looking at Tomas as he spoke. “He's made of tales, card tricks and lies, it seems. Brought up by a troupe.. pah.” Joakim normally didn't have anything against his sort, but it was obvious the man annoyed him.
“Excuse me. I want to take a look on the walls. It seems everyone is getting more and more drunk, and nobody is paying attention anymore.” He shot Amber a quick look, as he realized she would probably attract much more attention than they could use right now. Gavin must already be turning the wheels of the spy networks he had, but Joakim understood little of that. He just assumed that he'd try and run interference between all the tidbits of information that got sent out. No doubt would he persuade some people that Amber was, in fact, not here. But it didn't take a genius to understand that Gregar would've taken Amber with him to the north, as they escaped together. “I wouldn't want anyone to assassinate the pretender duchess.” He stood up from the bench, nodded to Tomas and them clapped his hands against his pants, urging Bravery to follow him. He stepped away but changed his mind it seemed, turning around and stepping back to the table. “My apologies, Amber. But you are a pretender from this moment. People will be after you, if not the duke himself then it will be bounty hunters.” He smiled, but it wasn't a genuine smile. For a small moment in time he felt like Gregar made a wrong choice to bring her here - she would be more trouble than good. Tomas, on the other hand, seemed to be more capable than Amber.
He left the hall, walking past the black knight without even granting him a look. As he passed the man he even grabbed the hilt of his blade, making sure that the man got no ideas. It was all a show, ofcourse, to let everyone, and especially the black knight himself, know that the man would not be tolerated by Joakim. Those looking to gain favor with Joakim would no doubt shun the man too, although now that Joakim had lost his position as lord regent, these people were small in number.
Agile as always, Joakim walked up the stone stairs that led to the wall. His dog followed him quickly, walking up the stairs with remarkable ease for a dog. A man was posted here, as the guard was still on triple duty. Not far from him, barely 10 meters, the next guard stood watching over the forests ahead of him. The white snow was a blessing and a curse, a blessing because anyone would easily be seen in the white, giving a nice contrast to the grey armor most people wore - but it got awfully cold and cold soldiers fight worse than those near a warm fire. Joakim greeted the guard, who returned the favor with a quick nod. Leaning on the battlements, he looked out over the horizon. The sun had risen since the feast had started and the blizzard had calmed down, though it was still snowing. Below him he heard the sounds of encampment, no doubt the warlords' men, who had been forced to stay outside as a safety measure. In the distance, wolves howled as they left their holes. Joakim merely watched for any disturbances, petting his dog as he did.
Arryn and Rosemary walked past Brier, who hurried down the corridor with clenched fists. And although the lady seemed.. broken, she remained beautiful. Arryn turned her head to watch the lady as she continued down the hall, moving towards the feast. Slowly the sounds of the feast started echoing into the hallway and before she knew it she was there - watching as a black knight was having words with Gregar. Paying no mind, as it wasn't her place to do so, she continued walking along the sides of the hall until she found a table. Seated there were a man and a woman, whom she didn't know. Had she known that this was the (former) duchess of the Forklands and her brother, she would've seen to another table. But she didn't know, so she sat down along with Rosemary. “Good morning, Arryn Thorne, handmaiden of lady Catryn, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Arryn spoke to Tomas and Amber, with a hushed and soft voice.
Lady Catryn turned around as her door opened, still in bed. She faced her visitor, her face weary and tired. “I thought I told you to leave!” she said thinking that it was Arryn and Rosemary that had returned. But it wasn't, and she noticed too late. “Oh, it's.. you, Brier. I'm.. sorry. How are you? How is Kevin and your young one?” she asked, though it was more for social requirements that she asked than that she asked out of interest. It seemed as if she stopped caring, about anything and anyone. For that reason she hadn't even heard of Kevins death, nor Brian's. | Joakim, the Young Lord, Weade
'Sine labore nihil'
Full name: Joakim Mirke Weade
Titles: Young Lord Regent of the Whitelands, 'Mir'
Social rank: Nobleman
Job or societal position: Regent over the lands of the Northern Demesne
Age: 16
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference picture above.
Personality: Joakim is a young man who has been trained in the northern version of etiquette. As such he can be seen as rude, straightforward and unsubtle by those in the more southern regions. However this bring up has given him a thorough understanding of hierarchy, and more respectably a large dose of respect for hierarchy. As such he can be considered one of the most loyal people in the realm of Borhilon. Along with this respect also came a natural affinity for all aspects of combat -- archery, swordsmanship, architectural designs and logistics are things that he has learnt to become skilled enough in. Being the third son, he was never meant to be a leader, nor was his older brother. That as it may be, this means that he might fall back on his military knowledge rather than diplomatical skills or economical know how to solve the incoming conflict. Besides that he is caring, generous and infinitely prepared for self sacrifice for the good of his people.
History: Joakim was born as the third son to his father, Rikard Weade. This means he has barely any right to the throne of the Whitelands. His older brothers, who were twins, Janus and Gregar, were both destined for greater things according to his father. Janus died early in his infancy as he was born sickly, and the healmaster could not do anything for him but pray to the Old Trees. Gregar however was born healthy and sound, and grew into a strong boy. It helped him that he was pretty in his face, as many noble girls swooned over him as soon as they heard his name. Being the first in line, he was not destined for war as much as Joakim. Instead he learned to govern from an early age. Economics, governship and reading and writing were things that Gregar learned, and in his spare time he learned how to properly use shield, sword and armor, as well as the horse and lance. When Gregard was 8, young lord Joakim was born, just as healthy as his older brother was born.
This is not the sobstory that other noble third-born sons would tell, but rather, the story of a young man who had a strong role model in the form of his older brother. Gregar was not the stern, strict older brother that other families had, but rather was kind and caring as much as his father and mother were. Joakim fit right into the family with ease. From the age of 8, he started learning how to wield a sword, shield, and all other assortments of weaponry. Being the third born, second-in-line heir, he was meant to be a commander of forces for his brother, and whenever possible a personal bodyguard, too. Enjoying the company of his brother, he had no remorse about this fate, and embraced it with open arms. This resulted in Joakim becoming quickly familiarized with large amounts of weapons, strategies, tactics and personal combat skills. This is not saying he is a master of the blade, but pit any common soldier of the duke against him and he will emerge victorious -- with remarkable grace, too.
As of the death of his father, lord Rikard, he has been forced to take over day to day command of the estate, waiting for his brother Gregar to return to the Whitelands to assume his rightful position on the throne.
Skills: Proficient in swordsmanship, personal combat, maces and hammers, horseriding. Above average tactician and strategist.
Dreams and fears: Joakim lacks any higher aspirations, other than to serve in a prestigious knighthood. His fear is however to lose the families lands, his family members, close friends and subjects.
Favored equipment: A bastardsword, wooden shield, chainmail leggings and hauberk, with a surcoat over the hauberk. His right arm (sword arm) has a metal plate shoulderpiece and a metal plate elbow piece. His shieldarm has only a hardened leather shoulder piece and no elbowpiece. On both his hands he wears metal gauntlets. His leggings have metal kneepieces. His footwear is rather simple compared to the metal armor, as he wears rather simple leather boots which are tightly strapped.
Extra: His insignia is the Weade's insignia, the Old Tree. The family dog is 'technically his' he claims, as he was the one that paid the smith for the dog. The dog does not confirm this.. but he sleeps in Joakims' room an awful lot.
Gregar Weade
'To God and his Sons, the world'
Full name: Gregar Weade.
Titles: Duke of the Whitelands, Master of the Hunt of Borhilon, 'The Oakheart'.
Social rank: Nobleman.
Job or societal position: Captain under the banner of king Etwine the Stout, commander of the 3th regiment of heavy infantry, duke over the Whitelands and rightful heir to Rikard Weade.
Age: 24.
Gender: Male.
Appearance: Reference above picture.
Personality: Gregar is a kind man that can be described as harsh but fair. Being trained as a lord he has learnt that this position is not one of fun and pleasure at all times, but rather a position of making hard decisions time and time again. Over the years the smile has faded from his face because of this. However he is utmost prepared to make these decisions for the greater good of his people. Truly, he is the pinnacle of God's virtues, being temperate, chaste, and content with what he has. He is also very trusting, which can be seen as a good thing. It is, however, not a good thing for a lord. Numerous times he has unknowingly invited people into his halls, who seemed to be down on their luck, only to find items missing. His father's scoldings were often not enough to stop this happening again.
History: Gregar lost his twin brother Janus early on, but didn't realize this until much later as his brother died in infancy. It was said that his brothers will lives on through Gregar, something that's always pushed him harder to do well for some reason. From an early age the notion that he would be the image of the Weade family was instilled into him, forcing him to abide etiquette at all times, even when nobody was present. The youth of a first son is relatively harsh, but once they get older, they can slow down and take it a bit more easy. As it did for Gregar.
When he was 16, and came of age, his mother and father had to find a suitable bride for him. Being the famed 'Gregar Oakheart' did him much good in this regard and he was married to the daughter of king Etwine in order to form an alliance between the two families. The lady he was married to, lady Elisandre, was a lady fair and beautiful. She took up residence in the Wintershouse and lived there for two years, until she became ill and died of the cold weather and other nasty effects the illness had upon her. No child was birthed from this marriage however, as Gregar mostly found himself away from the Wintershouse to fulfill his duties to his liegelord king Etwine which caused him to be unable to consume this marriage. Luckily king Etwine wished the alliance between the families remained intact and issued a decree that stated that the two families were still bound, although the families would never be as close as during the marriage. As of yet, Gregar is still unmarried and his time spent in the army of king Etwine has not done this fact any favors.
Skills: Gregar has become skilled in the art of managing his estate, although the economics often go unnoticed by him and the slack would be picked up by the local scribe and his ward. He is inspiring for his troops and can hold his own in combat, however he is not a skilled fighter in the sense of being a legendary warrior. He is about as good as is expected of a nobleman. He is quite charismatic and a sort of symbol for the Whitelands, however how much of this he can make true is another question.
Dreams and fears: His dreams are to explore the regions East of the mountains when the time comes. His fears are the fall of his estate, family, or the death of the King due to intrigue or political struggles.
Favored equipment: For the armor, reference the picture. As for weapons, he prefers to wield an arming sword and a wooden shield, painted with the sigil of the Weade family. On horseback, he would wield a lance where possible.
Extra: Logically, his sigil is the Old Tree of the Weade family.
Gidja Jorvsdottir
For the White!
Full name: Gidja Jorvsdottir
Titles: 'Giddi'
Social rank: Lowborn courtier.
Job or societal position: Castle guard.
Age: 21
Gender: Female.
Personality: Gidja is a typical Northern woman. Cold and warm at the same time, she seems to omit an aura of tranquility, order and peace. Outside of battle she smiles often, atleast when she is not on duty. When on duty or in the heat of combat, her face grows stern, authoritarian and holds a respectful gaze on those above her. She is one of the few women in the entirety of Borhilon, save the few such as the duchess of the Forklands, who is in a combat role and is accepted as such in more or lesser degree. As such she has grown to become slightly more than a castle guard, and holds an esteemed position within the dukes militia even.
History: Gidja was born on September 18th, which was coincidentally the name of one of Gods' children, the lady Gidja, fierce housemaiden. As such it seemed appropiate to name her after the child of God. Her father was Jorv, a strong man who served in the dukes army, and her mother was Herietta, a scrawny woman who served in the dukes castle-keep. She was supposed to become like her mother, a servant in service to the duke, but her strong believe that her name was given to her for a reason led to her requesting audience with the duke at the mere age of 14, when she was appointed to become a servants' assistant to learn the trade.
What followed was a shock, namely the duke accepting her request of audience. She got called in by her father, who told her to watch her tongue as she spoke to the duke, more so for her own safety than theirs. Her mother teared up, thinking that she would run her mouth and face punishment. But duke Rikard wouldn't be called the Just if it weren't for his friendly demeanor. Gidja approached the duke slowly, bowing slightly before standing straight again. What followed was a barrage of pleas, reasons and promises about her becoming a warrior, just like Gidja, the daughter of God, the Father of Earth.
Many objected but the Duke raised his arm, the hall deafening with silence. Then he granted her permission to become part of the castle guard, as she wasn't the first female to join a military group, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides that, she had the spirit of Gidja in her, and he deeply believed that she was right when she said Gidja lives in her.
After that she spent most of her years until now guarding the castle from thieves, bandits, and guarding the halls during festivities.
Skills: She is capable at fighting with a spear, this being her preferable weapon. As a backup weapon she uses a sword that's sheathed on her left side. Her skills with a shield are also quite good, to the point where she knows how to actively use it to force an enemy into certain positions, guarding her sides and is also able to use it offensively to good effect.
Dreams and fears: One day she hopes to be lifted into a noblemans status, which would allow her to become knighted, or at the very least become part of a more prestigious order than being a castle guard. She fears death deeply, as any sane man does.
Favored equipment: For her armor, see her appearance. For weapons she has a medium sized spear, and a sheathed sword on her left. Her shield is also on her left arm. It's a round wooden shield, with the castle guards insignia on it.
Extra: She owns a cat, but he mainly roams the courtyards and her quarters. |
55,901 | 1,531 | 26 | 2,677 | 6,563 | Pleased to make your acquaintance. Duchess Amber Rossric, she said, rising from her seat. Tomas did the same, but he excused himself to leave the room. The young girl in front of her had a fair face, framed by long black curls falling past her shoulders. She was much shorter than Amber.
Immediately she struck Amber as a girly girl, in a dress and probably bearing no fighting skills. She'd rarely met any other woman like herself, so it wasn't really surprising. From the girl's reaction, she gauged her to not be highborn. "Tell me, what do you do around here?" she asked, taking another sip of wine, and, gesturing to the empty chair Tomas had left: "Please, have a seat."
------
Tomas walked along the battlements of the hall. In the distance he saw the female guard again, talking to what seemed to be a group of whores. He turned his gaze upon the rest of the city. It was beautiful, the thatched buildings topped by thick snow. A few specks landed on his face, which he brushed off. He shivered. At this moment the forklands would be pleasant and sunny, but strewn with dead corpses. He could still feel the sting of his wound each time he walked, and the image of half of the general's face being ripped off. I should have recued mother... where is she now? He was sure he'd seen two guards take her away from the bloodbath, but were they loyal or traitors?
It was no use to think of this now. They had a different war to fight.
To his side, much further on, he saw Joakim overlooking the city with his dog. He walked towards the lad.
"Joakim... Would you know where one could buy some weapons or armour? I'll need some for battles to come." | Kaziden Ceceryan
"He who strikes first is he who strikes the killing blow."
Full name: Kaziden Valerian Ceceryan of the Gray Marsh Clan of Hesh
Titles: Gray Marsh Warleader, Heshan Warlord, Sir Gray Ceceryan
Aliases: "Kaz" by friends- "Gray" to majority- "Velnias" to him in armor.
Social rank: Natively he is the Warlord or Warleader, but in this country he is a Nobleman turned Knight
Job or societal position: Diplomat, Spy
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Big man, standing at 6'7, weighing over 300lbs, more so because of his armor. Built like a mountain, black/brown beard and hair, thick, with tanned skin from years in harsh weather and in the sun. He's got the symbol for his clan marked into his left cheek, right under his eye, and his armor (which he wears everywhere) is from the best smiths in his country, shaped after the great hunters of his less-than-hospitable homeland. Had he not worn armor as heavy as it most of his life, and trained in it for countless hours, then it would weigh heavily- as it is, it still slows him some.
Kaz can be blunt at some times, uncomfortably straightforward about sensitive matters. He has very little head or patience for real politics, though he is likely to be more clever than people would initially think. Despite his people being prideful, and hot-headed because of it- he knows how to contain his temper and to use a different set of expression for different occasions. He's not likely to lie, though he can be very evasive. He's honest and evasive at the same time- he can slip around any topic, and yet if he gives you a compliment, he's likely to be underestimating. He also knows when to let anger show, and when not to.
Growing up on the continent of Hesh, unknowingly connected to Borhilon through a sort of land-bridge in the far North, he found himself part of an esteemed group- the Gray Marsh Kifzo. From an early childhood he was raised to be a warrior, and there was one thing that fueled his training more than anything- the mutual hate for his brother, who, when they were children before they had seen even ten years, his brother killed his mother. His brother was more vicious and aggressive than him- he always won the fights, always beat him up, always had his father's favor, while his mother favored him and sheltered him when he was hurt or when his father was in a rage. When his mother died, he didn't understand that it was, for the most part, an accident- instead, he blamed his brother for the loss.
His brother went into shock, and when he emerged, he was withdrawn, amnesiac, not even remembering he had a mother. He became softer than Kaz, became weaker, while Kaz's anger drove him into Kifzo training to beat his brother forever. Kaz grew even more vicious than his brother, eventually going so far as to break his arm, take his bow, and put an arrow in his knee, forever crippling him. An arrow to the knee is the worst punishment for a Kifzo, because before Kaz came to age, the continent of Hesh never used metal armor, crossbows, or more advanced medicines. They were somewhat nomadic, always fighting, and the only honor they could have comes from battle.
When Gray Marsh decided to launch a campaign against the other dozen clans, the White Tundra Clan wasn't part of the original plans- they lived on the ice, away from everyone else, with land that was nearly worthless. Years later, after the Gray Marsh Conquest they decided that the White Tundra Clan would no longer remain independent. The one and only battle the White Tundra put up ended quickly in the Gray Marsh's favor, and when investigating what all they knew, they found that there more land- uncharted, unexplored, but White Tundra said there were signs of more advanced, powerful people across.
It was then that Kaz, a renowned warrior and the leader of the many battles that brought Gray Marsh much honor and prosperity, volunteered and ordered armor similar to what the White Tundra had seen. Originally, he had only worn less decorative metal armor, one of the few sets in his entire country. Once seeing what the Tundra people had, he ordered something more showy, more unique. Something that, if he had to fight, would mark him as someone distinct, someone dangerous.
And then he set out on horseback with a dozen men, to travel the ice wastes and reach this foreign land, whether for alliance or for conquest, all depending on his time spent with the foreign people.
Strategy, Close Combat, a little politics, hunting, and construction/architecture. He's a warrior through and through, and will do everything from felling a warrior, to felling a city.
Dreams of a time when war is of no need, where battles are not over land or disagreements, but to prove oneself, and not facing death for failure. Also terribly fears housecats, and falling snow on an overcast-y day, and for snakes of pretty much any kind.
The Gray Velnias Armor, or Gray Demon Armor, which is what he wears day in and day out. Prefers his Gray Shield- a wooden shield with gray leather pulled over it, bolted by steel and edged by steel, with a steel boss painted a light green. In addition, he has a unique hand-and-a-half longsword that's a bit larger than the standard longsword, complimenting his unusually great strength to increase his reach. When going into a battle of some kind, he also carries a greatsword- a two-handed really big sword- in a great scabbard on his back. In addition to the two swords and shield, he has a saxe (really big knife) and six throwing knives, with the saxe opposite of his longsword, allowing for double-blade combat, and the throwing knives in various hidden pockets throughout his armor.
He doesn't really have an insignia- if he stays in the country for a while, then he might write one up for himself and Gray Marsh, but really, he's just gray and light green. Also has a stallion bred in the deserts of his country named "Skandalistas," meaning "Kicker" or "Brawler," literally. He's named so for a reason- his name is often shortened to "Skanda."
A "map" with a comparison on where he came from, Hesh.
_______________________________________________
--------------------------|.........|------------^^^^^
--------------------------|.........|------------^^^
------------o------------|====|------------^^^^
--------Bahrilon--------|.........|------------^^^ Hesh
-------------------------/...........|------------^^
-----------------------/...............\----------^^^
---------------------/......................\--------^^
o = the center of the Northern fief
^ = mountains
The cyan being cold and tundra-y, green being varying amounts of vegetation, orange being desert. |
Subsets and Splits