Fantasy Old Beasts (Characters)

[Qazi]

OLD BEASTS​

CS​

 

[Qazi]

PRELIMINARY

(optional picture)
name
age
gender
race
occupation/trade
allegiance/faction
notoriety/fame (1-10)


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

backstory
personality


OTHER

magick category
aether proficiency (1-10)
magick knowledge (1-10)
non-magick skills​

 

[Qazi]

NAME Lohengrin
AGE 40s
GENDER Male
RACE Human
OCCUPATION Mercenary
ALLEGIANCE Kaurdas Compainie
NOTORIETY (of the company as a whole) 8


BACKSTORY
Most of Lohengrin's backstory is mysterious, at least within the presence of the Kaurdas Compainie—to others, he's simply the dreadful-seeming captain of that death company, those old beasts—, who care little for the history of their brethren, save where they came from. Although some do share their stories, perhaps to relieve themselves of burdens or to forget the criminal gaze of past sins, Lohengrin has since his time in the company consistently refused to give away any part of his real identity. Despite that, there are rumors abound and conjectures his men or other people have made based on vague references:

That he is from Calivan, a knightsman in service of the Onyx King, one of the hard steels of the torn lands that made up the broken kingdom during its heyday, before he left for reasons unknown the most, though perhaps the later downfall of the kingdom itself could be the root of the cause.

That he served in the Arcane Wars of the Onyx Kingdom, which may have led to his departure; allegedly, he garnered a title as a wizard-killer, having spent most of the time needling around with the legendary Seeker of Ahros. Nobody quite knows what title he received exactly. He wasn't that famous back then, unfortunately. Still isn't famous now, really.

That he then wandered around as an errant rogue, eventually ending up in the service of the Hagmen and their leather-wrapped shields and their cruel services against the betterment of the people. He would shortly afterwards leave the odd company but not before learning some skills in the art of deception.

That he migrated to the Viluvinum Kingdom—notable perhaps for the fact that it's more or less a collection of islands attached together by the sinews of human construction built upon water—and entered the service of Queen Rhadamynth. Within that time period, he spectates the conflict of the mages Tartarus and Gouge: they boil the waters beside the lands and turn people into ash. They were eventually killed, but at the cost of certain people such as the queen herself.

That he, perhaps inevitably, found a still-alive Tartarus in the ragged city-state of Falian and ventured on a revenge plot to finish his life. Lohengrin, of course, did not wholly succeed but he did manage to kill Tartarus. It was at that time that he ended up in the Kaurdas Compainie, who were also involved in the matter but in a different capacity, having been called by the Prince of Falian to deal with dissidents in hiding.​

And so, there ends what one would call the “basic elements” of his story, and it could be that there is more to it, but he refuses to reveal them at all.

Nevertheless, he has continued to be a reliable captain within his time in the Kaurdas Compainie and will continue to be so. He has participated in a fair amount of battles with them, including their battles with Vathek's men and then later the Polluter, which would prompt the events of the story.

PERSONALITY
Lohengrin might seem like a quiet brute, ugly in his own way and seemingly disheveled sometimes—though some say he does look like an actual knight, a real general, if he bothers to shave at all and trim his hair—, but he's a thoughtful, cerebral man with a penchant for thinking, observing and, of course, the art of monologues. He's charismatic that way, in his own way some might say, being well-spoken in contrast to his occupation—though the Kaurdas Compainie are known to be more professional than other cutthroats of the same line—, and empathetic too; but all the same, he's capable of killing, of making cruel decisions and dooming others, but keeps his principles, and is only infrequently wont to breaking those principles and the principles of his company. Recently, he has been rendered cynical and slightly fatalistic by the losses his company suffered at the hands of the Polluter, though he refuses to give up or break down. It's a futile motion as there is little spirit or brio in him anymore.


MAGICK CATEGORY N/A
AETHER PROFICIENCY N/A
MAGICK KNOWLEDGE N/A
NON-MAGICK SKILLS Swordfighting, sneaking, speaking, selling etc.

 

[Divon]

Into the Fray

Leroy van Vliet

THE BASICS

Name: Nirva Buldeer
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Race: Dwarf
National Origin: Azurith [Pocket town within the the Vulcan]
Allegiance: Freelancer
Notoriety: 3-4/10
Occupation: Hiring Mercenary

Personality: In retrospect, Nirva can be observed to be boisterous and ill-tempered at best. One may also mention how easily she joins in into a commotion; always eager to be a part of something that'll keep her blood pumping and mind from stumbling to the concept of "consequences". Alas, her inability to think ahead often makes her unreliable on keeping her health (and others) in check.

VISAGE

Appearance: Despite standing at 4'7", this little lady's body is well toned and muscled from the labour she'd endured from hiking up and down the mountains of her home origin. Her skin remains a sunny pale colour even after suffering through sunburn; thin tracings of scars riddle the tips of her fingers but the deeper ones are visible on her right cheek and across her chin. Apart from her recognisable short stature, she also has large protruding ears.

Nirva has platinum blonde locks that fall to her shoulders -- often there's a few twigs and many specks of soil littered in her hair. In the shade, her eyes are an earthly pair of brown.

Clothing: [As shown in the Picture]
Though the gloves are different, which will be explained in "Equipment".

Equipment:

• Short Sword - An ordinary blade that sports no ornamental design, though it's kept fairly sharp despite being used often.
• Twin daggers - Kept in the belt around her waist. Similar description to the short sword, but these look less worn.
• Spoiler: Gauntlets of Esse Periit

  View attachment 599341
  Nirva adorns these gauntlets like she had just found them in a run-down chest in an old house somewhere; which isn't true.
  
  [*]Activator: Aether is drained from the user; does not require concentration, but just the intention of using the gauntlet's ability.
  
  [*]Effect: These gauntlets grant the wearer the ability to crush organic and/or inorganic mass into an ultra dense ball that's the size of her palm and reverse the effect. The mass will maintain its same weight however. The Right Gauntlet has the effect of the "crushing" ability, while the Left Gauntlet reverts it back to its original size. Unable to be done against living and aether-infused entities (yet; perhaps Nirva is just incapable of doing it).
  
  [*]Miscellaneous: Esse Periit only has two charges, which can regenerated per long rest. One charge is to activate the Right, and the other is for the Left.

STATS

Magick Category - 0
Aether Proficiency - 4
Magick Knowledge - 2

Non-magic Skills:

• Scavenging
• Melee Combat - Preferably armed and up-close and personal
• Acrobatics
• Natural Navigator
• Animal tracking
• Hiking

Strengths:

• Agility - Has an expert sense of balance and quickness. Dodging and landing a multitude of quick and light strikes is her specialty
• Close-combat
• Resilient
• VERY supportive and encouraging
• An impressive amount of stamina; she can go on a chase for more than necessary; high pain tolerance
• (To be added)

Weaknesses:

• Short fuse
• Unable to hold her liquor, but she pretends to be tactfully unaware of that
• Poor throwing aim
• Nyctophobia
• (To be added)

HISTORY

Nirva is technically the eldest in her family, alongside her twin brother who was born a few seconds later. Unfortunately Noron stood an inchtaller than her, securing the title of eldestp but he did act like the sensible one, amongst their 3 other siblings. Noron, Nirva, Beltrix, Nonnagon, and Klad made up the current generation of Buldeers.

Throughout her youth the Buldeer children spent more time with each other than with their parents, and so Noron and Nirva were really the "parental" figures. The last Nirva had heard of their mother and father was the departure to the Thelion; the cityscape that only she could imagine as a treasure troveof greedy ilk and luxurious wares. Their neighbours had watched them from time to time, but that was really it.

Noron taught them them the basic necessities of cleaning after themselves, cooking, academic and mineralchemy knowledge while Nirva was more of the basic "survival" side of things; hunting, scavenging, tracking and exploration. While in Azurith, they had a routine on helping around the pocket town, as well as gathering resources to help fortify the defenses of the mountain walls against terrors of the Urn. But they weren't as close to that can of worms as the others.
Quietly stewing in irritation at the unchanging environment around her, she had fallen into a period of a particular funk; a terrible state of mind where her compulsive behaviour becomes too severe.

And one afternoon, she just left. A satchel, a sword, and not a word. Back then she fought with the notion of becoming like her folks, "abandoning her family", but perhaps she understood in that brief moment why they had left.

She had spent the first year of her unfamiliar and unrestrained freedom wandering in hopes of seeing new land; weeks had turned into months until she escaped the mountainside of Vulcan. Atleast a local creature she'd nursed back to health quickened the venture downwards.

After another period of time passing, she had run into a trio of adventurers near some moss-ridden ruins in a dense woodland where she was searching for edible vegetation. More eager to find out just what lay in the ruins than the adventurers, Nirva managed to join the band with the exception of not being able to share their quest's reward. The ruins had led them into the deep undergrowth of the forest where they uncovered an eerie and desolate area of forgotten catacombs.

The torch that the Warrior had held bounced off multitude of dug-in shelves, deep and long enough into the hard compact soil to fit remains of the deceased. No trouble came for them when they reached their destination where a chamber was blocked by an ancient oak door inscribed with a language that Nirva could not comprehend but the Archer had.

It turned out to be a fetch quest and the trio of adventurers had to loot the client's long-dead grandparent for something valuable. All in all, the exploration was equivalent to a haunted house; but Nirva did some looting of her own -- not from a dead person, so she figured she wouldn't have gotten cursed like the other adventurers. On the dusty hard earth was a pair of gauntlets; its inner-fabric frayed and almost moth-eaten. The golden intricate design of it had also aged terribly -- however the the plated parts of it seemed functional and fortunately light-weight enough for Nirva. The adventurers had allowed her to keep the loot, as they had better equipment than she had. When she'd exited the ruins, she noticed that the gauntlets' material was better than ever and she thought she'd imagined its awful condition.

These trio of adventurers introduced her to another low-key adventuring guild in Senomia where she first began her own quest-hunting. She had spent a year and half with the same band of members until their guild was shut down for financial fraud and they all scattered; though Nirva is still on the look-out for them.

A COMPANION

Horgruff [Mount Draghound]

Mount Draghounds are often used as one of the many animal guides across the Vulcans; usual as guard "dogs" and eyes at night. As a Mount Draghound, Horgruss has a thick layer of greyish brown fur, hiding black flesh. Their face has jaws, akin to a snapping turtle; a snout of charcoal coloured rough hide, peppered with dust from rocks. For Nirva's kind, they're often rideable creatures.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Name: David "Everten" Renor

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Occupation/trade: Sorcerer and sculptor.

Allegiance/faction: No allegiance.
Notoriety/fame: 2


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

Backstory: David was a sorcerer in Vathek's armies who worked up the ranks during Spzulcher's wars, he was mildly acclaimed for his magick and began to build up a small reputation amongst Vathek's armies and the enemy for his cunning although during this time he went by the fake name Everten as a way to atone for his past sins but fate was cruel as tragedy soon struck as some of his friends were ambushed and killed by the Kardas Company in gruesome fashion. After that he became bitter and disillusioned with Vathek and his armies for their incompetence and abandoned them. He found himself in Ashkhar via aimless travel, guilt-ridden over his failure to save his friends

Personality: David's grief over his past sins was beginning to disappear through his atonement when the aforementioned tragedy struck and destroyed his progress of bettering himself and plunged him deeper into darkness, becoming more cruel as more time distanced from the event, an event he still cannot forgive himself for; coupled that with his past grief resurfacing, it has begun affecting his magic casting as Gnosis requires a clear head. Despite his mental state, he still continues to document events and curiosities about the world finding it a good distraction once in awhile, he remains truthful but will lie to save his life. He has become more selfish and reclusive.


OTHER

Magick category: Gnosis
Aether proficiency: 9
Magick knowledge: 6.5
Non-magick skills: He can sculpt, trap-making, writing and potion-making. He knows Saga, Magia and Azul.​

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

no longer exists due to DM not being able to deal with small grammar issues even though I ran it through a grammar checker the DM is extremely picky..



name: Aloren
age: youngling (it's hard to tell a dragons age)
gender: male
race: dragon
occupation/trade: "dragoning"
allegiance/faction: slave
notoriety/fame 3


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

backstory
Aloren was a young and adventurous fool having been exiled for transgressing on the ritualistic boundaries of the Royal Court of Dragons by attempting to view the Archon Psalte without having been of the right age or the correct consecration being caught by one of the elder dragon while he was taking a peak. while this lead to his exile aloren didn't actually mind much, as it gave im a chance to explore the world outside the borders of Pndapetzim. of course this lead to a lot of challenges namely the whole living alone thing, surprisingly he did very well at this although he it did mean he had to stay far away from anything interesting. one day the yearning for adventure got to much.. only to get captured be a rather notorious slaver who found the young dragon to be quite the prize.now only time will tell what will happen to this dragon.

personality
being a overly energetic child aloren is more like to barrageing you with questions then perhaps eat you, although he can genuinely be a just a cute little dragon if if you treat him nice enough, it should be noted that he won’t shy away from a fight mostly out of a childish enjoyment of them. Their way food and good stories are the way to this dragonlings heart. even with being totally childish he is a dragon and not completely stupid, so don't try to many stupid tricks on him Because he will eventually wise up to them.

OTHER

magick category: Archon Psalter (N/A due to age)
aether proficiency: 1
magick knowledge 1
non-magick skills:
short range flight.
vastly improved sense when compared to like humans.
Capable survivalist

 

[frenchie.]

Spoiler: Aso

Aso


Race: Harpy


Gender: Female


Age: Adulthood for harpies, exact unknown


Occupation: Scavenger/Hunter


Allegiance: the Walküre Isle, more specifically the Felsiger Turn


Notoriety: 2-3/10









Appearance: Aso is rather tall for a harpy - around 6 feet with a stock build (though its debatable whether her true height is above or below 6 feet due to a near constant slouch). Her skin is an earthy ocher, tanned from a life spent in the sun, and heavily scarred from a life spent fighting. The harpy’s primary feathers are a rich brown, matching her long, natted hair, while her secondary feathers are various shades of brown, white, and cream. Aso’s irises and sclera are a pale green, accompanied by pupils that seem to always be narrowed into slits.


Clothing: If she is wearing clothing, it is mostly scraps of clothing found off of dead sailors or stolen from corpses inland. The top part of a shirt, a draped shawl, a shredded coat.


Equipment: At minimum, Aso’s equipment consists only of a badly sewn but sturdy shoulder bag for carrying prey and other things, a flint short-spear, and a flint dagger.








National Origin: Walküre


History: Nothing particularly exciting in Aso’s background. It’s pretty simple really. In Western Walküre, born and raised, the Felsiger Trum is where she spent most her days. Hunting, scavenging, fighting for food, and learning that people from the mainland aren’t any good. When a couple humans who were up to no good started making trouble in her bird-nest-hood. She got in one big fight and her elder got scared and said “you need to stop that or find a new roost”.


Personality:

• Fairly serious
• Hard-working
• Straight-forward, bluntly so
• Introverted, or sullen, depending how you look at it
• Messy
• Dim when it comes to people and other cultures
• Also not too bright

magick category: N/A


aether proficiency: N/A


magick knowledge: N/A


non-magick skills: Tracking, hunting, foraging, basic cooking skills flying, being absolutely unable to talk to someone normally

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Name: Abaddon Blato.

Age: 22 summers.

Gender: Male.

Race: Human.

Occupation: Mercenary (taking up guard duties).

Allegiance: Himself.

Notoriety: 0.

BACKSTORY

Abaddon hails from Blato, a small muddy neighborhood in the city of Lonio, there his father Melancho worked as a fisherman along with Garbo and Vanbrew, Abaddon's two older brothers. Letta, his mother, would cook and clean in the house and chat with her friends next door. It was a normal life where everybody was happy enough and everyone assumed that Abaddon would be a fisherman just like the rest of his family. That all changed when Abaddon decided that he wanted to be a guard, traveling from city to city protecting people from badmen and bandits. At first, the Blatos wanted to test his resolve, to see if he was serious or not so they waited it out. Soon enough, Abaddon took up work as a laborer to earn money, but only so he could pay for a cheap sword and shield. Later on, he kept asking the guards and soldiers for lessons and paid them for it as well.

One day, Abaddon came to tell his family that he was going for a trip to Semonia with his guard friends. Immediately, everyone sprang into action, telling him of the dangers of travelling even with armed men. They implored him to reconsider, for there was a chance that he would never return. Abaddon said he'd go no matter what. And so the entire family jumped on Abaddon to hold him down. But that did not work as Abaddon beat them all to the ground and went his way. Ever since that day, things have been sour between Abaddon and his family, but he did not blame them, as it was hard to not yell at a man that kicked you in the nads and broke your bloody nose. Once Abaddon came home safely he was greeted with a fist to the face then the whole family celebrated his return.

For six years, Abaddon fought bandits, savages, pirates, criminals, soldiers, madmen and beasts, he traveled to Semonia to Aziruth to Thrive to Thelion to Apocalypse. He protected men when they feared for their lives, guarded caravans and their precious cargo, homes that were vulnerable to thieves and when the occasion demanded it, he fought in wars, mostly as a part of a garrison. Abaddon earned much and lost much in gold, but he had seen it all and come out alive. And now, he's looking for more, he wants to join a mercenary outfit so he could see the entire world.

PERSONALITY

Abaddon is a man that knows what he wants and tries to get his way.

MAGICK CATEGORY N/A

AETHER PROFICIENCY N/A

MAGICK KNOWLEDGE N/A

NON-MAGICK SKILLS

-Melee combat (sword and shield, spear, unarmed)
-Ranged (crossbow)
-Survival (hunting, fishing, cooking)
-Traveling (swimming, climbing)
-Basic Education (knows how to read and do math)

 

[Remembrance]

Spoiler: Cato Ebenhim"Spirit Guy"

Name: Cato Ebenhim
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Race: Hypatio/Human Cross
Occupation/Trade: Retainer
Allegiance/Faction: Kardas Company
Notoriety/Fame: 6

Appearance:
Cato is a lean Hypatio Human male in his younger years. His hair is black, and eyes are gray, with his skin tone being olive. Cato is 5'9" in height and 154lb in weight. Numerous tattoos depicting arcane and occult iconography are present all over his body (mostly in the form of leering demonic faces) and ranges from subtle to openly ostentatious. Cato's hair isn't neat and reaches all the way down to his knees, of course it's not thick but still there. On his back lies a large tattoo in the shape of a bird's cage, in the center of the cage lies a diamond shape which holds the symbol of Sowilo.

Backstory:
A relatively small start for an elf named Cato, making his debut in Ragnarsdrápa as an apprentice to a Saedhr magician. Training in a modest stone building, Cato learned the philosophy of the Saedhr and their communications with spirits. He was a quick learner, but knowing the history and concepts of Saedhr was only half the battle of learning it. The moment Cato had first communed with a spirit, it was a completely different experience than what he was expecting. Things such as spirits don't communicate in a normal manner, they project concepts; ideas; thoughts; and memories instead of just normal communication. And when in commune with a spirit, both the communer and spirit are bound through their mind. This means they share whatever's present within their minds.

The experience didn't quite go so well, Cato had been overwhelmed and passed out from the amount of ideas being projected at him. After recovering, he went in for another try, knowing how to commune with spirits was not only a well cherished gift but a rather powerful cultural phenomenon within Ragnarsdrápa. In for his second try, he encountered a rather simple spirit. Instead of projecting all kinds of things, this spirit projected memories and easy to understand concepts. It was plenty different than his first commune. The whole experience overall was perfect for Cato to learn how to hold an adequate conversation and persevere through a commune.

After he held his two first communes, he went on, for the next 4 years communing and working his way to asking physical favors from the spirits. Simple things such as moving objects or putting out a candle. One spirit in particular threatened to push the candle over, Cato didn't try to stop the spirit and it just ended up leaving the commune. Experiences like these grew, and soon, Cato wanted to not only go further but experience more. He went on further, no longer under his master's guidance. Cato went forward to learn how to bind a spirit and in a sense, enslave them. Cato decided to go into a commune every day, attempting to not only find a capable spirit, but one that wouldn't be the worst to have around.

Searching for too long, he found a spirit that peaked his interest, one that was simple but complex, it was the perfect fit for Cato. Without much more consideration, Cato used his rune and trapped the spirit inside it. A rather specific rune the spirit would find itself in; Sowilo. The rune would strengthen the spirit inside it through absorbing Aether like a vortex. The effect would vanish over time however if it was ever released. Cato himself didn't quite know how to bind a spirit to his body, it wasn't something he was entirely sure he could do himself. Thus he paid an exorbitant fee for a group of Saedhr Magicians to enact the ritual onto him. It stung. To keep the rune's effect of Sowilo, the magicians burnt the symbol of the rune onto Cato's back. They then tore the spirit out of the rune and then into Cato.

A painful process but it worked almost exceedingly well. Cato wanted to obtain another spirit but the magicians convinced him otherwise, as holding two spirits was a little more than most could handle. Cato, now looking for not only currency but ways to increase the Aether in his body so that he may not only obtain more spirits, but contain them within him.

Personality:
Cato is rather a courteous, nice man. He gives the impression that his general demeanor is cheerful, sarcastic and worthwhile. Despite the surface impression, however, he is generally unassuming and rather self-deprecating. He has also confessed to being envious of other retainers/warriors. Nevertheless, he accepts these qualities to be repellent to other people, thus he has gained a love for humor and smiling, but acts in a mature way. He likely believes he can not maintain relationships otherwise. Cato is very careful with his application of speech as he judges the conversation he partakes in to get what he wants. He knows just the right questions to ask to obtain what he desires. Pleasantries are often dismissed when talking in private with him as he doesn't consider them necessary.

Despite having been a retainer for most of his life, he's often the most negotiable person within a group. He's a flexible man but also likes to have some constraint in his life. Restricting himself from certain things teaches him restraint, although he's continuously having more of a lack of restraint recently. Cato has developed an odd relationship with his bound spirit, akin to a pet's owner, he cherishes the spirit's company but doesn't consider it even close to being human or entirely sentient.

Magick Catergory: Saedhr
Aether Proficiency: 6
Magick Knowledge: 7
Non-magick Skills:
Adequate cook; Planner; Rune-making; Quick learner; Knows his way into a locked building; Fluent in Saga, and Magia; Partly knows Sacris; Diplomatic.
(pretty shit and not good , my day is ruined)

Spoiler: Sent Saarn "Metal Hand, Ex-Paladin Man"

Name: Sent Saarn
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Occupation: Ex-Paladin/Traveler
Allegiance: N/A
Notoriety: 6

Appearance:
Sent is a fit but slim Human born in Apocalypse. His hair a dirty blonde, his eyes blue, and skin tone being quite fair. Sent is 5'7" and weighs 147lb. He wears an older traditional uniform of the Paladin fitted with a bronze gear like band wrapped around his head and under his hair. One distinctive feature about Sent is his bronze, clockwork-like left forearm. The fingers of his bronze arm are sharp, bearing a resemblance to claws. His new arm is slower than that of a normal human's but Sent has learned how to work with it.

Backstory:
Once a Paladin for the Monadh, Sent lived a peaceful life patrolling and protecting those under Monadh's merciful guard. However during a patrol, he and his group were attacked by a mob of assailants in robes. The battle had been fought and it didn't end well. It seemed like it hadn't been much time until he had awoken somewhere unexpected. A cramped stone room with a wall of steel bars. It took Sent only a second to realize the predicament he was in. Locked inside a cell inside a decrepit room. Luckily a small window laid on the wall parallel of the bars. Peering out from it, he found more to worry about. He was in a tower, far more off the ground then he expected. This only made the situation harder to work with.

Sent sat dormant in his cell, plotting for a way to escape minorly unscathed. Only plotting until a man too familiar to him approached the cell. A sorcerer he had been hunting for the good part of the year, the man was immoral and had a sick knowledge of magick unparalleled by most. Sent had little he could pull from to know what would happen to him, all Sent knew about what the sorcerer did was mangle and use the victims as fuel for sick experiments. Sent had to play safe, otherwise he could meet a gruesome end.

Sent woke up, it was odd. He woke up but had no recollection of ever sleeping or even trying to. When he had awoken, he instinctively moved to stretch but found his left arm to be a lot more heavier than it was before. It too a moment to notice his arm wasn't his own, it had been changed. Metallic, bronze-like. It wasn't normal, he couldn't feel out of it, nothing. Sent's mind grew weary and anxious, he had to get out of the cell and back to Apocalypse. One flaw the sorcerer had make with Sent was giving his new arm claws that seemed durable enough for what he was planning.

Sent used his new arm's fingers and wrapped them around one of the steel bars, he began shifting his weight, making it so that he's pulling on the arm to pull the steel bar. After a few moments, the bar bent and revealed a hole just large enough for Sent to escape through. Sent went up and left the wicked tower, staying there and enacting revenge wasn't safe, especially without any gear to protect him.

Sent found a small cabin out in the woods, his wasn't the same but he could still think clearly, meaning nothing should've happened to him on a mental level. He couldn't hold a grudge towards the sorcerer, not when he was at his lowest. Sent knew if he returned to the monasteries, not only unharmed but with a metal arm, he'd be locked up or killed. The paladins were never nice about people returning unscathed from a kidnapping by a sorcerer. Sent knew what he had to do next. Get his arm back and enact revenge on his sorcerer enemy when he was strong enough.

Personality:
Sent is a somewhat calm and personable person, patient to a large extent and able to restraint himself minorly. He's determined to find what he's looking for and isn't the kind of person to stop for any reason. His goals are a drive that's sufficiently strong enough to have him drop everything when he finds a new lead to getting what he desires. Despite not having been a Paladin and barely remembering any of it's teachings, he retains a lot of the traits he's developed from it. Despite him showing strong emotions, he's able strategize and analyze situations clearly.

While Sent can be violent at times, he also has a degree of restraint to enemies he doesn't have to kill. He's willing to defend not only himself but the people he knows and cares about. Apart from those aggressive problems, Sent approaches his tasks calmly and methodically.

Magick Category: Monadh N/A
Aether Proficiency: 7 5
Magick Knowledge: 9
Non-magick Skills:
Orienteering; Hunting and Gathering; Minor metalwork; Warhammer proficiency; Weight-balancing; Knows Sacris and Saga

Spoiler: Enzo Adler "Male Dancer"

Name: Enzo Adler
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Hypatio
Occupation: Male Dancer/Performer
Allegiance: The Golden Sea
Notoriety: 2

Appearance:
Enzo appears as a lightly-tanned male of Northern descent in his early twnties, 6'1" tall and 165 lbs, with black hair and blue eyes. A symbol lies engraved into the forehead of Enzo, which appears to be of an unknown origin. The symbol has of yet been untranslated, and Enzo appears distressed when the symbol is mentioned at all and only takes notice of this when it is pointed out. He's found usually dressed in large flowy garb, often oversized coats or clothing borrowed from larger of the group and some of the woman in the group.

Backstory:
Not much is really known about where Enzo came from, he keeps a lot of his stories a mystery through vague endings and beginnings. A lot of the stories he tells are often just rehashes of old ones just with different events happening. It's unclear whether these stories are even Enzo's. His debut with the Golden Sea troupe was him doing a dance to a small group of early arrivals to a performance as a show of welcoming. Enzo as it is, is just a male dancer apart of the Golden Sea troupe.

Personality:
Enzo is generally polite and genial to all who speak to him, though he has been described as being somewhat cold in his speech. Enzo is very helpful, and enjoys aiding people in their daily actions, whatever they may be. He has a weird acquired knowledge of highly detailed ancient history to even recent events. Despite all this, he's easily tired and quick to give up when the going get's tough. He's apathetic and rarely likes exerting energy unless it's for something important. Enzo rarely get's angry but can be irritated when having forced to put in more effort for something than he is willing to put in. Enzo has quite an overactive imagination, which is responsible for frequent hallucinations he has when he greets or talks with people.

Despite all this, Enzo is capable of appreciating praise, and has shown to have a tendency of exerting more than what he would usually do when given positive feedback.

Magick Category: Gnosis
Aether Proficiency: 5
Magick Knowledge: 5
Non-magick Skills:
Dancing; Dancing with a winky face; Proficient at speaking Saga, Magia, Sacris, and Osthanes; Observing & learning

Spoiler: WIP Koho Ibaashi "Noblewoman"

Name: Koho Ibaashi
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Hypatio
Occupation: Noble
Allegiance: Ibaashi House
Notoriety: 4

Appearance:
Koho is a fairly short and small framed girl, standing at 5'2", and weighing 116 lbs. She has most of her medium light green hair cut just at her neck with her bangs handing at eye level. Koho's hair is generally styled in a way that fans out the sides and near the bottom, though on occasion she wears it in different styles. Koho's eyes are a dull blue and her skin is incredibly fair. Koho is often seen in clothing not resembling that of a noble's, the only real identifier to her nobility being the large coat she wears out.

Backstory:
Personality:

Magick Category:
Aether Proficiency:
Magick Knowledge:
Non-magick Skills:

 

[Archon]

Name:
Age: 24

Gender: Female

Race: Djinn-blooded human; the left-arm manifests the appearance of writhing flesh beneath the skin.

Occupation: Mercenary

Allegiance: Kardas Company

Notoriety: 8


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

Backstory: The power of Djinn-blood is seen as an accursed affliction, to be hunted and shunned by the masses, branded demons and monstrosities - and for good reason, for what normal being would possess inhumane mutations of fetid horror? Zara's life began as one of those wretched afflicted. Born to a djinn worshipping cult of curse-blooded fanatics, her education was bare and seeped in zealous indoctrination. Intense and unforgiving, The Bleakbarrow Marauders--as they called themselves--were a small collection of glorified djinn-blooded bandits, notorious and feared by the local aristocracy, their vicious attacks saw noble ladies and young children torn asunder in ritualistic reverence. The men were tied and spared. For what reason only the Gods could know, or the almighty Djinn, if the Marauders were to be believed.

Zara herself was party to these attacks, though only as a witness. She wasn't as obviously mutated as those of the murdering band she knew as family, as such she was forced into the role of bait many times, flailing and screaming bloody murder, crying of dark denizens who took her parents deep into the woods. Knights and Heroes, guardsmen and mercenaries, all flocked into the prowling jaws of the Bleakbarrow Butchers--a moniker the dead soon earned them. Alas, murder and desecration wasn't to be taken lightly. The vengeful conspired to stamp out the threat; The enlistment of the Kardas Company, pricey as they may be, came with a deep and restless fury befitting beast more than man. The Bleakbarrow Butchers tasted divine reparation in their fortress home, each one massacred to the last--the survivors were delivered to the victimized aristocracy. The ends of their vicious compatriots was a mercy.

Zara hid away, gripped by terror, when an old wizened mage found her sobbing in the murky confines of the Bleakbarrow dungeons, his heart was gripped by sympathy--a poor innocent child, abducted by the savages and held against her will? Zara's acting was possessed of excellence already, and the authenticity of the fear that she radiated confirmed this wizard's hypothesis. After all, she appeared perfectly human, unlike most of the butchered worms above. Truthfully, her fortunes shone brightly, for the Kardas was a dark and unforgiving band of hired killers, most of which wouldn't have hesitated to cut down a child--sobbing or otherwise.

However, in some twisted joke orchestrated by the dancing strings of fate, the Kardas Company didn't take her for ransom as if she was some forlorn noble, her path entwined with their own, upon which she soon found herself studying a lie under the same wizard who'd 'rescued' her. For many months, she grit her teeth and smiled a glittering smile, plotting a bloody escape--she slept with dreams forged by the blood of her captors. Yet the opportunity was fleeting, the Kardas were the very example of elite. Their security was like iron, an interlocking weave of chainmail without a chink in the steel. Her already adept experience at subterfuge and trickery was enhanced by the wizard's teachings, a year after her rescue--upon the eve of her twelfth birthday, Zara's former indoctrination as an impressionable child began to crumble; the Kardas Company steadily became home.

A harsh blood-riddled childhood filled with atrocity and suffering had long-since made Zara dull to the horrors of war, she glided through the training offered by the Company through pure unbridled grit and fury. Eretheon disapproved, believing she should focus her energy on the singular aspect of the trickster magic he embodied, but Zara was stubborn, finding the rush of combat and the clashing of blades too euphoric to refuse. She took to the spear and sword with little endeavor elsewhere, and her magical studies suffered for it. However, her physicality and combat skills were honed. The years continued, as did her training, each one bringing a more intense regime--each one bringing her closer to the frontlines of Kardas combat. Upon her eighteenth, her duties as a child and apprentice were revoked, owing to her skill-at-arms she began taking part in campaigns alongside the rest of her mercenary-kin. As an illusionist, her mark on the field of battle wasn't slight; she adorned herself in the metal-plate of a footsoldier to signal prowess and offer protection, but the shamanistic garments and near-savage decorative attire is what truly made her shine as a beacon of recognition. To the Company, it was merely a stylistic choice. A half-truth. For despite the years, she still remembered the Bleakbarrow Butchers and their manic tribal ways. The experience was scarce, but they were still her childhood--she carried their tribal ferocity upon her own frame. A homage.

Eretheon passed away in a great duel with a Gazel shaman at the ripe old age of 46. Zara mourned, for a small time. She never looked upon him as a glorified father; no matter hard how he wished she was his daughter. Her life within the Company remained unchanged, she marched alongside the troop going from contract-to-contract, each clash of arms dowsing steel with blood, a simple life. A good life. Soon, her uniquely tribal apparel garnered notice and recognition. She was seen, falsely, as a general or duelist of some renown by those new to the Kardas Company, and to those with the misfortune to face them. Zara made no effort to discourage such legends, and found herself engaging prominent commanders and brave warriors in single-combat on multiple occasions. Their honourbound chivalry would spell their doom, for the heave of glistening steel is no match for the tricks of the mind. With one fell swoop many-a-champion found their hard earned victory revealed to be a lie; carving through the non-existent figure of their opponent, before her ruthless reality struck lethally from behind.

Personality:
Zara is the evening tide; calm and collected, erratic and head-strong. An unpredictable and frenzied trickster. She is shrewd and cunning, a brilliant opportunist, one who finds joy in the heart of adversity. She revels in victory, whatever the cost, owing to the philosophy that the ends justify the means. She remains a professional in her occupation as a mercenary, though as far as the Kardas Company goes, she is marginally more sociable and open to a dishonest conversation.


OTHER

Magick category: Illusionist
Aether proficiency: 5
Magick knowledge: 4

Non-magick skills

• Expert in the art of subterfuge.
• Skilled in the use of spear, longsword and shield.
• Proficient use with the horn as an instrument of music, battle and misdirection.
• Shrewd and intelligent; Zara is an able spy and investigator.

 

[Donut Fret]

PRELIMINARY

Appearance: Blonde short hair, blue eyes, slightly tanned complexions, thin eyebrows, slightly wrinkled forehead from the sun, scars on her back from whips, scars on her left wrist, and bite scars on her left leg. Typically wears common leather garments for protection, something easy to maneuver in. Has a satchel and wears boots.
name: Flipy Hutignz
age: 23
gender: Female
race: Human
occupation/trade: Mercenary
allegiance/faction: Kardas Company
notoriety/fame (1-10): 3
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 148 pounds.


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

backstory: Mother and father traveled by caravan with their baby girl nestled snug into blankets. As the ride rocked the baby to slumber, a bump in the road provided an alarm, which alerted the baby to a falling sensation. She cried out, but knew no words, and the heavy gallop of horses drowned out her sound. In the coarse sand, she wailed with hunger sweeping her body to a frenzy. Then, a radiant light befell her blue eyes, reflecting a tall image. A lowly bandit, who called himself Bandit, rescued the baby girl. He brought her to a temple, seeking solace for his misdeeds. At first, the church provided a nice means for the man to grow into a disciple, while the girl aged appropriately for temple work. With a supple young mind, she absorbed the religious nature, and thought herself an envoy of mercy. With every month, Bandit prayed to the girl, believing her to be his salvation. Life was peaceful.

When she turned twelve, the church bestowed the girl her namesake: Diana. They also declared her an adult within the church. The priest who took them in died a few years ago from old age, leaving Flipy's tutelage to the new priest, an elf. While the religion allowed anyone to attain the position of priest, it was predominantly for humans. Thus, the church faced a lot of scrutiny from the townsfolk during the elf's clerical position. In order to quell the masses, the elf took a conservative approach, and brought forth Diana as a religious symbol. She represented the town's purity. It worked for a while, but the town was no fool. They grew spiteful, and with no choice, the elf took Diana hostage to secure an escape to his homeland city.

Once the weather provided late snow, Diana couldn't believe she was ousted by her friends and family. The elf told her lies, and then sold her to a noble family. His last words: "Serve your masters, for they are the key to your salvation. I shall come for you once you've repented." Four years passed, and she endured her punishment, in order to appease the gods. Since she rarely complained, the masters gave her plenty of leniency in the household as a servant. They dubbed her Flipy, since she flipped the beds properly, making them a luxury to any noble. On her fifth year, she began to lose it all.

Servitude and slavery, without pay, but different living conditions. They witnessed one another, allowing an empathetic surge. One gave over the other. Flipy tended to the goblin's frequent wounds. The noble family sported the goblin's violent nature, encouraging him to cannibalistic tendencies with other goblins. Such sights caused the matured girl to question the family's divinity. Within the church, the old priest taught her to love one another, and that no matter the evil, anyone can obtain salvation. So while the elves displayed righteous behavior upon the goblin who they deemed their slave, Flipy saw it as deplorable.

Over the next two years, during her 18th year, she fostered a unique relationship with the goblin. She acted as his mother, and taught the young goblin about religion. While the goblin hated elves and most other races, he warmed up to Flipy, who consoled him. They planned to escape, and despite Flipy's faith in others being broken, she still held strong to the old priest's words. It couldn't come any sooner, the perfect day to escape, when the family deeply trusted Flipy, and left her to tend the house, while they celebrated a holiday. Such trust allowed the two to escape with little trouble. In the gardens, they slowly worked their way past the guard lions, animals that protected the manor. Unfortunately, a crackle of a rose bush, erupted the ferocity and speed of domesticated violence.

Now on the run, the alarms became apparent, and adrenaline pushed the two to speed through the gardens. Helping the little goblin over the fence, it was too late for Flipy. The lion gnashed down on her left leg. The pain led to a terrible scream, like a mother giving birth. Fortunately, the girl's time at the manor wasn't meaningless, as she learned many useful skills. A sleeping reagent, a flower, she picked to close any elven eyes that remained in the manor. It was a stretch, but with her free hand, she rubbed the scent across the lion's nose. Then, she pushed. From sinews in her muscle being stretched like a band, to the reagent's effects, her body became cumbersome. More lions would come, and all seemed lost to her; His mother would not die yet.

To the elves of this family, the Goblin was considered stupid, and they weren't wrong. A goblin may lack the ability to read certain texts, but one should never carelessly leave articles of magical confessions to any eye. Something clicked in his brain, and the minor lessons that Flipy taught the goblin in reading, waved a new intuitive tidal. The goblin casted a Liber Null spell he spent years honing, using the spores of the reagent to construct a more potent sleeping agent. The spores scattered in the air behind Flipy, putting the lions to a temporary sleep. Now loose, Flipy broke free, as the lion behind her stumbled to the concrete. Unfortunately, the scent in the air caused her to doze, and even the goblin couldn't control his breathing for too long. Then, a familiar face transpired before Flipy's eyes. The same man who promised her so long ago. In that moment, her faith was restored.

Awaking in a clinic, Flipy spotted her bandaged leg, and found a cane near her bedside. She limped to try and find the man or the goblin, but instead in this isolated room, the door remained locked. With no key, or strength, she yelled out, until the doorknob jiggled, revealing the man who rescued her. The same clerical elf that promised her salvation. While roaming about the town, he'd spotted her trying to escape, and was dumbfounded by her ability to use elven magick to put the lions to sleep. He tried speaking with her, but the dumb girl only pestered him about a goblin. During his time away from the girl, he squandered his wealth on useless ventures and took to the noble streets to beg. In a few moments, he proposed to the girl that salvation may come from her magical talent, but she refused to budge until her goblin companion was restored to her side. Fear sweltered in his brows. Knowing the girl possessed incredible aether, he swiftly brought forth the goblin. A bandage remained over his left pointer finger, for the goblin previously bit him. Upon recollection, Flipy agreed to aid the clerical elf, if the two left the city. The elf decided upon a fake name: Elporis; and Flipy named the goblin, Greenie, for being so darn green.

Flipy, Elprois, and Greenie embarked on a journey unlike any other, until well at the next Inn, when they realized they were all fugitives. Even a fake name can't stop the elven government, considering their magicks, and their uniqueness as group, that anyone could consider suspicious. Bracing for the worst, Elporis ran off once again, leaving a letter in goodwill: "My dearest comrades, I fear our venture cannot be completed. I did not expect this retaliation; therefore, I shall part ways to sacrifice myself to the court. I've taken the liberty of procuring your valuables in order to ensure passage to my arrest." Flipy was confused with the ordeal, but shrugged it. Her goblin companion took it worse, since he already hated elves immensely. Since the two contained no money to their name, they worked odd jobs near small villages to avoid capture. They needed to save enough money to travel to a better land.

Years passed, and with their split group, it was actually easier to hide away. The goblin wore a robe to cover its form, and disguised himself as Flipy's son. Villages felt pity for the single human mother, so they often gave her work. This worked until the village found out her son was a goblin, and so she repeated the process over and over again. Being a wandering handyman had its perks, but she longed for stability. Living in the woods as two hermits took its toll, mostly due to lack of hygiene between a goblin and a human. Fortunately, a big job appeared before her path.

Her first mercenary gig at the age of twenty two. Although, she held no powerful weapons to her name, she knew the goblin contained a ferocious power. And the money, oh the money, it was more than enough expenses to leave this dreaded elven territory. Equipped with a hatchet and tattered leather garments, she explained her knowledge of the lands and her environmental awareness. The crew reluctantly accepted her and her unusual companion's company.

The crew was named the boys, and their client, an Orc seeking safe passage. The orc was known as the mister pasty chef, and his mercenaries consisted of Rhinebarf, an Orus man clad in steel armor, Funguy, a wood elf with remarkable archery, and Chonk, a dwarven mage. Elven territory did not take kindly to Orcs, so Mister Pastry Chef often hid his identity, while the boys traveled, and Funguy took care of the locals with his diplomatic skills. Yet for this next travel, they were at an impasse, as they needed someone comfortable with the city for some illegal activity. The group laid out a plan, Chonk would use his illusion magick to disguise him and Funguy as a high elf couple. Mister Pastry Chef, Rhinebarf, Flipy, and Greenie would remain in the cart. Once they're inside, they would need to smuggle some pastries into the bakeries, while Chonk and Funguy would distract the cityfolk. Flipy would lead the cargo transportation operation, since she had knowledge of the city.

Settled with a plan, the small group of six entered the city. Everyone but Chonk and Funguy used the sewer system within the city to travel between bakeries. Everything seemed to work out well in the start, until the sewer people appeared in their little huts. Flipy heard of stories about the sewer people, but never knew for certain. She led the group, but lacked knowledge of the tunnels. As the group continued to avoid the sewer people, Chonk and Funguy faced immense difficulty keeping their intentions under wraps, since the cargo may be searched by the guards at any moment. Sooner rather than later, Mister Pastry Chef grew fed up with Flipy and Greenie, knowing full well of his deadline. At the next ladder, Mister Pastry Chef risked his visibility to find the cart. Rhinebarf detained Flipy and Greenie, as ordered by Mister Pastry Chef. Unfortunately, the Orc never returned alive, for the guards caught him and killed him, dumping his body down the same sewer hole.. With nowhere to go, the group made contact with the sewer people.

The sewer people offered no hostilities for a price. Exchanging his saved up gold, Rhinebarf payed the people. Chonk's magic was wearing off, so he abandoned the cart and told Funguy to come with him down the sewers. They were founded by the sewer people who brought them to the party after a hefty sum. Inside a rented hut, the group yelled at one another, in particular, Flipy. Greenie tried to protect his friend, but was belittled. While violence seemed imminent, Rhinebarf broke down, saying that Flipy and Greenie reminded him of his daughter. The coin he was saving up in order to rescue her from traffickers, and now that their client was dead, their reputation became ruined. Funguy and Chonk displayed their own sentiments about the weightlessness in their coffers and pockets. Finding herself responsible for these turn of events, because she lied, Flipy remembered her old friend's letter: "Sacrifice." As the group headed to bed, the sewer people attacked, having waited for the opportune moment to strike.

Click and clack go the traps, for Flipy's preparations allowed a head start to escape the wrath of the sewer folk. Chonk's illusion magick disguised the group into grimy sewer elves, and they escape the carnage. To lessen the pursuit, Greenie casted a sleeping spell. Marked for death above and below, the group had no choice but to smuggle themselves into a boat, which was quite easy considering the sewer rivers lead to the ocean.

As the group fitted themselves into a boat, they had no idea where the boat was headed, but they tried to rest near brined pickles and other assorted food smells. They learned that the boat's heading to the war infested Aranvar. Knowing the conflict, Funguy wanted nothing more than to escape the boat, exclaiming, "I won't ever go back there." The group plead for him to stay quiet, but his anxiety got the better of him. He alerted the crew, who killed the elated Funguy. His corpse began to decay releasing a dastardly smell from his feet. The smell distracted the Elves, allowing the group time to find a small paddle boat. While they descend into the waters, Chonk mourned the loss of his friend and fake lover.

The closest land to them is Aranvar, so they paddled over. Right now, the group had intense resentment towards one another, and rations were dwindling. They consumed Chonk, cause he's fat, and well dwarves are delicious. In a twist, Rhinebarf transformed into Chonk, saying that he used illusion magick in order to save himself. Flipy and Greenie were surprised, but they had bigger fish to fry. The coast of Aranvar appeared in its desolation. After what transpired, Chonk separated from the group, somewhat guilty for eating one of his closest friends. Greenie felt no remorse due to his lifestyle, and Flipy felt sick to the bone. She traded the father's chance at saving his daughter for her own life to help this goblin. Even if she meant to eat Chonk, the idea still plagued her mind on the trek to find people in the war-torn Aranvar.

Inside Flipy's pockets rested some mercenary credentials. Although, it was rude to the corpse, Flipy faced no choice but to use Rhinebarf's allocations to prove her worth as a mercenary. She and her green companion braved the landscape, noticing odd amalgamations of Djinns and many corpses. She found a military encampment that contained the Kardas company. Realizing she looked distinct compared to the fallen soldiers, she likely could pass off as a non-combatant, so the company allowed her in. Within the walls, she provided her allocations. They accepted her position, considering her merit and the goblin's magical potential. Nowhere but here was Flipy's motto for today.

Eating at a table in the mess hall, Flipy gazed upon chunky merriment. Apparently, Chonk was part of the company. Still, she required time to digest the Rhinebarf before engaging with any old acquaintances. While the elves never revealed any comparisons between Greenie and other goblins, the Company sure did. The grunts explained that most goblins are taller with black skin. Poor Greenie slumped even further into his chair. Betwixt the goblin's eyes, a peeling wart, gapping the bridge between two brows. She offered words, but the laugher of the others shattered the Goblin's confidence, and so he departed from the dining. Normally, she would follow after the goblin, but her body demanded sleep.

A few months of training passed, before Greenie, Flipy, and Chonk were assigned to the same team. Although, they spoke with Chonk, the dwarf held no hard feelings, after alcohol consoled his losses. They learned of their objective to poison the water supply of a Vahtek camp. Reading the reports, Flipy finds out the camp yields mostly children and women, which reminded her of Rhinebarf's locket that she looted from his corpse. The locket symbolized his undying love to his daughter. Morality prodded at her forehead, as she contemplated whether to go through the mission, or leave. Yet words always dangled at the back of mind, "All's fair in war." She wondered who told her that, but fretted no longer. The goblin's tantrums sought to her woes.

Often when roads diverged, one path was coarse and the other soft. She only saw a combination of the two, and a dead dog in the fork of the road. The members of the team continued to their destination, while Flipy cut at the dog's decayed flesh, removing its leg bones. Unwashed, they provided an unwelcoming smell. Walking across the sandy pavement, the moon dimly lit their path, a refraction pattern within the water leading to the Vahtek camp. Flipy witnessed her flipped self. The old religious, tooth-grinned, pure, innocent, and meek girl; yet, behind that image, a goblin consumed her reflection. Greenie trudged behind Flipy, with his shade eating at her shadow. Then, the ripples in the water came as the group dumped the poison.

Quick, silent, and effective; the poison left no prisoners. The group visited the remains to pillage meager supplies. Flipy thought: "If the mission was this easy, why send so many men?" Either way, she sighed with relief, since her health stayed intact. The dead women and children, and no soldiers to be seen, likely because they were fighting the company elsewhere, while this team sabotaged their camp. Exposing a young goblin to such atrocities certainly wasn't good for his mental health; however, Flipy slowly grew accustomed to this exchange. The two simply had grown.

Many more months went, and then a full year. The operations lessened her moral questioning while shaping her survivability. Now she would part ways to lands alongside the Kardas Company. Saying goodbye to the grave she created for the dog's leg bones, her pupils dilated to the sun's radiance. Underneath her human skin, her redemption awakened several trips to the bathroom, and overseas palette cleansing until finally they landed ashore.

Personality: Hardened by her past, she's cautious, but still clings on to hope for others. This hope is hidden, only revealing itself when trust begets honesty. Not afraid to lie to protect the people she cares about, she's willing to look past morality for selfish purposes. Clever to some extent, but motherly towards Greenie, sometimes emotions overtake her responsibility. She rarely seeks out others for her problems, but doesn't mind being sociable in unknown situations.

OTHER

magick category: None.
aether proficiency (1-10): None.
magick knowledge (1-10): None.
non-magick skills: Handyman, Herbalist, Trap maker, Domestics, Hatchet, and Alchemist.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PRELIMINARY

Appearance: dark green complexion, long nose, scattered warts around his nose and cheeks, scarred flesh that peels easily around the stomach and back. Typically wears light brown leather garments or a hefty robe to hide himself. Also has a small pale tan sack.
name: Greenie
age: 11 (Whatever is teenager years for Gazals, or puberty)
gender: Male
race: Gazal
occupation/trade: Mercenary
allegiance/faction: Kardas Company
notoriety/fame (1-10): 1
Height: 3' 4"
Weight: 56 pounds.


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

backstory: "Tribal rain dances, and scattered corpses; the standard goblin ritual. These nasty savages love to burrow within the outskirts of true civilization. That's why it's always nice to call on an exterminator. Pest control, that's my game. Or well, so I thought." A tall human finished his speech, then his mead. Unlike other adventurers, he wore heavily plated armor. This slowed his movements, but provided him with extraordinary defense against the goblins weaponry. He even received a cool nickname for his attire: Fullmetal Night. The latter word utilized, since his armor was rather dark to blend in the night. Despite the irony in stealthy colors, yet loud movements, Fullmetal Night grasped concepts relevant to killing goblins better than most. He was the best of the best, if the best specialized in goblin capture. So when that fateful day came, a quest to capture baby goblins for the elven capital, he amicably set forth.

His partners, two fat dwarven women, followed in chains behind the dashing, shadowy Fullmetal Night. Gags prevented the two women from crying out, as the Fullmetal Night flung them into a ditch near a goblin tribal camp. Peeled dwarven skin in his pack, which he carefully strung into a pile. In his eyes, beauty, the screams of the woman, and a delicate flesh pile. No goblin could resist. Even better, the terrifying screeches masked his plated boots' thumping.

As the beasts filled their bellies, Fallen Night wandered through the camp, picking out a few baby goblin boys. One little rascal bit his finger, so he beat it to death. An eye for an eye, more like an eye for a life. According to this warrior, no goblin was worth saving, but the customer was always right. Sneaking around, he grappled a young goblin, stuffing the brat in his bag.

Thud and bumps, an echo chamber. Shrouded in darkness, blind to the world, the goblin shrieked out. He gave up after several hours. Light awakened his senses, and pointed ears greeted the starved goblin. Hands exchanged, while Fullmetal Night uttered, "Thank you for your business."

Years passed, and he fought to survive. Other goblins and beasts like him, slaves to the elves, an ongoing arena. His only food, the corpses of his enemies. Unfortunately, the nutrition and living conditions deteriorated his health to an extent that required care from a maid. That's when the young goblin boy met Flipy. They were inseparable since then.

Throughout their misadventures, the goblin practiced his magic, but still the process took ages. With time, he could hold his own, provided Flipy remained nearby. The once quiet goblin, slowly drifted to a state of ease.

personality: Intense hatred and fear for elves, only muffled by Flipy's presence. He's a bit hyperactive and playful, due to his growing years. Somewhat aggressive, he can be rash, but typically cowers when confronted by someone who he deems scary.

OTHER

magick category: Liber Null
aether proficiency (1-10): 10.
magick knowledge (1-10): 2.
non-magick skills: Foraging, Slingshot, Singing, and Sneaking.

--------------------------------

Side Characters

Elporis: Once a clerical elf, now a runaway con artist. | Alive
Bandit: A misplaced thief working his way to find something fulfilling. | Alive
Mother and Father: No idea where they are, but they sure do love to travel. | Alive
Noble Family which includes Father, Mother, Son, and Daughter: A haughty superficial bunch that enjoys the finer things in life such as unbridled racism. | Alive
Mister Pastry Chef: An Orc who makes pastries. Most do not know his true identity. | Dead
Rhinebarf: A warrior who wants to make coin to save his daughter. | Dead
Funguy: Works with the boys to purchase potions to settle his foot fungus. Worked part-time for the Kardas Company. | Dead
Chonk: A drunk Kardas Company mercenary, who works odd side jobs. | Alive
Fullmetal Night: A goblin hunter. | Alive

 

[kasigi]

Spoiler: Tekkeisertok

PRELIMINARY





name: Tekkeisertok (Tekkei)

age: 34

gender: Male

race: Urtok - Orc

occupation/trade: (Previously - Warrior) Currently - Mercenary

allegiance/faction: Freelancer

notoriety (1-10): 7






BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY


backstory:​

Tekkei was born into a family who had submitted to the tyrant of the wastes, their minds warped by Cmarsa-ka's influence. He never had a real, loving family, as his parents were occupied with raiding, burning villages, and trying to turn Tekkeisertok into an ideal warrior, his natural attunement with the aether allowing him to use Urtuk Magia, which his parents took advantage of to make him into an even greater warrior. It would seem he would meet the same fate of the Urtuk who had been raised as a savage soldier, nurtured with Cmarsa-ka's ideals and influences in mind. As Tekkeisertok grew older, these influences manifested not into loyalty, but hatred for the cause and what the tyrant stood for. It clashed with his unwavering moral compass that even his parents could not change, it was not who he wanted to be. It didn't take long for Tekkei to push his family completely away, he was on his own, and while other Urtuk most likely felt the same as he did, none of them acted out due to the consequences - they feared death. Even so, with some convincing, Tekkeisertok did manage to find those who admitted to feeling the same way, they were unsure what to do to escape this hell that was forced upon them. For the time he did spend as a warrior, every child and defenseless peasant he was commanded to slaughter without hesitation brought him further to the tipping point, he knew he couldn't take it much longer. How long did it take for one to submit and become desensitized to the mindless savagery?

At some point, Tekkei made his choice. He would no longer be restrained to the tyrant's wishes, he wanted to do anything his power to get away from the madness.

In his mind manifested the idea to rebel, and he grasped it with all his might. It would take preparation and time, but he wanted to succeed, even if what they gained in the end was minimal, he would, at the very least, cause Cmarsa-ka to have a pin in the side. Thus, he talked to those he was close with, those of which he knew the ideals of - which were similar to his own. The plan was to start a chain reaction, to find more who did not want to submit to the tyrant's will through those who already vocalized their discontent. While the many Urtuk he spoke to were reluctant out of fear, he was able to convince them eventually. The plan was to eventually meet with all of those who wished to rebel in a secluded area of the wastes, where the could organize themselves. Tekkeisertok and a few others were the first to show up, setting up a fire, tents, and stocking weapons. They had left their own groups, now away from the tyrant's influence in an uninhabited area. Day after day, week after week, more and more Urtuk showed up to escape the disgusting life that Cmarsa-ka pushed for. As more and more people showed up, they mapped out the area and did a plentiful amount of planning. Showing where camps and holds were located, and where they currently resided - how far they were from the border between the wastes and the outside world.

This went on until, eventually, their numbers were countless. Tekkerisertok and two other orcs, Taqukaq and Maguyuk, considered the leaders of the makeshift army, and eventually their plans came to fruition. In the dead of night, they rallied, it would only be the beginning of their push to the outside.

Over the course of a few years, they closed the distance between themselves, but not without causing trouble Cmarsa-ka. They raided camps and holds, taking the children and allowing those who wished to leave their life of misery to join their ranks. At first, they were a mere pin as they hoped to be, but eventually they caught more and more of Cmarsa-ka's attention - which was more trouble than they realized. They were starting to be hunted themselves. It was at this point that Tekkei decided that it was time that they made the final push towards freedom; they would reach the border between the wastes and the rest of the country. And so, that's what they did, though not easily, Cmarsa-ka's forces and the rebellion's clashing as they moved about. Eventually, though, what they hoped for came to. They had reached the freedom that they had so desired. For where they had landed on the border, they set up a settlement that they planned to be temporary, sending a reconnaissance group to greet those who lived on the other side.

Reality is painful, and it crushed the soul of all who made it. The reconnaissance group had returned, having met the Vial, informing the rest of the rebellion that the non-acceptance of their race meant that what they hoped for - freedom, together in a new world - would never be. Thus, with both the threat of Cmarsa-ka looming, and the aggression towards their race, the hundreds upon hundreds of Urtuk agreed on a solution - they would all split up, and live their own lives outside of the wastes, while also remaining outside civilization. And thus, that is what became of this rebellion.

Tekkeisertok found himself alone. He was tired. He wanted to settle down and relax for awhile, to contemplate what his life has been. He found himself somewhere in Sathra, secluded from all others, where he set up a small hut to live out a few years, hunting and enjoying a peaceful, secluded life. After years of time to himself, his attunement with the aether and proficiency in usage of Urtuk Magia grew even greater through studying the art and practicing. After some time, he had finally come out of hiding, wandering the lands as a mercenary.


personality:
Tekkei is a leader who possesses a warrior's heart. In battle, he retains a calm and rational mindset, though employs tactics and a fighting style that one would definitely expect of an Urtuk . Tekkei is resilient with an unwavering determination to get what he wants - when he has something in mind, he's not going to let up. He has a threatening appearance, though it is probably his most misleading feature, as it guides people to think that he's a hot headed beast. While his outlook on the world for quite a while was that everyone was against him, he was eventually able to come to peace with it. During his time alone, he has managed to form connections with those who weren't Urtuk and grew more comfortable with other races in time, frequently leaving the forest time to time to enter small villages and towns - while remaining wary. Tekkei is completely conscious of his appearance, and while it works as intimidation, he also enjoys messing around with people who fear him due to what he is.






OTHER



magick category: Urtuk Magia

aether proficiency (1-10) 4

magick knowledge (1-10) 3

non-magick skills:
An expert in regards to using his axe and chain - a two handed axe and a 15 foot chain, one end connected to the handle of the axe, the other to his belt. Tekkei is strong and large, even for an Urtuku - he is a proficient tactician and leader.​

 

[Rurnur]

PRELIMINARY





Name - Hafet

Age - 21

Gender - Male

Race - Orii

Occupation - "Assassin"

Allegiance/faction - N/A

Notoriety/fame - 4






BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY



Backstory -

Hafet of the Orii wasn't born to be the righteous guardian that in his heart, he so desperately desired to be. He was a pygmy Orii, barely able to pick up a sword, even when he was fully grown at the young age of 11 years old. It was at that point where he had his first encounter with the dark magic, a band of wicked Goblin Shamans had ascended the mountain and raided the small encampment populated by Pygmy Orii, where Hafet resided. Told to remain hidden, the young Orii watched in horror as the Goblins distorted the flesh of his family members in the most unnatural ways. Unable to stand by like a coward, he charged at them, but found himself tossed to the side like he was nothing. He was powerless to both their physical might, and their magical abilities. Barely escaping with his life, he would spend his days on the mountain with the other Orii, feeling intense shame and guilt over his own weakness and ineptitude.

He replayed that days events over and over in his mind, countless times, trying to imagine how things may have turned out just slightly differently. Until, eventually, he saw a timeline where the pygmy Orii weren't so weak and helpless, he saw them using a brilliant magic to protect themselves from that dark, evil power. Hafet thought to himself, what excuse was there, that there wasn't a single person that day, capable of protecting the weak? He directed that frustration at the elder Orii, asking why were the weak not given a chance to even defend themselves? But he was never taken seriously, and instead, shunned as some sort of heretic, or at worst, a victim of the Goblin's black magic, possibly even a threat to the village. Before their disdain for him could worsen however, he began his descent down the mountain.

Perhaps it was naive of him to think he could make such a journey, from the heights of Enta, all the way to the great city of Apocalypse, where non-men were said to be given the opportunity to practice a magic that could repel, and defeat the evil magic Hafet's people had been plagued by. But it didn't stop him, he never faltered, no matter what hardships the young owl faced. Though make no mistake, Hafet was indeed naive in his young age, very easily falling in line with the teachings of the Monadh, anything in order to become the guardian he should have been. And with that magic of the Monadh, he found great success and fulfillment, finally able to protect himself and others. Reaching deep within himself, he discovered the Aether he never even knew was there, that the other villagers probably hoped he would never discover. And with that, he became able to conjure a power beyond his imagination. He was so enthralled by this magic, that he was mostly able to ignore the violence, the war, and the cruelty that took place amongst the followers of the Apocryphon, at least, for a while.

As a follower of the Apocryphon, Hafet felt isolated and frustrated due to the rejection he faced from his pacifist ideals, bringing him back to those days at the Orii village. Only this time, for a different reason, but he wouldn't regret his journey. He came to believe that maybe he wasn't meant to be part of something bigger, that maybe he could do right all by himself, he was certainly strong enough to hold his own now. And so, he set off once again, leaving the city of Apocalypse to travel across the continent, taking odd jobs that he was suited to with his small stature and agility. Though it wasn't long before he sought out more dangerous work, becoming a sort of "anti-assassin", taking on jobs for bad people and good people indiscriminately, but always attempting to end the conflict in a peaceful manner. But of course, this idealistic view of things wasn't always going to be successful, in the beginning he found himself being chased out of castles on numerous occasions, always refusing to do harm to even the most vile targets of assassination.

After a period of time working as this "assassin", Hafet became quite in-demand, though very few knew his true nature, and none knew his true name. He was even given various nicknames for being an apparently efficient killer, from "Ghostfeather" to "The Silence", none of which he grew particularly attached to, but it did serve as a confidence boost of sorts. Still, this wasn't the kind of existence that Hafet truly desired, he wanted to protect the weak, he wanted to really make a difference, which was admittedly difficult to do by one's self. Therefore, he found himself conflicted, disheartened by his treatment at the hands of organized groups, but wishing to be part of something much grander, or at least, more exciting.


Personality -

Hafet could be described as arrogant, self-righteous and utterly foolish. Or, as he would put it: confident, just, and exhibits astounding bravery in the heat of the moment. He finds it difficult to look inward at his own emotions and behaviors, and instead casts his judgment upon the world and those within it, very much considering himself an observer, rather than an active participant. Perhaps to avoid admitting his own flaws and mistakes, he focuses instead on his achievements, and how others have only denied him his potential. Being too harsh on himself has been detrimental to himself in the past, so as time has gone by, he has made more of an effort to stray away from this behavior, almost too much. But it doesn't mean that the habit has been eliminated entirely. Like most Orii, he is a pacifist of sorts, though other members of his species would disagree. But in the end, he does have a great desire to help people, and not even entirely for his own glory. He is genuinely appalled by violence, especially towards the weak, and especially when magic is involved. Having been rejected by "society" time after time, he has become stubborn and distrusting, but his need for some level of companionship has never truly left him.





OTHER



Magick category - Monadh

Aether proficiency - 8

Magick knowledge - 7


Non-magick skills

- Stealth
- Acrobatics
- Persuasion
- Religion
- Survival

​

 

[Luqueasaur]

Spoiler: Eel, the Mercenary

Name: Eel, the Mercenary

Age: Adult, quite possibly 30s - 40s.

Gender: Male

Race: Ganu

Occupation: Mercenary

Allegiance: Kardas Company

Notoriety: 4

Backstory:

The Ganu's past is kept to himself through his omissive behavior and thanks to the habitual indifference Ashkar has for its children, no matter how uncanny they are. A mercenary's less regarded even, people pay for his blade and his skills and not for the achievements and failures of a faraway past or for a night of ale and storytelling. Still though, a few deviate from the norm, the curious ones - and, when the subject's a fella as eerie as Ganu, gossiping becomes irresistible. They murmur how Eel's not his real name, how Eel's a foreigner to Ashkar, and more urgently, how Eel served - as an officer, an administrator of some sort, rather than an arms bearer - under the Ixio wannabe Söster before arriving at the Company. He has never dismissed nor confirmed any of that, he's well aware that the more mythical his backstory becomes, the less likely truth is unveiled.

Nonetheless, he committed a few slips, particularly, most of his company comrades know well how hellbent Eel is on his pursuit for some artifact, some relic, found somewhere in the Bronze Wastes - where his alleged connection with Ixio comes from -, apparently known only by elders and wise men, and which holds a power so extravagant a rare sight such as Eel seeks fervently. Of course, aside from Eel's interest in an unidentified object, the rest is mere speculation - the babbling buffons argue that obtaining the item was, in fact, Ixio's goal - but you can never know when the conspiracy hits the mark.

Personality:

Time taught Eel the importance of survivalism. Deceitfulness, cowardice, treason, and all other malicious behaviors are valid to avoid demise. But yhis primal, instinctive (lack of) morality of his is an introspective characteristic buried nine feet underground; an individual exhibiting all that is actually more likely to die. In fact, most of Eel is like that - hidden beneath a veil of paranoid secrecy, comfortably tucked under his emotionless mask. Discretion, as life showed him, is the primordial instrument in a survivalist's toolbox.

Unsurprisingly, then, Eel is reserved. Observant. Crouching in the backstage, behind the limelight, watching the plot unfold, saying once or twice incisive and inoffensive lines. Generally not worth of note, aside from his peculiar looks and gallant patience. His wariness is cold, some argue. But others disagree and counter it is actually reassuring, for a lad who speaks no evil speaks no secrets too. Eel likes that interpretation, he's aware the reliables are more well-informed and acquainted than the untrustworthy, and information, he judges, is an asset as important as discretion to safeguard one's integrity. And in his pursuit for it, he approaches one unpretentiously, fakes a friendly face, and spies with his nonchalant presence. This fervent curiosity could be his Achilles' heel, although few were the occasions eavesdropping one too many chats backfired royally, and besides, this Ganu is not a fool.

No; if he was one, with a face and job like his, he would've perished long ago. Yet he's still on the road some thirty years to forty years since his conception, and as far as he's concerned, his voyage is not stopping anytime soon.

Magick Category: N/A
Aether Proficiency (1-10): N/A
Magick Knowledge (1-10):
Non-Magick Skills:

• Acrobatics. Extraordinary capability.
• Dissimulation. Astounding capability.
• Spying (gathering information, eavesdropping, gaining trust, sweet talking). Astounding capability.
• Melee combat. Above average capability.
• Diplomacy (mediation, persuasion, barter). Above average capability.
• Swordsmanship. Above average capability.
• Survivalism (hunting, gathering, scavenging). Average capability.
• Usage of crossbows. Sufficient capability.

Spoiler: Shilah'an Ud-Ifwa

Name: Shilah'an Suridashimhaj Ud-Ifwa

Age: 37

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Occupation: "Guard", "Chief of Arms"

Allegiance: Ud-Ifwa Cult of Otheth

Notoriety: 6

Physiqué: Well built, but not a bodybuilder's type; standing at 185 cm (6'1") and weighing 83 kg (183 lbs), not bulky nor scrawny. Naturally darkened skin, a bit like a moor.

Backstory:

Born among the galloping hordes of the Thehal, Shilah'an was very much alike his people - adventurous, relentless, and warmongering. But his ambitions sprawled far beyond the vastness of arid Theha, he wanted to delve in the landscapes of Ashkar to loot and learn about its landscapes and cities. And thus, in his early adult years, he plunged in Locwencyn along a caravan of battle companions.

While border skirmishes between the peoples of Yiral and Thehal were frequent, it was uncommon for the latter to actually enter Locwencyn, so naturally the authorities were startled that with news that horseback pillagers ravaged the interior of the frontier region of the fief. They intervened fiercely, and the few surviving members of the barbarian host, Shilah'an included, dispersed throughout the Midlands.

Inherited from the traditions of his ferocious people, Shilah'an's battle prowess was his livelihood. He was a requested mercenary for missions that demanded mobility, for instance raids, where his horseback riding was an exotic exhibition of proficiency. And one such case revolutionized his life: his assigment was to hit-and-run the population in the southern Locweciyan village of Ud-Ifwa. Little did he or his companions know, but the decadent town was, in fact, an Othethian cult den. This detail revealed itself when the carnage commenced and the cultists demonstrated inhuman agility and strenght. While the low-ranking members were if anything overglorified cannon fodder, their weapon-wielding ones - and particularly their ornated champion - were a terrific force. The mercenaries realised demise was unavoidable, and those too coward to die surrendered to the cult. Although Shilah'an was part of this bunch, his intentions strayed far from mere survival - he wanted to learn the secret crafts that made them such formidable warriors.

If by one side the cultists' magick were appealing to Shilah'an, his barbaric aura and burning bloodlust made him a tool also too valuable for the cult not to exploit and, once trust among both parties flourished, they taught him the magick. Once adepted to his new powers, Shilah'an challenged the cult's champion for his title. The warrior, in his snobbish arrogance, accepted the Thehal's request of horseback combat, a choice that proved to be fatal mistake. And thus, as the carrier of Othethian Magick and now the Ud-Ifwa's Champion, Shilah'an was given several ornaments, such as the mask he wears up to this day.

Personality:

Adventurous. If there's one thing Shilah'an can never be, is to be sedentary. He knows this world holds far too many landscapes, artifacts and peoples he won't meet should he ever settle.

Relentless. You can beg for your life as much as you want: if Shilah'an wants you dead, you're dead to him.

Warmongering. Offspring of Theha's most violent branch, Shilah'an lusts for blood, violence, and excitement. But his years of experience taught him how to be ponderate; unfortunately, some moments require babbling rather than murdering.

Sadistic. Just don't mistake sadism for malice or psychopathy; there's nothing intrinsically evil in enjoying watching one squirm in incommensurable pain. He's not the type that would behead a baby just to laugh, though. Maybe.

Competitive, arrogant and ambitious. The triad of narcissism, if you will. Shilah'an will never accept to be the second greatest combatant. Shilah'an will never accept to be underestimated. He just knows he's tremendously superior than anyone around him, and he has no qualms to make sure everyone else too realizes that.

Candidness. Don't ask Shilah'an to dissimulate his intentions because he won't. He can, but he won't. Mental games are too much of an abhorrence. Of course, he's not an idiot, he knows truthfulness in certain situations is dangerous; but at moments like that he'll just stay quiet. In the life of a pillager, however, being able to mask your intentions is far from the utmost significant skill.

Abilities:

Magick Category: Otheth
Aether Proficiency: Shilahan has the minimum proficiency, sufficient to use Othethian magick, and possibly any other magick would have far too little potency to be significant. Thus, 1, 2; maybe 3.
Magick Knowledge: Otheth magick is easy, and after so many years of usage, Shilah'n mastered it; he's no Otheth, though. 7.
Non-Magick Skills and Attributes:

• Horseback riding: extraordinary capabilities. Give this man a curved sword or a bow and a horse and watch him burn an army down.
• Curved swords: astounding capabilities. ~25 years of experience, after all.
• Archery: astounding capabilities. While slicing through flesh is far more exciting, it would be dishonorable for Thehal to not be a sharpshooter.
• Hit n' run: astounding capabilities. He knows how to raid quick and efficiently.
• Pain endurance: astounding capabilities. He can fight as long as he is conscious.
• Crossbow: above average capabilities. It's a bit like a bow, except it's not. Shilah'an was accostumated to it rather quickly.
• Straight swords: above average capabilities. While he can certainly defend himself in an one-on-one combat, don't expect him to mow dozens of armed men.
• Unarmed: average capabilities. Shilah'an can fight, but his skills are nothing above the average mercenary.

 

[Cosmo]

Name
Cormac Grotan

Age
34

Gender
Male

Race
Human (Glazură)

Occupation/Trade
Beast Slayer/Mercenary

Allegiance/Faction
Temporarily Contracted to the Kaurdas Compainie

Notoriety/Fame (1-10)
Glazură: 10 Notoriety

BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY
Personality
Abrasive || Barbaric || Proud || Dedicated || Melancholic

Cormac is an extremely abrasive man. He comes from a harsh land filled with harsh people, he is not one to mince words and never has been. He tells the truth, he speaks bluntly and he rarely thinks about the impact of truth. Truth should be spoken, least words lose their value. His humor tends to be grim and rarely complimentary, so he tends to rub everyone he meets wrongly and this suits him just fine. Cormac is not in these lands for companionship, his journey, at its core, is a solitary one. Others may join on the trail, visitors in his destiny, but a Slayer dies alone as all men must do. His barbaric nature does not help in the opinion others hold on him. Cormac has no time or patience for fake smiles and pompous courtly nonsense. He holds to the culture of his tribe and people, as far as he is concerned, every other is inferior to his own cruder, yet honest, ways. Befitting his nature as being something of a berserker among his people, Cormac is known to fits of barbaric rage especially if upset or slighted. It is hard for him to calm himself down and he usually does so with the pain of his tattoos activated by running the pad of his thumb over the edge of one of his axes, the pain pushing through the haze of red to return sanity... most of the time.

As such, one should be careful with the insults they throw at Cormac or say within earshot. While the northern man is not shy with his own insults or mockery of the cultures and ways around him, he does not take well to such slights himself, his pride will not allow it. Hypocritical but a man is who a man is. He will never ask for help or assistance as long as he has any strength in his body, he is simply too proud for that. Cormac will trade, he will offer service for service, but never will he take charity. Death is preferable to pity and he will have none of it. His pride does not accept failure and as long as there is strength in his bones, he will force his broken body to move because he is not one to quit. It is suiting then, that he now walks the path of the slayer as most do not have the dedication to see it through. But that is how Cormac has always been, even as a boy. His word is his bond and he will never betray his word. He is not a man that believes in the letter of an arrangement but of the spirit. A man who tries to find loopholes in agreements or tweak their oaths to suit them are dishonorable scum and deserve the eternal abyss. Despite intentions, this dedication and honor has led him to lead a semi-successful mercenary career since leaving his homeland. He does not enjoy mercenary work, it is dirty and without honor, blood for coin instead of blood for tribe is wrong, alas, a Slayer cannot meet his end through starvation, such a death cement his fate. He does not make many attachments in these groups thanks to his general abrasiveness and he doesn't tend to stay long, but more then that, even late when he is deep in his cups, he isn't the greatest of company. Cormac prefers his solitude and the general sense of melancholy is enough to drive most errant annoyances away. He keeps the pain, depression and sorrow buried deep behind his pride, his rage and his purpose, but it is always there, behind his eyes and at the end of his words, and is more prominent when drinking, one of the few luxuries he allows himself anymore.

Backstory

'I saw the stairs that led up, up to the Realm of the Gods. I walked and walked, but when I reached the top, the gate was barred. The land outside stretched as far as my eyes could see, desolate and barren. There I saw them. Stretching out, hundreds of men, women and children. My family line stretching back to the days when Moktor first walked the lands and spread life among the frost... They were wailing. The gates were barred for them as well, those that had been in, dining with the gods, were forced out because I am Kinslayer. There they will remain until I find a monster great enough to slay one that was once man... I will never see them again. I will never join them in the halls of the gods. I will burn in the abyss regardless of my actions, but my family will not sit outside the gates until the End, on this I swear, I will walk the path of the Slayer until I find a beast great enough to purge my sins or until I can walk no more.'



The lands of Glazură are desolate and barren. It is a frozen tundra that stretches across the north, it is a land so harsh some use it as punishment, banishing their traitors and criminals to its waste. But some call it home. The people of it are as hard as the land, but have a unity and sense of purpose unrivaled in the world because they must have it. Each member of a tribe must trust the other, they must be focused and coordinated to fend of the monsters of the north and scrape by. It is this land that Cormac was born into, he was not the son of a chieftain nor the shaman, he was just the son of a warrior as most were for their land is a land of warriors. There is nearly no land for farming, so sustenance comes from hunting and the occasional ice fishing, what they cannot get for themselves in their land is gained by raiding the south lands, a dangerous but necessary task. Cormac was taught how to skin a Bolvar as soon as he could walk. Was taught how to throw a spear and hunt down creatures while other children were learning how to read. It is not a mark of pride or success, it is merely a fact of life. One does not survive the waste without the basic skills to do so as the frost spares no one, especially not children.

As Cormac got older, he got to see the other side of tribal life, tribal warfare. There is little in the way of supplies in the north, what little there is is fought for and jealously guarded. While the tribes are unified in purpose, they are not unified together. Each man or woman is a member of their tribe, first and foremost. Their tribe is their home. Their family. While intermarriages do happen, the second one is accepted into a tribe, that tribe becomes family. People cannot survive if they do anything less. So raids and small wars against one another is very common, common enough that every member of a tribe is a warrior. They may have other tasks, such as a smith or a tanner, but all are warriors. Cormac wasn't just any warrior, he was a berserker. One blessed by the gods. A berserker is not just an angry warrior, it is not a warrior that is given enhancements or drugs to fuel their rage, it is something a northerner is born with. A frenzy, a red thirst, a glorious sense of purpose that happens to drown the world in blood. Once a warrior descends into the madness, their vision turns red, pain no longer slows them, they are stronger, tougher, their senses are sharper... It is addicting. The feeling of power and bloodlust, all one's focus directed to a single goal as every nerve in their body fires off in tempo to meet this goal... and Cormac shared this addiction. He didn't get along with everyone, the tribal shaman, an ice wizard by the name of Drokar was always his rival. What Cormac would do with might, Drokar would replicate with magic. A rivalry that had nearly come to blows many times as they both fought for prestige, but that was simply a part of life, it hardly compared to his love of violence and rage.. There was nothing he loved more then that rush until he spent time with her.

Ulrika, she was an oddity in the tribe. She was horrid at everything she put herself to, she was a poor warrior, she couldn't sew or smith, she was physically weak and a bit on the dull side. She was far from beautiful and had little to allure suitors. Cormac never paid her much mind, she was on the outskirts of his vision, no more interesting then a tree or a weed that has managed to sprout through the frost. It was the little things that gained his attention, how she'd give what little food she had to children, the way she'd stop to help people even if she ended up making a mess of it and bumbling through it. It didn't matter how poorly they treated her, how often angry men and women would cuff her on the ear when she slipped or dropped something, she'd get up with that same goofy smile. She was an oddity, something that should not have survived, she was too happy, too kind, too... something. It wasn't until she was the only one brave enough to try and apply salves to his skin while in the ebbing flow of a frenzy did he understand what she was. She wasn't a weed, she was a flower. Soft, delicate, weak... but beautiful in her own way. Somehow, she was a flower that bloomed among the frost, a single ray of light in a dark world. So easily snuffed out, so easily crushed... but a light that should be cherished all the same. It took time to court her, longer then Cormac had expected, but she simply didn't understand what he was trying to do, and when she did, she didn't trust his intentions. He learned later that she had experience with men of the tribe pretending to court her only to leave her in the wayside as a jest. A game they played with one another, and after a few times, she simply stopped getting her hopes up and believing it would happen. When she finally gave him her heart and trust, his life changed. Survival was hard, but now he had someone to come back to. The Frenzy was good, it was addicting, but it was short lived while Ulrika would always be there. She was his snow lily, his flower, and he protected her. Anyone that cuffed her, got cuffed by him and it didn't take long for him to establish a simple rule, they didn't touch her. They didn't mock her, and if they did, they were damned sure neither he nor she was around.

It didn't take long for Ulrika to get pregnant with their son, Regnier. Regnier was special. He was a big lad, like his father, but he had his mother's smile. As soon as he could walk he was exploring, always wandering. With his boy, his lily and another child on the way, Cormac was happy. Not content. Not surviving. Happy. But the Gods have other plans for the lives of mortals. He awoke one night, alone in his bed, his house empty with a strange chill in the air. Screams and the crackling of fire filled the night air. He leapt to his feet, axe in hand and then it entered. Daemons. Their skin a hellish red, large wings protruding from its back, at its side, a small impish creature, giggling at the mayhem they were no doubt causing. He charged them, the red haze starting to descend, but he heard something. Something achingly familiar, a soft voice tinted with fear. Part of him bid him to halt, to stop his swing, spoke of a lily.. but he ignored it. The rush was here, the addicting adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins... oh, he could of denied it, but he didn't want to. So he cut. And he cut. And he cut.. until there was nothing left... Nothing but blood and as the haze fell, he saw them. Mutilated, their eyes still open with the horrified question seared into their minds as they fell.. why. Cormac howled into the night as he held their broken bodies to his chest, as the tears tried to carve an iron stained trail down his cheeks only to freeze in the bitter cold, the chill that was receding.

The tribe held a meeting as Cormac kneeled at the center, hands bound... Drokar howled for his blood as Kinslayer... But others were not so sure. But it was something Drokar said that caught his attention, he spoke of Cormac having fought as if he'd seen daemons. Daemons... The chill that crept into his home before and left once the vision faded... Rage burned in his gut once more and before Drokar could utter a spell or call forth the ice as he had done before that night, Cormac tore out his throat with his teeth. The shocked surprise on Drokar's face... wasn't enough. His death was quick, a product of rage and necessity from his binds. They forced him down once again, Chief Ronan, was furious. To lose a runt and a simpleton was a bitter pill to swallow, but one that could be swallowed for the sake of their greatest warrior, kinslayer or not, but to kill their mage and shaman as well? Cormac did not hear the rant. Runt and Simpleton. That was all his family was to them. To his people. That was his boy and his lily. They were everything and while Drokar may have cast the spell, it was Cormac who swung the axe. In that moment of clarity, the voice he had heard.. had been Ulrika's, and yet he still swung the axe. They were more then a runt and a simpleton... The rage built up again, rage at the gods, at his tribe, at Drokar, and most of all, himself. The binds broke under his fury and his hand found his axe, the one still covered in the blood of his family.. and once again, he began to cut.. and cut.. until there was nothing left.

For weeks, Cormac walked the waste, covered in dried blood, the damned axe clenched in his fist until he found it... the Temple of Grond, the god of wrath, ruin and vengeance. The god of the slayer. He dragged himself up the stone steps, each one harder then the last, until he found them. The cursed Ice Mages that served as wardens of the temple and the forgers of Slayers. His crimes were recorded in the Great Book, his tattoos applied, infused with ice magic. The tattoos would chill his fear when in combat, dulling it to ensure he had no silly thoughts of survival and would fight to win... or he would die. They would purge thoughts of suicide from his mind and keep his broken and battered body moving with pain.... And the tattoo that reached his face would show the world what he was: Kinslayer. Now, he would be a Slayer. His family.. all of his ancestors, were now locked and barred from the Realms of the Gods and they would be for all eternity unless he found glorious death at the hands of the mightiest beast he could find. To lose on purpose, to not fight to win, would bring more shame and damn them eternally... Thus, the tattoos were needed to ensure proper penance... penance and redemption for his family in the Eyes of the Gods, cleansed of his sin... but not Cormac. A Slayer will never find forgiveness, never find atonement. A slayer will burn the abyss once their duty is done, but their family... Their family will not and that is more then kind for one such as them. Before he left, Cormac did as all Slayers and carved his name into a stone on the wall, the last remembrance for the damned.

For over ten years, Cormac has wandered the world... slaying beast and monsters in single combat. Fighting alongside mercenaries and hired blades for coin for food and drink... Yet, still he endures. Still Cormac lives. Every victory brings not satisfaction but pain and depression, every victory a continuation of his family's suffering and his own shame. Someday... Someday he will find the beast the gods have deemed strong enough to erase his sin... Someday.

OTHER
Magick Category
N/A

Aether Proficiency
N/A

Magick Knowledge
N/A

Equipment
Banded Armor, a mismatch of metal plates, leather, cloth padding and bits n' pieces of monster bone, fur and scale.
Two Bearded Axes, one of which is chained to his right wrist.
A spear that has a thick corded rope connected to the end, the body of the rope is coiled at his waist and latched onto his belt.
A hunting knife sheathed at his belt.

Non-Magick Skills
Tracking, Hunting, Animal Butchery, Hide Tanning, Combat,
Scavenging, Fishing/Spear Fishing, Basic Herbalism​

 

[Jabu]

Name: Ien Ralos
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Occupation/Trade: Armourer/Traveler
Alligence/Faction: No allegence currently.
Notority/Fame: 5

BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

Backstory: Ien was raised by his father with the heat of the forge on his skin for as long as he could remember. From a young age, he took an interest in his father’s work as the town blacksmith. The name Ralos had been well known at the time and his father had no shortage of customers to buy his wares. Ien would always stand watch as his father worked on an array of impressive weapons from spears, short swords, daggers, and many others. As soon as Ien was old enough to walk, he was exposed to the world of forging weapons and would since be obsessed.

As he grew older he would take an interest in wielding the weapons he was learning to make and would learn from those in town. While he learned sword skills and how to thrust a dagger, spearmanship would prove to be where his heart lies. While perfecting his blacksmith skills, he was also mastering spearmanship. While he was learning about how to handle different weapons, falconry was brought to his attention. Seeing as he was younger and wanted to absorb everything, he would try his hand at falconry as well.

Falconry was a challenge. While a spear or a sword was an extension of one’s arm, a bird was a partner. A sentient being to work together with to accomplish a common goal. Whether it was hunting rabbits or trying to survive a battle, they would need to be in sync. It took Ien lots of time to finally understand that and when he did, he was able to form a bond with a bird of his own and would actually raise it himself.

Tragedy would strike on Ien’s 18th birthday. What had originally been thought to be a common cold, turned out to be much worse and took the life of his father. Having taught his son what he could, Ien’s father would entrust to Rolas reputation as armourers to his son. Once Ien was ready, the son would set off to do just that. With years of experience now to back him up, he would leave the small town behind and aim to make the best weapons he possibly could forge.

Ien would stun others with his forging skills in the years to come. The name of the young Ralos man that traveled with a bird would gradually spread. If he was allowed to barrow a forge, as he carried his own tools, the young man would create beautiful weapons of the material he would find on his travels.

Personality: Ien is very confident, while others find him to be a bit cocky. Despite that, he knows his place and where his strengths and weaknesses lie. He’s one to be quite humorous and looking to find the bright side in everything he can. He likes being independent, but has never been hesitant to seek out advice of those with more years than him. Laid back and young, he knows he has much to learn and greets the world and others with open arms, but he has learned to be quite discerning over the years.

OTHER

Magick Category: N/A
aether proficiency: N/A
magick knowledge: N/A

Non-magick Skills:
-Melee Combat: best with spear, but he can wield other weapons as well. Ranged combat is not his thing.
-Travel: high endurance and good at navigation.
-Forging: high skill and gradually becoming more popular for his work.
-Falconry: Ien has a close bond with a female eagle of 5 years old. Her name is Mayra. She likes to perch on his shoulders, therefore Ien has to wear shoulder pads. To better communicate with her Ien uses a whistle.
-Hunting: his own skills are mediocre, but with the help of Mayra his success in hunts is increased.

 

[jigglesworth]

PRELIMINARY



Argus Rickenbach

Age: 39

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Occupation/Trade: Former Surgeon and Natural Philosopher

Allegiance/Faction: Kardas Company

Notoriety/Fame: 5


BACKSTORY & PERSONALITY

Backstory: You must be wondering how I got to this point, yes? Well, it is quite the story, I'll tell you that. I was born in a very big city, Volgroheim. Good place, good people, I miss it sometimes. Anyway, it was there I grew up, got a good education, and earned my license for medicine. I worked as a surgeon and general practitioner for about a decade, noting all of my findings in my patients. They came from many different cities and villages near Volgroheim, so I had lots to see! I wish I still had all my notes, I planned to publish them in a book! The title is still in progress, but... As I was saying, I got a little... bored, of what was coming my way. Due to some religion or other, people never donated their bodies to science! I only had cadavers that had died on my operating table to work with, and that was rare. I am very good. So, instead, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Something I'm sure you are familiar with. Yes, I mean murder.

It was premeditated and always careful. I would find my victim, usually at night, of course, learn their patterns. When the time was right, when they were alone, I'd take them! Well, usually I'd kill them first, makes it easier to get them to my table. A well-placed knife in the back would suck the air from their lungs, piewalk from there. Things got a little harder when I wanted the body intact, but I don't want to get too graphic. The authorities were too stupid to catch me, I was smarter than them. I could take everyone I grabbed back to my lab and dissect them. It was perfect, for a while. As in, a few weeks.

Though I was able to research some very interesting much about the human body, as Volgroheim was primarily human, my uh... murder spree, came to an end. It turns out the guards of the city are not complete idiots, and I was not perfect in my execution. I had left a trail of blood with my last victim, leading all the way to my practice. Rookie mistake, and I made it! I had barely gotten to cut open that elf before the guards busted into the operating room, catching me in the act. They took me away, locked me in their jails as they prepared my execution. My head was to be lawfully separated from my body just the next morning. I had to escape, for science!

That's when I wish I had spark of genius. But I did not. I couldn't escape, and morning came. They dragged me out of my cell, hands bound in front of me. My feet scraped against the asphalt as they pulled me by my collar. At least I would die knowing I had helped science. They were sure to have found my notes and know it's use, yes? WRONG. They found it, yes, but decided to burn them before my very eyes! Just as I was about to be executed! Insult to injury, indeed. I had to think of something, fast. So I ran. I suppose the guards did not expect me to make such a bold and idiotic move, because I was able to slip from their grasp. Now I just needed to get past the very large crowd and to the other side of the large city, while dodging angry people and guards out for my head. Easy, yes?

Well, almost. Most of the city was here for my execution. As I said, this went on for a few weeks, I killed quite a few people. Getting passed them was easy as well, they could barely move, it was so crowded. Those at the back almost grabbed me, but I am a nimble man. Now, the gate was quite far away, but I was faster than the armored guards. Dodging guards left and right, with a big stroke of luck, I managed to get to the gate. The idiots had it open for an incoming caravan! Guess they thought I could never get far. I got passed the gate before they could close it on me, I was free! Not from danger, though, as arrows flew around me. The closing of the gate halted the foot soldiers from chasing after me at first. An arrow or two nearly struck me, but I escaped fine. Tired, but fine.

From there, I simply ran. The city was sure to tell folks around about me, so I couldn't stay in one place for very long. After managing to get myself unbound, I sought temporary shelter in a string of villages. It was in those villages where I did what I had never done before: I minded my own business. Yes, yes, how could I stoop so low? Well, prison changes a man, friend, prison changes a man. Volgroheim was only a week from a harbor, I figured I might be able to secure passage there, so I decided it was best to simply leave these lands for greener pastures. I made my way up to the harbor, but along that coast I found something else. I found the Kardas Company.

You were fleeing Aranvar, I was fleeing Aranvar, it was perfect! It was simply a matter of taking care of the sick and wounded to earn passage with the Company. The man in charge must not have known of this past, or did not care. Either way, he let me take care of you people in exchange for joining this little company. I'm not much of a fighter, but I saw a neat little sword without a user outside, I can learn! Maybe... Still, I am a better medic than anyone here will probably ever be, so that is comforting, hopefully for everyone. Anyways, that's how I got here. How'd you end up in this mess?
"Doc."
Yes?
"Does that mean I'll be fine?"
Ehhh, of course! Yes, yes, of course. You're success will be cataloged in my new notes, and you'll have the front page of "The Medicinal Findings and Other Scientific Knowledge Acquired by Argus Rickenbach Through Time With the Kardas Company"! Title is a work in progress.

Personality:
Argus has always had the comfort of being the smartest person in the room, or even city. He soared above the others in terms of education, seeking out new things and new ways to learn. In some ways this is still true, as he continues to find... new ways to learn. Argus has a stern logic about him, his decisions come from thought and consideration. That being said, he is mostly a lighthearted guy. There isn't much that gets him too far down, and he certainly enjoys a good joke or quip. Will likely crack one himself, if the opportunity arises. Rickenbach is annoyed with the morality that the world has, for the advancement of science is of the utmost importance, and in his case medicine. In his mind, if those people had simply donated their corpses to science instead of having some "proper burial" or whatever, no one would have had to be killed! It is no matter for him now, however, as he found the perfect amoral bunch to give him all the corpses he needs. Hopefully they enjoy this lighthearted, slightly murderous, maybe a little egotistical, kinda unstable, skilled surgeon who has sworn fidelity to the company.

OTHER

Magick Category: None
Aether Proficiency: 1
Magick Knowledge: 1
Non-Magick Skills: Large Surgical, Medicinal, and Scientific Knowledge. Learning how to use a Rapier.​

 

[beigedecore]

Introducing Serberine Tveit...

Another friendly, not-at-all-dangerous adventurer to join the party.

If I may... Constant vigilance is advised. You're not the only one listening. Serberine Tveit

I don't want to tell you what to do. But if you want my advice, I'll give it to you. Serberine Tveit

The only person you can truly rely on and make promises to is yourself. Because you can control yourself. You cannot truly control others. Serberine Tveit

• Preliminary
• Backstory and Personality
• Other

• 
  Name
  Serberine Tveit
  
  Age
  19
  
  Gender
  Female
  
  Race
  Half Human and half Fell Elf
  
  Occupation
  Contract spy and info gatherer, detective.
  
  Trade
  Information broker
  
  Allegiance
  A person of surprisingly good morals, Serberine is loyal foremost to herself. She learned that one can only truly rely on themselves, as the nicest person can have the darkest secrets.
  
  Knowing how it is to endure hell day after day, she admires anyone who stands and fights for their ideals. She will ally herself with anyone who believes and fights for their ideals, which sometimes gets her in allegiance with bad guys. It takes her a while to realise her folly, sometimes, but she tends to know faster when a person is loud and outspoken, rather than cunning and sneaky.
  
  Her oldest allegiance, even before her over-reliance on herself, is to the Artspoke Thieves Gang. It is a gang led by a crotchety old lady, whose looks are deceiving. She would happily die for them, and run to them if they ever needed help.
  
  Notoriety
  5/10
  
• 
  Backstory
  Serberine’s life started out on a warm, sunny spring day. She had a happy family, looking forward to her arrival, and a couple of precious and protective older siblings… just joking. Serberine’s life was given to her the day she was born to her broken human mother, but it very quickly almost ended after she was abandoned in the middle of the night on the street. Her mother, whom she never really knew, was the victim of an attack on an elven camp by humans. Her biological father killed her mother’s husband and raped her.
  
  Serberine’s mother did not, however, have the heart to accept the offer of the mage in her company: to get rid of the growing cursed child. Instead, she waited out the pregnancy, gave birth… and left the rest up to fate. Serberline did not come to look on this as ‘fate’, though. She called it ‘abandonment’.
  
  Of course, it must have been fate after all, because she was found by a particularly strange and kind old lady, who just happened to run a cutthroat thief’s gang. There, she had her first vision at the tender age of seven. This scarred her deeply, causing intense paranoia. She continued having uncontrollable, horrific vision of blackened spirits, glorified people and blood stains everywhere until she was eleven. She, like her mother, was attacked by a human man, though, unlike her mother, she managed to stab him to death. This trigger a vision that lay within her very spirit, as it was the cause of her making. She saw her mother’s tragedy and her actions.
  
  After this, she became a shyer person, easier to scare and more paranoid than ever. She eventually left the gang when she was thirteen and left the city for a long time, surviving out in nature by herself to get away from the visions.
  
  But running away did not ease her problems. Instead, she found herself encountering tortured spirits, witnessing the bloodstains left from battles centuries gone, seeing barren fields where there were green meadows. Finally, she could not take it; the isolation, the horror, the tragedy, and made her way back to her city, hoping it would be better.
  
  The first time she was in the city once again, no one knew her. She was the strange sixteen-year-old in the slums who knew things about people that people didn’t want anyone to know, but she was also the paranoid sixteen-year-old who no one had succeeded in killing off in the first week. So, she hung on, and soon enough, people began to fear her. No one knew her past, and despite her unassuming, fearful expression, she knew things. It was her best defence.
  
  A few months into her arrival at her birth city, a small gang contacted her. They wanted information. How do we kill this man? How is he vulnerable? What can we do to make it easier? Can you get the floor layout? And soon, she figured something else out. That she could walk in this other version of the world without moving in the one everyone else sees. And so began her information gathering career; spying, snooping, scouting. She was doing it.
  
  And that was how she became more widely feared among those with the connections. To everyone else, she was just the creepy weird girl, but to those in the business… she was unsettlingly good at her job. And yet, she was still paranoid and quiet, something that was somehow intimidating to those who knew. That is her life to this day.
  
  
  Personality
  Serberine has been through quite a bit, though she is overcoming her fear with time and constant exposure. She is quiet and paranoid, a result of having no sentient contact for three years and seeing horrible things almost constantly. She stays paranoid, as people are naturally out to get her because of her tendency to know things she shouldn’t.
  
  Underneath, her personality is undeveloped. She is basically a child, not knowing who to trust, but trusting those who show her kindness like any child. She only wishes for a family, which she was deprived of because of her narrow-minded mother, and someone to care for, a child of her own, to make up for everything she had to go through.
  
• 
  Magick category
  Psukhein (Medio Sankhein, perception)
  
  Aether proficiency
  6/10
  
  Magick knowledge
  2/10
  
  Non-magic skills
  Serberine has become very capable of defending herself over the years, but specialises in only knives. She wouldn't know what to do if someone handed her a sword, spear or any other kind of weapon. She doesn't see the need to learn weapons that are so visible. Just like anyone else in the slums, she knows how to sense hostility, always the prey wary of potential predators.
  
  Knowing she doesn't have the physical advantage, she makes sure to keep her trump hidden and rely on her words to solve her problems. She keeps her dagger mastery secret and wears clothes that don't fit her form to hide the lean muscles she has. It also makes people underestimate her.
  
  Because of her tendency to avoid open hostility and her run with the Artspoke Thieves Gang, she is very much a flight over fight sort of person. That means she's a fast runner and good at dashing over the rooftops to escape tails and pursuers.