Fantasy Ballad of Renegades - CS Page

[Goonfire]

BALLAD OF RENEGADES
{CHARACTER SHEETS}

Genres: Adventure, Medieval Fantasy, Drama °°° Status: ROLEPLAY IN PROGRESS °°° Semi-lit to Novella​

• Rules
• Roles
• CS Template

• THE RULES
  
  • You will need to explain and elaborate on your character's culture/race/homeland in OOC so it can be added to the official lore page later.
  • No deities or realm hoppers unless you get active players' and 2/3 GM approval.
  • Maximum of TWO main characters per player.
  • Keep all submissions within RPN guidelines!
  • Don't make your characters OP. They need weaknesses and strengths equally.
  • If you're using face claims: no realistic photographs. Illustrations only!
  • You may add to the template, but do not remove anything except optional fields and my parentheticals!
  • UPDATE 4/16 9PM EST: We have banned the use of AI-generated lore and canon characters. It is not what our players and GMs want for this roleplay.
• THE ROLES
  
  THE CRIMINALS:
  
  • Guilty Ones - Self-explanatory; most likely evil or incredibly good. These criminals are guilty of their crime(s) and are running from the law. Oftentimes, these criminals have hired professionals after them that may or may not be a problem down the line for our merry band. Depending on who/what they are and the severity of their acts, they may be wanted in other territories. Be careful...
  • Innocents- Likely any alignment. These criminals haven't actually committed their supposed crimes and were possibly framed. Oftentimes, these creatures have hired professionals after them, as well. Depending on the severity and who/what they are, they may also be wanted and persecuted in other territories. Good luck...
  
  THE BANISHED:
  
  • Due to Crime - Likely evil or good, depending on whether or not they are trying to repent. These characters were tried for their alleged crime, and their punishment was exile. No one is after them, but depending on their reputation, they may be unwelcome in certain places. Be wary of where you go...
  • Due to Difference - Likely any alignment. These characters were banished due to a significant physical or mental difference within their community. No one is after them, but if they encounter others of their kind they may be persecuted/unwelcome as soon as their difference is made obvious. Hide...
  
  THE MISSING:
  
  • The Fools - Incredibly good or incredibly evil. These characters ran away from home in pursuit of the "impenetrable" magical Cradle in hopes of getting a wish granted. People close to them may be looking for them or even hired someone to find them. Be careful who you trust...
  • The Fugitives - Likely neutral. These characters are cowards too afraid to face something back home and have decided running from their problems and responsibilities will solve them. Their communities might be looking for them on their own or with the help of possibly dangerous hired hands. You can't run forever...
• CHARACTER SHEET TEMPLATE:
  
  Role: (Criminal/Banished/Fugitive)
  Race:
  Name: (And nicknames, if they have any)
  Age: (In human years + Species-specific equivalent, if any.)
  Pronouns:
  Gender:
  Sexuality:
  Alignment: (Evil/Neutral/Good)
  Personality/Backstory:
  
  Likes:
  Dislikes:
  Talents/Hobbies: (What did they do in their spare time that they were good or not so good at?)
  Abilities: (Racial abilities, such as innate magic, night vision, extreme agility...)
  Skills:
  Weaknesses: (Examples: cowardly, can't swim, horrible at stealth)
  Fears: (At least 2)
  Possessions: (Were they equiped to escape or did they leave with practically nothing? What did they bring?)
  
  Appearance:
  (These fields are optional! You may post an image instead, or describe the character in detail in a format you see fit.)
  Body type: (Bipedal or Quadrupedal, humanoid, etc.)
  Hair: (Including hairstyles they go for, if any)
  Eyes:
  Skin: (Color, texture, features like scales or feathers, etc.)
  Body Modifications: (ex: Tattoos, piercings, aesthetic/ceremonial scarifications etc.)
  Features: (that you wouldn't regularly see on a human. Ex: horns, shark teeth, fins, wings.)
  Clothing: (What are they wearing? Pictures, links, or written descriptions are fine.)

 

[Goonfire]

SHERAGA THE LEPER

• Present
• Past

• 
  
• 
  

​

Name: Sheraga the Leper
Role: Banished
Race: Human
Age: 35
Pronouns: He/him
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bi
Alignment: Neutral Good

Personality/Backstory:
Nestled in many regions of Kirlia are religious communities whose tenets of faith revolve around "purity"—that is, cleanliness and physical health. Worshipping Nur, the cleansing flame, they believe fire is the means by which all corruption and filth can be remedied. Their practices revolving around fire—such as boiling and cremation—kept their populations mostly intact; plagues throughout history barely affected them.

Long ago, a deep and unnatural darkness and an evil miasma overtook the Nurite holy city of Ermingild. The immaculate pilgrimage site slowly became a hell as monsters, disease, and curses started to ravage the population. Those who were not afflicted sought refuge elsewhere, leaving the city to be claimed by the encroaching darkness.

Recent rapid growth in their followers' numbers emboldened the Nurite clergy. With the blessing of authorities in present-day Braethia, leaders of the faith sent word to each temple to gather volunteers for a mighty crusade. One such volunteer was Sheraga, a young guard lieutenant renowned for his tenacity, size, and strength. Over the course of the four-year campaign, the army pushed deeper into Darkmire. The swamps became the grave of many crusaders as their risen comrades and incomprehensible horrors decimated their ranks. However, the worst was yet to come.

Victory was woefully out of reach. The few remaining crusaders may have raised the banner of Nur atop the ruined cathedral, but their city was uninhabitable. Still more warriors succumbed to disease and that which stalked the murk. They were forced to retreat; only ten percent of the army escaped with their lives.

Three months later, Captain Sheraga began to exhibit strange rashes and lesions. Out of everyone, he was the first to show signs of leprosy. It was not enough that the clerics drag him away from his betrothed; he also came under scrutiny from the Inquisition. To them, leprosy and skin conditions were the mark of evil, outward signs of an unclean soul. Had their roaring paragon succumbed to the darkness?

More months passed. Frustrated that none of Sheraga's men, friends, and associates confirmed her suspicions, the Inquisitor petitioned her preceptors for an unusual solution for a complex problem. He and the fourteen other new lepers were spared the burning stake and granted safe exit. In exchange, these fifteen condemned souls were to undertake a pilgrimage to the Cradle of Life, in hopes they would bring back some means of cleansing Darkmire of its seemingly necromantic curse. They were to split up and travel the world, each pilgrim bearing a scroll with their orders and an enchanted mace. Their red and white surcoats were replaced with intense yellows—a warning to all passersby: "We are the unclean. Approach at your own risk."

While this fool's journey has bolstered the faith of some, others found theirs waning. Sheraga is among the latter; he doesn't care about any doctrine or superstition anymore. He simply wishes for a cure for himself and the other pilgrims, some of whom blame him for their infections and have sworn vengeance.

Talents/Hobbies:

• Lute playing - Though not a master, Sheraga could play at a basic level. He enjoyed lifting his men's morale and making his lover blush with some cheeky tune.
• Cleaning - Nurites typically developed a knack for thorough cleaning. He is no exception, washing and wiping every little nook.
• Dueling - It was common for him to practice with a sword by sparring with a partner. He came to enjoy burning some energy in a fun duel with training swords.

Abilities:

• Strength - Sheraga demonstrates incredible brute strength in combat, capable of savaging and flinging lesser men.
• Pain tolerance - His leprosy has caused much nerve damage. It is a mixed blessing that he has a hard time feeling physical pain.
• Endurance - He possesses impressive physical and mental endurance, the likes of which let him fight an entire war.

Skills:

• Weapon training - Sheraga is skilled in most forms of armed combat. At one point, he was an excellent swordsman, but now he relies primarily on his mace in a fight.
• Peacekeeping - He is trained in various tactics to dissuade potential attackers, from intimidation to mediation.
• Leadership - He can hold together a squad of men and guide them in exploration and battle.

Weaknesses:

• Nonmagical - Sheraga has no magical talent. Unless the magic is infused in a more accessible way, such as in his mace, he can't use it.
• Clumsy - He has lost much manual dexterity as a result of his disease. His edge alignment with slashing weapons is often poor, and he can no longer play an instrument or wield a bow or crossbow.
• Conspicuous - A 6'5 man in yellow-accented plate armor... It doesn't get much easier to notice that.

Likes: Music, fire, cleanliness, meat, mead, duels
Dislikes: Silence, demons, filth, bright yellow, wine, insects
Fears: Dying of disease, incarceration, rats

Possessions:

• Armor of the Afflicted - Extremely tough plate armor. Its heavy weight means only the strongest humans could wear it for prolonged periods. Several bright yellow elements and a dark iron halo affixed to the helmet indicate the wearer suffers from a chronic disease.
• Mace of the Pilgrim - A black mace with a flanged head. It is one of the weapons carried by the leper-pilgrims, imbued with a sacred flame enchantment.
• Holy Water - Fiends and undead splashed with this enchanted water are scalded, as if by acid.
• Survival needs - A torch, a bedroll, a thick cloak with a yellow stripe, and ample rations.
• Mask - When his face isn't hidden by his helmet, he dons this mask to conceal his blemishes and his slowly withering nose.
• Rags - Is it really a surprise that a person whose faith preached cleanliness keeps multiple cleaning rags on his person?
• Silver ring - One plain, inexpensive engagement ring. It hangs on a chain around his neck. An inscription on the inside reads, "Sheraga × Rasmus forever".
• Scroll of orders - This parchment has seen better days, but the ink still holds, detailing the leper-pilgrims' most sacred mission.

 

[Daylight Fantasy]

Ying Ming-Xia

• Overview
• Tales of the Past
• Clothing
• Trivia

• 
  Role: Missing Fugitive
  Race: Phoenix Descent
  Name: Ying Ming-Xia
  颖(yǐng) meaning "tip of the ear of grain"
  铭 (míng) meaning "inscribe, engrave"
  霞 (xiá) meaning "rosy clouds"
  Age: 31(In Phoenix years), 25(In Human years)
  Pronouns: any but commonly uses he/him
  Gender: Male
  Sexuality: Abrosexual
  Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
  
  
• 
  Backstory/Personality:
  The phoenix is considered to be a powerful and sacred creature that has the ability to bring virtue and renewal. They have existed for centuries, mainly serving the great emperors and empresses. However, there was a corruption where a spy committed treason in the royal court and almost caused the kingdom of Hua to go downhill. When Emperor and Empress Hua was threatened for murder when they are at the brick of falling apart, the phoenix fused with the emperor and empress for they will forever live on together. This is how the phoenix descents came to be after the fallout of the Hua Kingdom. After a few years later after the kingdoms of the east regathered themselves, they birthed 2 Sects, Ying and Zhao. Both Sects are opposite of each other, the Ying believes that knowledge and logic is above all else and should be treasured while the Zhao believes that in order to survive in this world, strength and will-power is everything.
  
  100 years later, Ying Ming-Xia was born. Ying Ming-Xia is one of the rare phoenix descents of the Ying Sect that was male. He was an imaginative and shy child who actively avoid following the rules of his Sect. When he was selected to be a scholar in the Ying Sect, he was forced to become more stone-faced and studious. Among the numerous scholars in the Sects, he was a rare exception that dared to travel back and forth to the Zhao Sect to deliver information. He was quiet, a studious type of quiet that preferred to sit in his room and read the Sect's library. His peers first viewed him as an isolated and lonely individual, leaving plates of fruit for him from time to time. The Ying Sect Leader liked him for his daring decisions for traveling to their opposite Sect, insisting that he keep him company as he ruled.
  Despite his overall success, Ming-Xia was quite depressed with his life. Despite his love for studying, it has become everything he was known for and was forced to put priority above everything else. He viewed his relation to the Sect Leader to be a burden, wanting to keep his position in his more simpler life. Once he turned 20, he packed his most important stuff with him and slipped quietly away from the Ying Sect and was announced missing around the two Sects. Nowadays, he is in search for the key to escape his sadness and burden while keeping his identity hidden from the general public.
  
• 
  
  Spoiler: Before Running Away

  
  Spoiler: After Running Away

  
  
  
• 
  Talents/Hobbies:
  Poems - During his time in the Ying Sect, Sect members where tasked to journal their day through poems. Ming-Xia was no exception to this task.
  Essays - As mentioned, Ming-Xia was a scholar for the Ying Sect. He does not like writing essays but would pull through when cornered.
  Double Edged Sword Fighting - Ming-Xia is able to wield a Double Edged Sword.
  
  Abilities:
  Ashes Regeneration - The is unable to rise from the ashes when he is dead like most phoenixes. However, he is able to regenerate small parts like his fingers by coating the wound with ash.
  Speed - Ming-Xia can run slightly faster than a regular human.
  Fire Manipulation - He is able to control fire but is unable to create fire himself, needing a source to make one.
  
  Strengths:
  Strong Defense - He is proficient in defending himself, using his sword as a shield sometimes.
  Agile - Ming-Xia is fast on his feet and was built when he tried to invade the Zhao Sect Soldiers.
  Assimilation - Due to his studious nature, he can absorb information quickly.
  
  Dislikes:
  Flying - Despite being a Phoenix Descent, he does not like flying and gets nauseous easily.
  Fighting - Ming-Xia has little to no interest of fighting and refuses to take part.
  Physical Pain - Ming-Xia doesn't take pain as well as others.
  
  Weaknesses:
  Physically Weak - Ming-Xia is not physically trained despite his sword training.
  Low Magic Compacity - His constant studying has led to him reading about magic but not being able to expand on it.
  Low Pain Tolerance - Due to not being in fights or physical activities, his pain tolerance is lower than most people.
  Phoenix Transformation - Unlike most of his fellow Phoenix Descents, he is unable to generate some of the basic Phoenix features.
  
  Fears-
  Confinement/Claustrophobia - Ming-Xia is extremely Claustrophobic. Though there is no direct reason why he feels this way, it may because his phoenix spirit wishes to be free.
  Becoming a Burden - He has a deep fear that what if he became a burden.
  Harming his Family/Close Friends - Ming-Xia can not comprehend what he would do if he would harm those who were close to him and never wish to do them.
  
  Possessions
  -Brush, Ink and a Journal to write with.
  -A short sword to protect himself with.
  -A jar of ash that was gathered in a campfire.
  -An empty bottle. He currently has no use for it.
  

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan
A little music for everyone's favorite bard!​

• The Basics
• History
• Gear and Such
• Personality
• Skills and Whatnot
• Magicks

• 
  Age: 20
  Race: Half-Orc, Half-Elf, All-Fun
  Role: Criminal
  Pronouns: She/Her
  Gender: Female
  Sexuality: Lesbian
  Alignment: Chaotic Good
  
• 
  Khadija Aslan was born 20 years ago in Safir Şehri, the shining jewel of Axasterke's desert empire. The illegitimate daughter emerged from a whirlwhind romance between her mother, an Orcish bureaucrat named Beyza, and her father, an elven Yeniceri who likely doesn't know she exists. Yeniceri make up the bulk of the Axasterke army. They are slave soldiers, youths captured in military conquests, typically Elves, and raised to serve. Yeniceri are paid well and treated with respect, but are not permitted to start families.
  
  While Axasterke prides itself on the multicultural makeup of its population, there are limits to its tolerance; for many, this limit is half-orcs, as Beyza quickly discovered. After the birth of her daughter, Beyza's career within the Provincial Directorate, Axasterke's powerful bureaucracy, quickly stagnated, and she was relegated to a dead-end posting within the city.
  
  Beyza skimped and saved enough money to send her daughter to the Imperial Academy, where she would learn history, magic, fencing, poetry, mathmatics, and every other skill Khadija needed to pass the Imperial examination to enter The Directorate. Khadija saw how her mother struggled just to make ends meet with the stigma of a half-elf daughter, and knew her own life would be even more difficult. While Khadija was diligent about her studies, she set her eyes on a different path. Fame and stardom through music, overcoming prejudice through her sheer talent. Khadija spent every spare coin she could on music lessons, and every spare moment listening to the various buskers lining Safir Şehri's streets. Eventually, she saved enough for her own instrument.
  
  When the time came for the Imperial exam, Khadija bombed spectacularly. Was this intentional? Absolutely. Khadija thought it was a stroke of genius, but her mother wasn't amused. It wasn't long before Beyza was lining up suitors for her daughter, high-ranking bureaucrats and merchants looking for a suitable young bride. When the first one knocked on her door, Khadija vanished into the city's busy streets.
  
  Life as a vagabond bard wasn't as glamorous as Khadija had hoped. She just barely scraped by performing at taverns and on the street, a far cry from the meteoric rise she'd envisioned. She did learn some valuable lessons though. How to pick a pocket, or throw a good left hook, for instance. Khadija continued on like this for two years until, while busking in the city's bohemian quarter, she was approached by an Orcish noblewoman named Aykiz Sevda. The noble must have seen something in Khadija and took the young musician into her service. She finally had a patron.
  
  Khadija spent six months in Aykiz's household, learning much from the other musicians and performing alongside them. It was the first time in her life Khadija belonged somewhere. As she spent more and more time with her patron, Aykiz, Khadija felt something stirring between the two of them. Whatever she felt, it wasn't meant to be. Axasterke's bureaucrats engineered a series of political marriages between Axasterke nobles and their allies to normalize relations, and Aykiz was one of those intended to be wed. Things took a turn for the worse when Aykiz was assassinated, and the blame fell solely on Khadija. She was barely able to escape with her life, thanks to the help of her fellow musicians, and she fled Axasterke to the Prigalla Empire. Here, Khadija met Aris Iyesgarth, a member of the legendary Order of Seekers. After much pestering, Khadija convinced Aris to accept her into the Order, where with a little luck, Khadija might just find the Cradle of the World and undo the injustices inflicted upon her.
  
  
  ​
  AUTHOR'S NOTE: Axasterke, Khadija's homeland, is a burgeoning empire across the sea, deep in the black sands of the Kara Col desert. Initially a tribe of upstart Orcs, the nation now spans much of the continent and has become a cultural melting pot as merchants from far and wide come to make their fortune in the grand city of Safir Sehir (pictured above).
  
  
• 
  Possessions:
  
  • Tanbur: A simple stringed instrument, similar to a guitar with a long and slender neck.
  • Kiliji: A curved, single-edged saber with an ornate grip.
  • Jambiya: A curved dagger with a wide blade.
  • Journal: Ostensibly used for writing down one’s thoughts, Khadija’s is instead filled with scrawling music.
  • Camel: An ill-tempered beast that carries Khadija’s things. Maybe it’s so angry because she stole it.
  
  
  
  Pictured above: the fit​
• 
  
  Khadija is a woman just now coming into her own, and it shows. She is confident, excitable, and eager, but at the same time full of self-doubt and loathing. Charming in a way, but often awkward and unsure. When performing, though, all doubts melt away, and she seems like a different woman entirely. A tortured artist, perhaps.
  
  Khadija's passion has long been music. Her troubles melt away when writing a new song or learning a new instrument. It serves as both an escape from the world, and a way to advance herself in a stratified, rigid society. Life has not been kind to her, thanks to Khadija's parentage. Khadija's interracial heritage has long plagued her thoughts and dreams; a glimpse of her reflection is all it takes to sour her mood some days. Stuck between worlds, fully accepted by neither elf nor orc. She hopes to overcome this prejudice through fame and glory, but the path continues to elude her.
  
  Because she is so often excluded from society, those who show Khadija kindness often win her loyalty. Her patron, Lady Sevda, was one of those people. Khadija would do do anything within her power to bring her lady back to the world of the living.
  
  
  

  
  Likes
  

  • Warm weather
  • Sunshine
  • Music
  • Cities
  • Fine clothing
  • Desert flowers
  • Sweet wines

  
  Dislikes
  

  • Long silences
  • Cold, damp places
  • Horses
  • Caves
  • Wild places
  • Planners
  • Sulking, brooding types

  
  Fears
  

  • Failure: Is this trope overdone? Yes. But for Khadija, there is no greater nightmare than failing to achieve her dreams of stardom and immortality through music.
  • Thalassophobia: When you’ve lived in a city your whole life and can’t swim, this one is a no-brainer.
  • No Escape: Khadija always likes to have a way out of any situation. If she’s trapped, she probably won’t handle it very well. A couple nights in the city jail will do that to you.
• 
  
  
  

  
  Abilities
  

  • Darkvision: Khadija is able to see reasonably well in low light thanks to her Orcish heritage. She uses this primarily to read and write music well into the night.
  • Powerful Build: Orcs are naturally strong, and Khadija is half-Orc. Ipso-facto, she is stronger than the average elf, while not quite as brawny as most Orcs.

  
  Strengths
  

  • Musical Prodigy: She can play many instruments, sing, and compose songs and poems very well. She lives for it.
  • Sleight of Hand: Thanks to her leaner days as a bardic street rat, Khadija knows how to slip her nimble fingers into pockets unnoticed. She also knows some fun card tricks.
  • Budding Duelist: As part of the curriculum at the Imperial Academy, Khadija learned how to fight with a single-edged sabre. She’s never taken a life, only a couple fingers.
  • Rudimentary Magics: Khadija learned some basic magic at the academy. She is able to channel magic more easily through her musical instruments or singing. Her abilities are limited to the schools of abjuration and illusion, and she often uses these abilities to improve her live performances.

  
  Weaknesses
  

  • Can’t Swim: Khadija doesn’t trust any body of water she can’t touch the bottom of.
  • Indoor Person: While she’s had a brief stint of hardship, Khadija doesn’t know how life is lived outside of the city walls. She can barely ride a horse, can’t start a fire, doesn’t know how to read a map, and in general is not accustomed to roughing it or anything related to adventuring, really.
  • Impatient: Khadija acts first and deals with consequences later, often to disastrous results. She has a hard time keeping her mouth shut, struggles to filter her speech, and isn’t too big on “plans.”
  • Speed and Power!: While relatively strong and quick, Khadija is severely lacking in endurance. She isn't one for long, overland hikes or prolonged fights, and tires quickly in these situations.
• 
  Spells
  
  • Color Spray: Khadija can fire off a dazzling array of flashing, colored light springs from her hand. Useful when the audience isn't paying much attention or when she wants to temporarily blind someone.
  • Thaumaturgy: A fun party trick where Khadija makes her voice substantially louder. Helpful when singing in a raucous tavern.
  • Thunderclap: Khadija is able to amplify her instrument to a deafening volume, producing a burst of thunderous sound sent in a general direction. Definitely capable of doing some damage.
  • Prestidigitation: Basically just minor little illusions Khadija learned as a street rat. Extinguishing lights, cooling or warming items, creating little trinkets that will disappear, that sort of thing.

 

[escapist]

Jac'aal the Vagabond

Banished
Race- At least half human
Age- 28
Pronouns- He/Him
Gender- Male
Sexuality- Straight
Alignement- Neutral
Personality- Jac'aal can come off as unpleasant and unsettling when he's around, regarding his sinister appearance and menacing aura which will disappear when he starts speaking. Though he stays unpleasant, being sharp-tongued, cynical and moody. However how he acts and feels are two different thing...

Likes-
- A company he got used to
- Watching clouds
- Secretly, no matter how annoyed he seems, a good banter
- philosophy

Dislikes-
- New things/changes
- When his cloak gets soaked or burnt...or damaged in any ways
- Fate
- Being questioned

Fears-
- Forgeting moments that are worth living for
- Finding out who his father is
- Creating an emotional bond just to loose it

• Backstory
• Other stuff
• Appearance

• 
  His birth was considered a bad omen in the North-Eastern village. Despite his mother's attempt to get rid of him, Jac'aal came to this world with a powerful craving for life so intense that it took his mother's life. His mother's life who had gotten pregnant without any consent, on an umbrageous, floral night. The people of the village who had been assisting in the child-birth, looked disgustedly at the amorph baby who started crying as his mother exhaled her soul. The superstitious folk wanted to destroy the evil little creature quickly, so they started making a bonfire. Luckily, a strange figure who was just passing through the village, out of unknown reasons saved Jac'aal's life.
  
  The parental figure in his life, called Osagan was a strange the figure indeed. The professional assassin never said to Jac'aal why he had saved him, but anyhow Osagan gave him a name and raised him up properly. As the years passed and their duo wandered through Kirlia's Eastern regions, Jac'aal was growing quickly, Osagan started teaching him the art of killing besides other valuable lessons but it quickly turned out that Jac'aal's body, inherited from his clearly non-human father, was lacking of the needed grace and agility.
  
  Osagan was the part of the 'Vileblades' an infamous guild of assassins, so he travelled where he had work and Jac'aal helped him as much as he could from the shadows, gaining experience of combat without being noticed and having money his head. Once, when he was twenty, Osagan adviced him to go and find his own path. The assassin might have felt a lurking danger, neverthless they parted their ways and Jac'aal has been wandering alone ever since then.
  
• 
  Talents/Hobbies-
  - Writing memories down in his notebook, just for himself
  - He tends to enjoy philosophizing
  
  Strenghts-
  - 6th sense = Jac'aal has keen insticts, allowing him to sense others life-energy/ aura, its 'type' and how strong it is (exceptions: those who can hide theirs)
  - he has a strong defense, being good in blocking and parrying attacks
  - he posesses inhuman strength, making his strikes more powerful
  
  Weaknesses-
  - Lacking of in-combat concentration - he won't notice patterns in the enemies fighting style and can be outsmarted
  - His amorph body doesn't always move as he wants, so he has issues with balance and with tasks that require dexterity
  - Agility/grace: because of his size, you can't talk about footwork' or 'dodging' in his case
  
  Abilities-
  Reanimation:
  
  
  He discovered this ability as a child when his 'best friend', the chicken called Harpy died (Osagan cut off his head, planning to cook it). Jac'aal then used his only magical ability and chaneled a little of his own life energy into the dead body of Harpy, reanimating it. This weak type of necromancy is only enough to reanimate smaller animals and Jac'aal uses it just to keep his 'friend' moving.
  
  
• 
  In case you were wondering; this is how Jac'aal looks like under the hood. His father is surely some kind of beast, a cursed soul or a creation of someone and the father's sick genes influenced Jac'aal's appearance. The more someone sees from his appearance, the more their panic/terror grows.
  
  Possesions-
  - Old, dirty, fetched clothes
  - Wooden 'wand', maked more durable by in-carved runes, a gift from Osagan
  - Rusty bird box for Harpy
  - A knife
  - A notebook and a peace of coal to write
  
  

 

[BlueXBlood]

Aris Iyesgarth |Fugitive
"A Song for the Seeker" (Streams by Johannes Bornlof)
Race - Half-Elf (Though, Arcanely Amplified)* | Age - 27 Years | Gender - Female | Sexuality - Straight but Romantically Uninterested | Alignment - True Neutral


​

• Basic Information
• Strengths & Weaknesses
• Personality & Interests
• Appearance & Equipment

• 
  
  Aris is a rogue Special Operative for the city of Iyesgarth, now discretely labeled as a fugitive amongst the council. She has been rendered mute by the tattoo on her neck, a mark of her initiation when she pledged allegiance to the nobility of the city that can only be nullified by the council manually. After fleeing the council, she now exists as an aimless mercenary for the Order of Seekers, avoiding the rest of society, which she has no place in.
  
  
  Backstory ​
  
  For the majority of her life, Aris lived in complete loyalty to the nobility of Iyesgarth. After her initiation, an arcane ritual that spiritually tempers the mind, memories of her past had gradually melted away, and her identity was relinquished to the hands of the city's council. From that point on, she followed orders without question, performing assassinations, delivering messages, and accomplishing any other menial yet tarnishing tasks that the council demanded.
  
  The only shred of humanity that was still preserved for her was her secret friendship with another operative, whom she remembers as "Wallace." The two were often paired for their compatibility, and though it was years before they even gave each other the time of day, their history eventually led the two to interact. For the longest time, it was hard to tell if they could even consider themselves friends. However, one fateful day solidified his place in her mind forever.
  
  Over time, the number of operatives had slowly diminished, though most dismissed it as casualties from missions and never gave it further thought. One night, though, in the operative barracks, long before sunrise, Aris was shaken awake by Wallace, who surprised her with something astonishing. "Get up," he said, which startled her even more than being awoken at that ungodly hour. When she looked up at him, the mark of silence on his neck was gone, and for the first time ever, she heard him speak.
  
  "We have to leave," he said. Confused, she simply trusted him and began following him. He led her discretely through Iyesgarth, all the way to the city entrance before stopping and instructing her to leave and hide away for a while. She couldn't comprehend why, but he explained that he would reunite with her and make sense of it all afterward. "You've been a good one. I won't let things end here. Just keep an eye out for me," he said with a soft smile. After being left alone shortly after, as Wallace turned back to contact more of the operatives, Aris fled from Iyesgarth and disappeared from society.
  
  Years had passed, and she never heard from him since, establishing herself within the Order of Seekers as a way of existing in the shadows till fate would have something of her. Any curiosity or aspiration dwindled in that time, and Aris' sole motivations now are to survive, comfortably, if possible, and create something of her own.
  
  
• 
  
  
  The Arcane Initiation

  * During her initiation as a Special Operative for Iyesgarth, the council had placed her through an arcane ritual that brands the individual's neck with the mark of silence and softens the soul to stronger spiritual tempering. Though not increasing any form of magical connection, the ritual refined Aris' strength of will and focus, rendering her mute in the process.
  
  
  
  Strengths
  
  {Combat Experience} - Having been trained during her time as an operative, Aris has adapted a sense of combat prowess, trained adeptly in swordplay and the use of firearms. She is of frail physique, though, and her slim figure leaves much to be desired in terms of muscle and raw strength. To work around this, she has adopted a fighting style of parrying, maneuvering, and attacking swiftly.
  
  {Adaptability} - Because of the many scenarios she's experienced, Aris is more inclined toward being a quick-thinker, making her useful in high-pressure situations that require a little more decisive action. Note: This can often translate to rashness, though, and being accustomed to this pattern of thinking has made her somewhat of a poor planner.
  
  {Stealth} - With the entire existence of the Special Operatives being rather clandestine to begin with, Aris is skilled in remaining unnoticeable and inconspicuous when she needs to be.
  

  
  

  
  Weaknesses
  
  {Poor Cooperation} - Being mute doesn't quite help with one's social skills... In turn, the team setting is difficult for Aris to exist in. Communication is something she's sorely lacking in, and she can be cumbersome to work with as a result.
  
  {Inexperience With Magic} - Aris was not given much time to be exposed to magic, its functions, and the knowledge associated with it. Frankly, she doesn't care much for it or those who use it, but it puts her at a disadvantage in this heavily magical world.
  
  {Absence of Morals} - Due to living a lifestyle of following orders without question, Aris' moral compass has become somewhat numb. After escaping the council of Iyesgarth, the only thing that is left to guide her is self-interest.
  

  
  

  
  Talents
  
  {Assassination} - All her strengths combined make it easy for her to catch openings for swift and fatal attacks.
  
  {Observation} - Being less of a talker has given her a knack for picking up little details around her.
  
  {Music} - To one's surprise, she's quite capable of serenading with her wooden ocarina, though she usually plays for no one but herself.
  
• 
  
  Personality

  Aris is a relatively aloof person, as being mute doesn't offer much in terms of socializing. That doesn't deprive her of her own inner thoughts, which can be rather opinionated, but they rarely reach past her quiet and nonchalant demeanor. She could accurately be described as a self-interested individual, only devoting to a cause outside of herself if it helps to kill time. Virtuous quests were never something she could find the motivation to think, after all.
  
  There's a chance, maybe, that those close to her can bring out something softer and kinder in personality, but she's never encountered such people, so even she can't say.
  
  
  
  

  
  {Likes}
  - People who are patient and understanding,
  - Warm and quiet environments,
  - Feeling needed/purposeful.
  - The Cool, Northern Rain
  

  
  {Dislikes}
  - Loud and idiotic people,
  - Magic-Users (though, only slightly),
  - Authoritarianism
  

  
  {Fears}
  - Mind-Control
  - Possession
  - Parasites
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  Appearance
  ​

  Aris has ash-blonde, wavy hair that falls down to her waist, though she usually wears it tied up with a ribbon. She wears a wide-brimmed, black fedora with a coat of the same color. Her eyes are a shimmering silver, though she's often mistaken for blind as a result. She carries an ethereal air about her that, though possibly unsettling at first, could be found alluring by some.
  
  Her eyes have a blue sheen in the light, strangely, and she has a red tattoo on her neck, near her throat. She wears a black, leather choker in hopes of concealing it for the most part, and she wears quite a few earrings, just as an aesthetic choice.
  
  

  Inventory
  ​

  - A leather satchel with minimal space, holding only a coin purse and a few other items, such as rations and maybe a souvenir or two.
  - A specially-made bastardsword with an onyx-engraved crossguard. (The pommel has the crest of a corrupted dragon).
  - A silver-accented revolver with the same crest as her sword.
  - A retractable wrist-blade on her left arm, used for assassination
  - A wooden ocarina.
  
  
  

 

[Zazz]

FOREVER A WIP



Role: Criminal
Race: Half elf/half orc
Name: Bal'kafaz (translates loosely to "cage of fire")
Age: About 23-28
Pronouns: She/her
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Who even could know? (Lezbehonest)
Alignment: Probably good.
Personality/Backstory:

Born to an orcish slave woman in Prigalla, Bal'kafaz never received the love of her parents. Her mother couldn't bear to see her face, lest she be reminded of the child's disgraceful conception. Her father, a prominent figure in noble society, had no use for a bastard halfling, and his elven wife hated the relationship, however one-sided, the babe represented. The child was sold off as soon as she was weaned.

Bal'kafaz spent her youth toiling in the muck, caring for her masters' livestock, chopping firewood, and being a live practice target for their younglings. Inside, she built up a reservoir of rage as she did all that was demanded of her. Soon, she was chopping down full trees and shield bashing the boys. She was bigger than the fire elves her age, but not nearly the size of an orc. When, one day, she knocked both sons to the ground, unconscious, with only a shield, her masters sought to punish her by throwing her into an arena to fight to the death. She was beaten black and bloody, and she collapsed in a pool of blood... But it was not her own. She had, by some miracle, survived three grown men with naught but a shield and dagger.

Ever the opportunists, her masters threw her into fight after fight, adding training to her daily regimen of thankless chores. She made them coin. So much coin. Fame was hers, but she saw very little of the fortune; they handled all of the business, and being illiterate, she had no way of protecting herself.

Until she snapped.

The halfling came to one day, face splattered in the blood of both masters and their eldest son, shield raised over the youngest as he cowered in the courtyard, eyes fearful. She would soon find herself locked up behind bars for the murders she has no recollection of, but most certainly committed.

Likes:
Chopping wood
Hot, floral baths
Raspberries
Soft things

Dislikes:
Assholes
Tea
Feeling inferior due to illiteracy
Spiders

Talents/Hobbies:
-Whittling/carving wood figures/trinkets
-Cooking

Abilities:
-While she could possibly wield fire magic, she has no training, and no knowledge of the art.
-sensitive hearing
-bigger and stronger than the average elf or human
-can tell edible plants apart from non-edible (limited to things found in Prigalla)

Skills:
-Defensive and offensive shield techniques
-Ideally wields a dagger or bludgeoning weapon, pretty versatile with random objects.
-STRONK.
-Solid firemaking skills
-Basic sewing/mending
-Gardening


Weaknesses:
-Blackout Rages
-Terrible at stealth
-Can't pick a lock to save her life (but will kick down the door instead)
-Lost without someone to follow

Fears: (At least 2)
-The dark
-

Possessions:
-A set of blood spattered armor
-One heavy, round shield
-One dagger
-One grey cloak
-One set of clothing


Appearance:

Body type: Humanoid
Hair: Reasonably long, dark brown hair. Reddish hues in the sunlight.
Eyes: Light grey
Body Modifications: Scars. So many scars.
Features: Pointed elf ears, tiiiiny lil tusks that are only noticeable when she talks.
Clothing: Pretty much wears simple grey, and armor.

 

[justarandompatzer]

Role: Traveller
Race: Human
Name: Fredor
Age: 23
Pronouns: He/him/his
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Who knows?
Alignment: Neutral
Personality/Backstory: He fell out of the sky, and has no memory of his past. Time for him to find a way in this world.

Likes/dislikes: He really doesn't know yet.
Talents/Hobbies: None.
Abilities: Determination.
Weaknesses: Suffers from severe deficit of skills or ability.
Fears: Mutilation, loss of autonomy.
Possessions: Breeches, sandals, shirt, shortsword.

A short "man", with jet-black hair, and pale skin. His eyes are brown. He wears plain, undyed breeches and a tunic, with the symbol of a sword enshrouded in flame on it. For a weapon, he carries a light sword, the sort just long enough to be considered not a dagger, that a traveller would carry, were they not to want to give the impression of carrying one.

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

"Don't give them the opportunity to fight fair. They won't give the same courtesy."

Role: Fugitive
Race: Half-Elf (Wood Elf)
Name: Rael, "Tanner"
Age: 25 (chronologically,) 20 (biologically/mentally)
Pronouns: He/Him/What/Where/How
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Demisexual
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Personality/Backstory: Rael, foe the last half a decade, had been defined by what he's lost, rather then what he's gained. He lost his family, he lost his home, and lost whoever he was before being conscripted.

Time serving as a spy for the Imperium has caused Rael to develop an intense distrust for others, especially any sort of authority. He always plans for the worst, and is often vindicated, in that regard.

Though often self serving and pragmatic, Rael does have occasional bouts of heroism. Especially in when children are in danger, or being exploited.



Likes:
Dislikes:
Talents/Hobbies: (What did they do in their spare time that they were good or not so good at?)
Abilities: Darkvision: Rael, like all half elves and elves, has eyes that can see jn darkness nearly perfectly. Though in complete darkness, his vision is still obscured, and he can only make out black and white.

Fey Ancestry: Due to elves' connection to the Feywild, Rael has a resistance to magical charms, and is completely immune to any magic that could put him to sleep.

Skills:
Archery: Rael is an incredibly skilled archer, having honed his skill over years of conflict. Though he notably lacks the strength to use a longbow, he instead makes use of a shortbow.

Tracking/Survival: Rael is an expert tracker and survivalist, able to navigate almost any terrain, and survive in it.

Guerilla Warfare: Having spent nearly half a decade as an Imperial Frumentarium, Rael was trained extensively in asymmetric warfare, preferring to not strike an enemy head on.

Tactics: Rael has a keen tactical mind, able to create and carry out effective plans in combat situations.

Stealth: Extremely adept at staying hidden, from moving quietly to effectively using camouflage and distractions.
Weaknesses:
Uncharismatic: Rael isn't really a people person, and finds it hard to persuade others.

Weak: Rael, while extremely dextrous, lacks much physical strength in the traditional sense.
Fears:
Fire: Several bad experiences with fire have caused him to have an irrational fear of fire, and he always keeps his distance.
Possessions:
Rael took only the absolutely essentials: his clothing, armor (consisting of a gambeson,) his worn, brown hooded cloak, his pack, enough supplies to survive him for a few weeks, a scavenged arming sword for emergencies, two daggers, one for fighting, the other for field dressing, and finally, his trusty recurve bow, and quiver.

Appearance:
(These fields are optional! You may post an image instead, or describe the character in detail in a format you see fit.)
Body type: Humanoid
Hair: Brown and shaggy, often either cut short, or pulled into a ponytail.
Eyes: Brown
Skin: (Color, texture, features like scales or feathers, etc.)
Body Modifications: (ex: Tattoos, piercings, aesthetic/ceremonial scarifications etc.)
Features: Several distinct cut scars across his face. The tips of his ears are notably mangled.
Clothing: (What are they wearing? Pictures, links, or written descriptions are fine.)​

 

[LumeNym]

There is more to live for than the hunt, mark my words!

Image credit: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c7/31/1b/c7311bfef130cb10d2262d22d9ae4e64.jpg​

Role: The Missing
Race: Cojaega
Name: Eibor
Age: 13 in human years, equivalent to ~21 in Cojaega years
Pronouns: they/them
Gender: None
Sexuality: Asexual
Alignment: Neutral Good
Personality/Backstory:

Born unexpectedly of a cojaega of the Enlightened sect, Eibor was an anomaly since birth. After all, the Enlightened do not partake in the Hunt, so how did Eibor come to be? Their eggbearer, Pathason, was exiled for their crime, and Eibor with them. However, the leader of the Enlightened was a merciful bird. The pair were allowed to stay nearby, and Eibor was allowed within the Enlightened encampment, but Pathason must keep an eye on the chick, so as to keep them from falling onto the wrong path.

Pathason swore off meat after the birth of Eibor, but they allowed Eibor to consume small creatures like mice and rabbits to sate them. So Eibor grew up in relative comfort, with their eggbearer to guide them and help them sate their growing curiosity for all things of the world. But there was a cost to resisting the Hunt, and as Eibor grew, Pathason grew weaker, their psionics fading as Eibor's began to manifest. Eibor began to spend more and more time caring for them, until one day it all fell apart. When the crazed Pathason attacked Eibor in a frenzy, it awoke something deep within them, and after they subdued the bird with their psionics, they consumedconsumedconsumed.

It was several days later when Eibor laid their first egg.

They couldn't return to the Enlightened, not after falling to the temptations of the Hunt. They were unwelcome among others of their kind for being born from the Enlightened as well. So they smashed the egg and fled, to find a new life and prove that they didn't need the Hunt. They met several adventurers and heroes in their roaming, and came to travel with them on their quests and adventures. But there always came the time of parting, when a deadly battle are brutal sickness brought their companion to the brink of death, and the urge to consumeconsumeconsume overcame them. Another friend lost, another egg smashed, another chance at being more than their instincts. They knew they were more than the Hunt, they just needed to prove it to themself, or perhaps find some way to silence the urges forever...


Likes: Quiet places, insightful conversation, exciting vistas, good books, and good company
Dislikes: Aggressive individuals, fighting, dust, sharp scents, having to use their magic overmuch

Talents/Hobbies:
- More literate than the average cojaega, and knows how to read (though not speak) several of the native languages of Kirlia.
- Enjoys speaking with and learning from the "landborne" races.
- Likes to find ways that their magic can be used to help, rather than hinder or harm.

Abilities:
- High agility, as provided by their small size and wings
- "Sound of Spirit", or mind-reading, allows cojaega to glimpse the emotional state and some surface thoughts of other sentient beings. Usually this is limited by the individual's experience and how much information one can handle at once without losing track of what is coming from where. Eibor is rather new to this due to their youth and it takes great focus for them to even scan over an individual's emotional state.
- "Face of Spirit", or illusion magic, allows cojaega to create vivid illusions that can even cause psychosomatic damage to others. Experience and mental fortitude are required to create larger and more harmful illusions, and if an individual realizes the illusion for what it is, it loses its potency. Eibor prefers to not use their "Face of Spirit" for harm, and is researching ways it can be used to create helpful illusions.

Skills:
- Good with people: charismatic and generally affable, they often put people at ease
- Scouting: cojaega are naturally skilled scouts, and Eibor is no different. Whether or not they are better than their kin is uncertain.
- Healing/Supporting: able to use illusions to enhance abilities and heal wounds, so long as the affectee can believe in them.

Weaknesses:
- Pacifistic: strong aversion to causing suffering makes Eibor a liability in intense combat, unless they can be kept safe
- Naive: fast to trust and too interested in people and places to pay proper attention. Has a habit of getting themself into trouble.
- Physically weak: due to small size, cannot lift or move heavy objects. Can easily be trapped or pinned down.
- Bloodlust: Consumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrongconsumethestrong

Fears:
- Water: strong fear of drowning makes Eibor very anxious and unsettled around bodies of water larger than a puddle
- Their Own Kind: very nervous around other cojaega, as they are easily intimidated by their more bloodthirsty kin
- Strong Enemies: underestimates own power and is very aware of their meager strength, they are quick to run away when outmatched
- Forgetting information: values learning and experience, therefore worries about forgetting things. Regularly records information in memory bands for safekeeping
- The Hunt: No no please I don't want to do it again, I am more than the Hunt, I know I'm more than the Hunt please please I don't want to consumeconsumeconsumeconsumeconsume

Possessions:
- Four memory bands, two in each wing, in which cojaega can mentally inscribe information, as in a notebook. Limited by the organizational capabilities of the user, the bands are akin to notebooks, and can be just as easy or difficult to find information in, and as slow or quick to record in as a human writing.

Appearance:
Body type: Avian, Bipedal
Feathers: Deep raven, with lighter tips on primary and secondary feathers (wings)
Eyes: Murky green-blue
Skin: Covered in feathers except for beak and legs. Skin is slightly darker than feathers, as is beak.
Body Modifications: Two small silver memory bands, like rings, pierced near the wrist of each wing
Features: Cojaega can be identified quickly by their long tails, which are not present on other avians (these are true tails, not feathers). Like other avians they have wings, beaks, and feathers, and in many regards look like other more typical birds.
Clothing: None

 

[Aegis]

Arnou Sylvain, The Wolf in the West
Banished​

Basic Information:

• Human
• 25 Years Of Age
• He/Him
• Male
• Bi-Sexual
• Lawful Good

Personality:
Previously, Arnou was a bit of a bright spirit who found himself getting into much mischief around his father's keep in the vineyards of Westvale-- many remarking on his kind hard and honest nature, but a few years of war has turned him into somewhat somber company.

Likes:

• Westvale Wine
• Chess
• Reading
• Dueling
• Hiking

Talents/Hobbies:

• Accomplished Swordsman
• Proficient Leader of Troops
• Poetry Writer
• Whittler

Abilities:

• Magic Allowing him to increase his strength and speed temporarily.

Strengths:

• Expert Swordplay and Footwork
• High Endurance
• Adaptable

Dislikes:

• Stealing
• Looting
• Swimming
• Smell of Raw Meat

Weaknesses:

• Honor-Bound
• Poor Cook
• Slow-Learner (Arcane)

Fears:

• Disappointing his Family Further
• Large Fires

Possessions:

• Plate and Chain Armor
• Steel Longsword, Lucsebras ('the light that cuts darkness')
• Travel Pack
• Mess Kit
• Travelling Rations
• Small Coin Purse
• Bedroll

Backstory:
Arnou was born to a small noble house, House Sylvain, in the forests and vineyards of Westvale. House Sylvain consisted of himself, his younger brother, his father, and his mother. Having been born the oldest, he was often burdened with the learning and responsibilities of a noble heir, but that didn't stop him from sneaking out to mingle with the townsfolk and farmer around his father's Keep. He was typically dutiful, however, he had a penchant for pranks and other such activities that would often times land him in trouble with his family. Yet, things were often peaceful and playful in Westvale.

When Arnou became a teenager, a sudden war was sprung upon them from the neighboring fiefdom of Darkmire, a land of marshes and sunless days. He was considered to be of fighting age, so his father sent him off to lead a campaign in which he was surprisingly successful for such a small boy-- in no small amount thanks to the teaching capabilities of his most senior military advisors. The war drew itself out over a number of years where his father and himself operated as Generals on the frontline against their enemy while Arnou's younger brother, Renly, worked as a more strategic advisor tasked with operating supply lines. Near the time of Arnou's banishment, he had become a man forged in the heat of battle and fires of war.

All it took was one fatal mistake. It was the final defensive battle against Darkmire-- victory in this case being the road to sue for peace, but it lead through the start of the swamplands at the furthest edge of Westvale's border. Caution was advised, but blinded by a history of easy success-- Arnou marched his army into the murky brine. It was a massacre. Half of Westvale's military might was either killed or captured-- Arnou included.

Following the aftermath, in a move that directly besmirched Westvale's culture, Arnou's father named Renly heir and successor of Westvale in order to eliminate his supreme value as a hostage, yet he was still a Sylvain. The losses they suffered in the marshlands opened an easy gateway for Darkmire to push into Westvale's lands. Arnou only spent a month in a prison before Westvale sued for peace surrendering a third of their lands to Darkmire. After returning home, the public that had previously cheered his name cried out for justice; this was his fault, as they saw it. The mod was relentless, and facing either open rebellion or the banishment of his son-- Arnou's father opted to banish his son never to return to Westvale.

Now, years later, Arnou operates as a roving sell-sword putting his skills to use for a bed and a hot meal.

 

[Rohan]

Hunadi Dralis "Nadi"
Criminal
He/Him
Male
Bisexual

Race- Human/ Elf Hybrid
Age- 107 (25 human years)
Alignement- Neutral


Likes

• Watching the stars
• Hot bread rolls with honey
• People not talking
• A full tankard of mead
• The sound of people not talking
• The scent of wild flowers
• Pick-pocketing

Dislikes-

• Waking up early
• Small talk
• The smell of rain
• Arrogance

Talents/Hobbies

• Playing the flute
• Sketching
• People watching

Abilities

• Agility/ Stealth
• Tracking
• Casting moderate defensive spells
• Moderate knowledge of medical care

Strengths

• Close range combat
• Stamina
• Sharp vision

Weaknesses

• Can't swim
• Weak immune system
• Insomnia

Fears

• Being restrained/ confined
• Drowning

Possesions- Preferring to travel light, Nadi carries only the essentials in a small leather satchel.

• Medical herbs, a few bandages, salve
• Flute
• Daggers
• Food rations
• Small,miscellaneous items for trade

Appearance

• Eyes- the color of warm honey but unwelcoming and fierce.
• Skin- At a glance, Hunadi looks like a full blooded human but once up close, he has soft and fair skin from his elven roots.
• Body Modifications-Several tattoos can be found on Hunadi's shoulders, hands, and back. Many of them represent his heritage being raised in an elven community but others are designs that he admired and collected during his time as a wanderer.
  • Left hand ,Right hand, Shoulder/ Back
• Features- pointed ears, although they're on the shorter side and are usually hidden under his long hair.

Personality- "If there's a plan, I'll forget it. If I don't forget it, I'll ignore it."

In a word, Hunadi is observant. He's not one for talking and only does so if he truly has something to say. On the rare occasion he does speak, he's actually more on the shy and soft spoken side. To hear him yell would be a historical moment. He's in his element when blending in with a crowd and becoming invisible without actually disappearing. He doesn't mind being around others, as long as they stay at arms length and don't ask too many questions. .

Don't let his silence fool you, Nadi has surveyed and calculated everything in his surroundings in order to take the correct course of action. Mastering the skill of being hard to read makes things easier when deciphering who is a potential comrade and who should not be trusted. He doesn't like doing things twice, and especially hates doing a messy job. Precision and diligence will win him over more than anything else....unless you have toasted bread rolls with honey.....

Backstory- Nadi was raised among the sand dunes in the southern region of the realm in the slums of a tired village. Folks in these parts are just as harsh as the blowing sands, and their tempers hotter than the sun at mid day. The story of how his parents met is mostly unknown besides the fact that Hunadi's father had saved his mother from a trade caravan that was bound for the northern trade markets.

As a young boy, surviving was a chore in itself and finding enough food for himself and his parents was nearly impossible. Learning the art of lying and stealing very early in his life, he was proficient by the time he became a teenager. Hunadi's father travelled to nearby cities where he stole and traded goods, his mother stayed home to watch Hunadi much to her disliking. She had always wanted a daughter and made sure Hunadi knew he wasn't the child she had dreamt of. Hunadi learned to stay quiet and out of the way, usually hiding on the streets until late. News of his father's death drove his mother into madness and Hunadi had taken to living on the streets to avoid her outburst towards him.

Eventually, the village began to wither and food sources dwindled. Hunadi left to find food and continued to steal and pick pocket. Coming from nothing, the large cities and vast lands are overwhelming compared to his sleepy village of nothing. Adapting to the busier city life, Nadi adapted his skills and evolved from simple pick pocketing routines to shoplifting and breaking into businesses. Mainly successful, a handful of botched raids had landed his face on wanted posters. He is now on the run- exploring the world outside his sand swallowed village and to keep himself out of the gallows.

 

[Tool]

Role- Other
Race- Kellid (Human sub-species)
Name- Annik - Karwi Shwadar (title)
Age- Early 20's-ish
Pronouns- She/her
Gender- Female
Sexuality- Omni
Alignment - Chaotic Good? Neutral Good?


Personality/Backstory

There are many gods in the world. Gods of bakers and coin, gods of hearth and home, gods for blacksmiths and scholars...... but for the Kellid people, the only gods that matter are the Spirits of the greatest Kellid Ancestors and the gods of the Wild. The storm, the sun, the stone, the wind, the trees, all these and more are the Wilding Way. All it asks of its people is to live according to the ways of nature and to honor their Ancestors in doing so. The Kellid are a strong, harsh people for a strong, harsh land, and its quester is no different.

Annik spent the first eight years of her life learning from her father, Brom of the Six Bears Tribe. The girl quickly found that she could communicate with beasts, though with Apex Predators more easily than with Beasts of Prey, and she was more resilient against the batterings of the weather than her likes. Due to these signs, it is believed by some that she is the Karwi Shwadar, or the Beast Who Is A Girl and the Girl Who Is A Beast, a gift to the Kellid People by their gods. Sometimes that person is a boy (Karwa instead of Karwi), and sometimes both live at the same time.

The Karwi Shwadar is reborn again and again, forever doing their best to help their people with the problems their people face..... but though the responsibility is theirs to shoulder and their destiny theirs to meet, the Karwi Shwadar is not so different in skills and abilities from their kin.

Annik feels this responsibility keenly.

She spent the next five years of her life learning under the mystics and forest men of the deep north, learning and refining her understanding of the ways of the Kellid. She learned the difference between cosmic good and evil, and how those things are not for men to know but rather up to the gods to decide, and more importantly, she learned the difference between right and wrong that does fall on Kellid shoulders. And, when her breasts swelled and her hips grew, it was time for her to set out on her own and do what she could to confront the obstacles that harmed the Kellid.

It has been over ten years since that day, and she has learned to be as the Wilding Way demands, both kind and cruel as nature...... but the march of Civilization carries on, and the invisible yoke it places on men tightens ever further.

The wise woman Omak, who could not see with her eyes but could see in other ways, saw for Annik a road that led South, out of the Deep North and into the trap of Civilization. Her road would take her through ice and stone, into fire and smoke, and into the belly of burning rock. She would face fear. She would seek wisdom anew and carry the scars of other peoples' hurt, shoulder the burdens of strangers, and walk a violent path, difficult and grieving. And, her road would begin when she found a man of sickness and yellow metal, in a land of water and plague and unnatural ways.

With the omens as her guide, Annik traveled South, seeking a man of sickness and yellow armor. Where her path would lead after...... was up to the gods, for in change, something is always gained.... and something is also always lost.

As a person, Annik is friendly enough but distrustful of civilization as a whole, and she has no sense of decorum or politeness that most would take as a default. Stubborn and brave, she's a wild thing and has known wild ways..... and she is driven to protect the ways of her people. With a surprisingly nuanced grasp of the difference between evil and wrong, and the difference between good and right, Annik would be inclined to befriend some that would normally go in the crosshairs of 'good' aligned characters and vice versa. She's not feral..... but to many from more cultured places, she's close.


Likes
Berries
Her wolf (deceased)
The wide, wild, open sky


Talents/Hobbies
Survival is a full time hobby..... but I suppose finding new and interesting berries?

Talents would be a full-range survivalist suite. Hunting, tracking, making weapons, skinning and using prey to make tools, weather watching, climbing, swimming, etc. etc. etc.


Abilities/Strengths

• The ability to speak with beasts and their having a natural affinity for her. She might be called a 'beastmaster' in some cultures.
• Enhanced strength/agility/toughness/stamina, immunity to most disease
• Good eyesight/hearing/sense of smell
• The ability to smell things that go 'against the Wild' (undead, vampires, litches, certain kinds of necromancy etc. anything that extends life beyond its normal end)
• The ability to read the omens.
• Familiarity with the wilder races of the North and their habits (giants, northern orc, goatmen, trolls, etc.)

Dislikes
Civilization
Coffee
Malice


Weaknesses
Prohibition against using or partaking in 'civilized' things (forged armor/weapons, money, clothing, beds, etc.). It's not going to make her burst into flames, but it's against her system of beliefs. She has a profound ignorance of the way things work. She can survive like a champion..... but work a butter churn? Not so much.


Fears
What if she is not the Karwi Shwadar? What if she is, and fails? What if Civilization consumes the northern lands and the Kellid become only a memory? Dying without birthing pups would be another one.


Possessions
Annik carries nothing she cannot replace, and it all comes from the wild


Appearance

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

• General
• Backstory
• Persona
• Appearance

• 
  
  
  Role: Criminal
  
  Race: Human
  
  Name: Maude Beswick
  
  Age: 35
  
  Pronouns: She/Her
  
  Gender: Female
  
  Sexuality: Bisexual
  
  Alignment: Evil
  
• 
  
  
  Before she was ever known as “Carrion,” Maude Beswick was raised by her grandmother in a small village in the Prigalla Empire. When she was six, the aging woman—the only mother she had known—died, and neither of her parents reappeared to claim her. Neighbors offered the young girl token assistance, but the truth was that none of them could afford to support her more substantially without taking food from the mouths of their own children. Like many children in her situation, Maude learned how to survive on the streets by doing odd jobs and petty crimes. Criminal opportunities proved much more fruitful and easier to find than proper work, and as she grew older and the charity of the adults around her dried up completely, Maude waded deeper and deeper into the criminal scene.
  
  Hearing rumors from passersby about a thriving (and profitable) bandit group hiding out in a makeshift village of their own, Maude set off when she was still a teenager.
  
  The Vultures, a small but rising bandit clan made up of the most desperate, indeed set up camp nearby. She had followed a trail connected by word of mouth—from people who witnessed the bandits or their attacks, each of them giving a location. From village to village, Maude caught a lucky break once she spotted a trio of thugs wandering a lone path.
  
  At the time, the Vultures lacked ambition. They only struck to make ends meet, aiming for only the bare minimum. They did not see themselves as powerful or notorious enough to face risks from other existing gangs or the guard. With this mindset, the few people who naturally fell into a leadership role let Maude in after some discussion. In their mind, they could always use more cannon fodder.
  
  It took time for Maude to demonstrate her worth to the rest of the gang. She was a capable raider, but she was even better at assessing targets and developing strategies of approach. She was relatively indifferent to life and unafraid to take it when needed, coldly gauging risk on practical costs rather than human ones. Unlike her associates, she desired more. By now, she’d reached her 20s.
  
  Maude brought her yearnings to one of the leaders. This escalated into a shouting match—a clash of differing ideals—stagnation versus procession. In a fit of rage, she punched him square in the face. He promptly ordered her restrained, after which he spared no time in slicing her hands clean off with his rusted cutlass. Within the Vultures, this was the punishment faced by those disloyal to the clan. Without their hands, if they didn’t bleed out on the spot, the victim was forced to live helplessly, unable to partake in banditry or any line of work.
  
  Ultimately, it could be said this was the cost of her aspiration… but in the end, Maude views it as a price well paid.
  
  As the leader turned away, the growing puddle of blood beneath Maude surged. A coagulated blood hook shot forth, dragging the leader over by his neck and over to the girl. In one fell swoop, his head parted from the body. The surrounding bandits stood aside, watching as Maude came face to face with the other leadership.
  
  Having not changed their cautious mindset, they meekly surrendered.
  
  With the Vultures under her control, Maude began by “whittling down” the numbers in the clan: loose cannons, liabilities, anyone she deemed undesirable, until there were only those loyal—those who shared the same desires as her. And under her reign, the Vultures expanded beyond what any of the members could have dreamed.
  
  The amount of raids on caravans and villages rose. And, using her experience with people, Maude found connections to let them into prosperous towns like Kiledo. The Vultures faced new opportunities, more chances to ascend further than ever before. As word spread in the Prigalla Empire about their success, the membership also grew.
  
  Maude managed to enrich her crew in periods when others were growing lean, intensifying territory disputes as a result, but she and her men seemed to thrive no matter what stretch of land they hunted in. Criminals from rival groups began defecting to work beneath her instead. When another leader was killed in a botched raid, his crew folded itself in eagerly under Maude’s rule.
  
  Over the years, she also sought to improve herself, vying for a feared image like many historically famous criminals before her. Her body grew in muscle and size; she took the front of the action every time, earning a plentiful amount of scars around her body; like a marble statue, she chiseled away at it until it became something memorable.
  
  From heists to murders, the bandit clan bathed in money, even leeching funds from “protection fees” paid by certain villages in Prigalla where none could help. Maude established a client-like business, being paid to ransack or murder whoever and whatever. There was only one condition other than payment she demanded: equal respect between her and the client. Those who did not comply met an… unsavory fate.
  
  But as her power grew, it only became inevitable that the peak would reach the downward slope.
  
  Kiledo's City Guard has been on the Vultures’ tail since their early raids took them to the outskirts of the city. Even more so when their business took them inside Kiledo. Though the bandits cared to tie up loose ends despite the brutal scenes left behind, a handful of horrified witnesses accumulated over the years. With each person, they learned more about the Vultures; how they operated, and the major members of the clan. They learned of the red-headed leader who her subordinates only called “Carrion,” putting a bounty on her (though it was never claimed).
  
  The Guard caught a lucky break when they learned of a tavern that Maude and the Vultures frequented after business hours. The owner abetted the group, aiding them with hiding members and items whenever they needed .After every successful mission, the clan enjoyed themselves there, and the tavern made a lot of money from their visits. Rather than shut down the establishment, the Guard decided to stake out the place and prepare to ambush it.
  
  And, guard down, the dominant group of Vultures arrived. Though Maude had an unshakeable feeling something was amiss, she fatefully ignored her hunch.
  
  When everyone was drunk, a force made up of city guards and local militia—all coming together from several villages—surrounded the tavern and stepped inside. Taken by complete surprise, the Vultures didn’t put up any fight—save for their leader, Maude.
  
  The ensuing fight left the interior in utter ruins, sopping the whole place in her own blood and tearing gaps in the walls and floor. Though Maude eventually went down after one of the Guards struck her eye with their blade and the numbers overwhelmed her in that moment of disorientation, she put many of them in need of medical care and slew several more.
  
  At 30 years old, Maude was finally apprehended. It’s said she walked in with only a blank stare. The Royal Guard handled the remnants of the Vultures in the coming years, and the bandit clan is now a shadow of its former self.
  
  Up to now, Maude has spent five years imprisoned. Her time of glory has long passed, and it’s still slowly settling in that the excitement of each day was no longer possible… At least, that was the idea. Maude was never one to give up so easily...
• 
  
  
  Likes:
  
  • Birds (they’re cute and elegant)
  • People (despite being a cynic, she enjoys being around people and their antics, whether they’re moral or not [she may witness someone being robbed and calmly and sarcastically critique the perpetrator’s methods in amusement, doing nothing else])
  • Beer (The Vultures always had a pint of beer after any successful heist)
  • Music (she once let someone live because they knew how to play the lute; it was quite literally the performance of their life)
  
  Dislikes:
  
  • "Rich, privileged people" (she views these types of people as naïve and ignorant. Whenever her band caught any of these people, she believed they deserved whatever happened to them.)
  • Being condescended to (one of the only things someone can do that will set her off)
  • Crying (in her opinion, an annoying and useless act)
  
  Tidbits:
  
  • Maude can chug an entire pint of beer faster than you can say this sentence.
  • If she’s drunk/mad enough, she can punch a hole through a wall.
  • She is currently undefeated in arm wrestling despite a lack of hands.
  • She can recount the story behind each scar on her body if you asked.
  
  Abilities:
  Clean Hands
  + The stumps on Maude’s wrists begin to bleed, and the pouring blood takes the shape of fleshy claw-like hands. Each hand can shape into two other things: a massive blade or a thin rope-like hook that can be shot out to pull whatever it catches, tightening its grip around the object or person. One of her favorite moves is hooking someone and pulling them into her blade.
  
  - The size strength of the blade/range of the hook is dependent on how much blood leaves through Maude’s wrists. Exerting too much on either hand will of course make Maude exhausted and risk passing out. If either are too weak, they can be broken by other forces. The power in each hand is inversely proportional to the other hand.
  
  + If Maude is within range of any surface of her blood (i.e. a puddle on the ground, a large stain on someone’s clothing), she can make her hands also appear through that surface. From there, the hand(s) can cast any of the other spells. For example, she can launch a blood hook from a puddle and one from her own hand, latching onto the same object to pull it apart.
  
  - The strength of the translocated limbs is dependent on how much of her blood is in that area; it uses up the amount. The affected blood puddle can be disrupted and end whatever is being casted from there. It has a range of 10 feet.
  
  Skills:
  Battle-Hardened: When thrust into action, Maude’s mind and body move stable like clockwork—she’s been through this before; she knows her way around a fight. Maude remains calm and rational as a seasoned fighter, not to mention her own strength.
  
  Vulture Eyes: Having spent her entire life around the depraved, Maude recognizes the red flags in certain people and actions. She is also able to sense people coming from behind thanks to years of built-up wariness; said people usually face Maude at the most intimidating she can get, whether they meant harm or not.
  
  Weaknesses:
  
  • Be quiet? Stay conspicuous? Maude the beer chugger knows no such things!
  • Controlling one's ego? Show some humility? Perish the thought!
  • Enemies at range? The only solution Maude knows is to get closer!
  
  Fears:
  
  • Being reduced to the helpless, pitiful state she was in as a child.
  • Growing attached to someone.
  
  Possessions: TBD
• 
  
  
  Notable Features: Maude is a towering woman. She has a well-built body covered in scars and cloth wrapped around stumps where her hands once were. More often, one sees, in place of her hands, claws formed of coagulated blood.
  
  Height: 6'6 (198 cm)
  
  Body type: Humanoid
  
  Hair: Red. Her hair is long and unkempt; very bushy and rough to the touch. Sometimes she ties it in a ponytail.
  
  Eyes: Amber. Her eyes are sharpl and naturally glaring. After taking a blade to her right eye, it’s grayed and blind.
  

 

[Nebulous Stars]

Role: Criminal, Guilty
Race: Arcane Mutant
Name: Quarter “Quart” Clay
Age: 20
Pronouns: She/her
Gender: Woman
Sexuality: Lesbian
Alignment: Neutral
Backstory: She was a young student mage, gifted, but too soft for her own good. Born to a poor peasant family in an unaffiliated village, she was spotted early by a traveling entertainer from Iyesgarth. She was sold for a bag of flour, too soft and prone to wandering to be useful. She hoped that she was being taken away to a place of wonder, to find a better life. When she first arrived, her dreams came true, a beautiful school, up on a mountain, surrounded by impossible greenery. The buildings were of dreamlike beauty, the people were smiling and kind.

She grew up there, and it was a dream to her. Surrounded by other magical children, shown wonders, educated, fed regularly. The training days were a little repetitive, but she had friends, and crushes, and daydreams of growing up strong. She built herself a life there, happy and free, doing her best by the people that had brought her there. She was happy, bright, and relentlessly kind. She didn’t notice the guilt in the eyes of her teachers, and didn’t know better than to trust the mentor that took a prime role in raising her.

Things changed when she was twelve, young enough to be mystically malleable, old enough to hopefully survive. They didn’t buy students you see, they had no need to. There were enough children of nobles and the wealthy with a drop or two of magic to get by. They bought livestock, for food, for utility, for experimentation. They had been raised as students, never knowing their true fate. She was one of the first taken, but she was given a twisted mercy. Her mentor extolled the necessity of their actions, had raised her to be ready. In the end, out of fear, out of hope, out of some measure of belief, she joined him.

Every friend she had ever had was over time taken into a place they didn’t realize was a slaughterhouse until it was too late. There was a whole array of experiments lined up, medical, magical, physical. They generally tried to keep their subjects alive, for the sake of efficient use. Still she tried her best to be kind, to stay curious, to see the necessity in this sacrifice they told her of. She was allowed to watch, to help, and given greater leniency. She watched every friend she had ever had die. The only ones that didn’t scream had been too mutated or too injured to.

Eventually she was the last, the “lucky” one. They never told her why they spared her, and she never asked. She just watched, over the long, slow course of seven years, as everyone else died, and tried to keep herself in their good graces, tried to survive. The truth is, they never cared, they just had a specific experiment in mind. They wanted her magical core to develop, as she was the strongest of her class. If she had been a noble, she would have been a star pupil.

She was chosen to experiment with magical augmentation. They took the cores they had slowly collected from her “classmates” after all other experimentation was done. See a clever young noble witch had a theorem, that strongly aligned magic cores could be grafted to each other, especially while young. It seemed to work better if the receiving soul was the strongest. So they forced the “hearts” of all her friends into her chest with an intricate and beautiful ritual. They didn’t expect success, just more notes to take, more to learn. They got it, and it killed all of them.

She didn’t lay a hand on any of them in the end. They simply weren’t prepared for the consequences of an act that profane, magic itself simply, flickering, in a vast radius around her, as well as vicious arcane energies tearing apart anyone close by. Everyone nearby died almost instantly, and much of the nearby magic was disabled.. As she writhed in agony she watched her mentor scream and soon be reduced to a shadow on the wall.(OOC note, this isn’t anything she can currently do or will ever be able to do, think more this was the reactor melt-down, and she’s the elephant's foot left behind.)

For better or for worse, she did not.. It was days of agony but she eventually simply got up and walked out. Nobody had been alive in her wing to tell anyone to stop her, and it was only later that it was figured out. She ran, and she ran, and she ran. She didn’t know how she survived without stopping. All she could do was bury the memories and run.

She made it to another county before something went wrong, coming across a bandit. With some irony, he didn’t even want to hurt her, all he saw was a penniless young girl obviously fleeing from something. He wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t a monster either. He took her back to his hideout, and took care of her, deciding to just do a good thing for once. He was the closest thing to a father she ever had. Neither of them knew she was bleeding arcane.

She was covered in cuts when she arrived, and she healed slowly, as he tried to take care of her. Worse, she was, fragile, her body not holding up very well and her skin very thin. All they knew was that as she got a little better, he slowly got worse. A year later he was dead, with no idea why, but happy. She knew though, at the end, because she had seen friends be poisoned by the arcane before. It was already too late. Still, she took what he gave her, and what he taught her, and set out to survive on her own,

Personality: She is amoral, within her own view. Cold, untrusting, deeply manipulative, and a talented liar. She is, however, not cruel. She is utterly jaded to pain and violence, and it is by no means her last resort, but she will not strike the first blow without reason. Deep down she still wants to be kind, but first and foremost she is desperate to survive. She has justified herself by saying she is living for everyone she loved, and she is running from any other answer.

Likes: Soft Beds, Peace & Quiet, Nothing Else(Strong Women)

Dislikes: Loud Noises, Helplessness, Dreaming

Talents/Hobbies: It’s hard on her hands, but she likes to try and carve wood with a dead man’s knife. She loves to stargaze. She also likes to sing.

Abilities: Mana Well: Because of how overcharged she is, she never runs out of mana, or stamina(not as strong as it sounds). She also bleeds arcane, which is harmless if you can channel it, and is harmless only in brief exposures otherwise. Prolonged exposure will slowly breakdown non-magical bodies. She is also immune to most forms of charm or enchantment, although she is profoundly vulnerable to the right kinds of combat magic(think attacking a gas station with a flamethrower). Lastly she is immune to mundane illness, germs struggling to survive on a livewire.

Skills: Basic Blast Magic, Simple Shield Magic, Runner, Triage, Wilderness Survival(Proficient Amateur)

Fighting Style: Artillery piece, complete with needing to keep other combatants away from her. If she is safe enough to cast, she can unleash fairly powerful controlled blasts with cast-time. If she is charged she can get in one or two less controlled less safe(for her included) blasts, but she can’t really use them in cqc at all, because she does need at least a little control to properly use her magic at all. She can create good consistent shields that won’t go down to attrition, but they are weak to burst, and take full concentration and cast time.

Weaknesses: She is deeply, horribly ill. This isn’t a few rough coughs, she has lumps in her ribs. She heals slowly, her bones and skin are weak. Her body is, animated, she moves, but she is slow, sometimes stumbling. She can barely eat and process things, it makes her sick, but while she technically doesn’t need it to survive, she needs it to feel any kind of healthy. Additionally, she isn’t actually very good at magic, nor can she easily learn. She can’t fight in hand to hand, period, nor effectively use weapons. She is also, to put it in ooc terms, essentially radioactive when injured. The details are complex and slow, but dangerous.

Fears: Arcanists, and doctors. She is also claustrophobic, pyrophobic, and cannot stand restraints.

Possessions:She has an old worn cloak, simple clothes, and a small pack with a change of clothes and various supplies. She also has an old walking stick that was carved for her, and a good pair of refurbished shoes.

Wanted Dead By: The people who want her dead most are the people in charge of the school. While she is blindingly impossible to scry, there are many means by which they may seek reprisal. She is also wanted dead by a couple minor noble subfamilies, although not terribly so. Some of their children died, but they were third children, seventh children. Not terribly important politically nor personally. Still they have sent people after her. Lastly, she is wanted dead by several bandit groups, although this one is the weakest, and the closest to possible to talk out of. They associate her with the death of a man they liked, and put a small bounty on her head. Not enough to inspire the best bounty hunters, but enough that people remember.

Appearance:
Body type: Bipedal, Gaunt, Marionette Movement
Hair: Medium-length messy white hair, iridescent and mildly glow in the dark with a purple sheen.
Eyes: At rest they are an all-black easily mistaken for normal dark brown eyes at a distance. When her core is heavily taxed or called on tiny faultlines otherwise only visible on very close examination open up and glow in a variety of colors.
Skin: Pale, but unremarkable. Only when broken does it betray inhumanity.
Body ModiFeatures: She is fraily and sickly looking, even fully clothed, without them the litany of scars across her body become even more obvious, as well as the fact that she is the bad kind of sick. A black lump pushing apart her ribs on the left, multiple other lumps, and a clear history of physical illness and injury in her posture and movements.
Clothing: A simple old gray cloak, over plain brown pants and tunic. Her other shirt is a greenish-brown. She has a small pack on her back under the cloak, and a piece of twine with a locked locket around her neck.

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye​

Role: Banished

Race: Human

Name: Dunan [dewnan] Skye. His friends call him Dune, or they would if he had any.

Age: He can’t remember, but looks to be in his mid twenties

Pronouns: He/Him

Gender: male

Sexuality: Cross that bridge when we come to it…

Alignment: Evil? (Dunan doesn’t strike anyone as particularly evil)

Job & class: Dunan seems to be dressed as a knight or lord. His armor and clothes are of good quality, if simple.

• Description
• Personality
• Backstory
• Skills and abilities
• Weapons and items
• Fears and weaknesses

• Dunan is of average height, strongly-built and capable. His scruffy black hair falls in ribbons down to his shoulders and always seems unkempt, even when it is clean. The shape of his face is defined, but slightly rounded, giving him a more friendly appearance in contrast to his brow, which is broad and shadows his eyes under thick, black eyebrows. The eyes themselves have the rich, dark orange tone of buckwheat honey that fades to a bright amber near the pupils. His skin is tanned but light, his cheeks weather-worn and cut by brambles and branches. He has a short beard he keeps carefully cut, with the sides disappearing into his hairline. His general expression is one of thoughtful wonderment, eyes wide and pensive, and when he looks at you, he always seems completely attentive.
  
  His leather armour is dyed black and set into overlapping segments for ease of movement. The segments are fastened with metal studs, dull but not rusted. A cream tabard lies underneath with its chest unadorned, but the skirt is embroidered with two large black dogs, sitting with their heads bowed and positioned so their fronts can be seen underneath the skirt of the leather armour. His boots and brushed leather breeches are also black. Dunan also wears a thick, sheep hide cloak, the wool black, with a fading to grey-white at the sides. He carries the strong scent of lanolin and of beeswax leather polish wherever he goes.
  
  His cursed form is a shaggy black wolfhound: a long, sloping muzzle and a long and lithe frame. His eyes are the same vibrant amber as they are when he is human. His ears when at rest, fall to the side of his shallow-domed head, and carry quite the range of expressions as he feels emotion. The ears move involuntarily, and make it hard for Dunan to conceal his mood.
• Dunan is a rather calm, agreeable sort, with an even temper and a playful joviality that puts people at ease. He doesn’t seem to judge much, instead accepting people wherever they are on their journeys and tries not to let rigid things like regional laws dictate how he sees them.
  Dune can be easily motivated by food, or attention, and delights when people take an interest in what he is doing. He is a reliable friend and a loyal companion. Dune gets uncomfortable around the pain of others, and will do his best to sooth it if he can, often by making jokes or being distracting if he deems it appropriate.
  
  Getting Dune angry is no easy feat, he can be a bit possessive of his things, as they are his only link to the life he cannot remember, but to make him truly mad one must cause suffering with no purpose.
  Dune loves stories. Because he does not have his own, and cannot remember any he was told before the curse, he delights in listening to people tell stories. They could be of anything, daring tall tales, or personal accounts. If you are recounting a tale, you will usually have Dune’s undivided attention.
  
  Likes: Nearly all food stuffs, good company, stories, a comfortable bed, and small kindnesses.
  
  Dislikes: Cats (or, more accurately, they hate him), heights, cruelty, privilege being taken for granted.
  
  Talents/Hobbies: Dunan can sew, darn and embroider decently. Due to his keen sense of smell, he has become a much better cook. His love of stories has led him to become quite a dramatic storyteller, and he can recount a great many stories that he has heard over the few short years he remembers.
  
• 
  Dunan can give you a frustratingly brief account, as he does not remember anything before the last 4 years of his life, when the curse was placed upon him.
  He awoke in a barn coated in the light of a new dawn filtering through a window, on a patch of farmland near a looming castle. Later he would discover that he was in the territory of Westvale. He had no memory of who he was or where he was from. Wandering into a village people were kind, but no one seemed to recognize him. They offered food and shelter, as he was dressed clearly in the fashion of a lord or knight. Until the sun set he was treated with the utmost hospitality…and then.
  
  The pain started, wracking his whole body. He remembered the first time he transformed. It felt as if his very bones were cracking, moving about under his skin. He cried out but his voice was a low, feral howl. When he looked up, there was only horror in the eyes of his kind hosts.
  
  He was run out of town on four legs, baying like a beast, startled and confused, and more afraid of his own form than the townsfolk that had turned on him.
  He hid in the forest for three days, finding a small pool where he could see what he had become: a dog, simply, just a scruffy, black hound. It was only a stroke of chance that he wandered past a fallen tree one morning, where the giant had cut a swathe through the dense canopy to let the sunlight touch the forest floor. When he walked through it, he felt that same unsettling pain, and he was standing as he had before, as a man. He learned to avoid towns and villages at night, always departing before the sun set, or else making sure he was sealed safely away in a room with a window facing East. He tried never to let others see his cursed form again.
  
  There was no real plan at first, Dunan would wander from village to village, hoping someone might recognize his face, or his sword, or know of a man who had gone missing. He took odd jobs to earn coin, realizing his skills with the weapon at his side had not vanished like his other memories. Being a caravan guard was one of his preferred tasks.
  
  He found nothing from his old past, but his recent one began to catch up with him: rumours of an evil knight cursed with the form of a reaper: Barghest, The Black Dog, The Grim. Suddenly stories began springing up about this terrible soul, trapped and tortured for all he had done. Dunan listened as some had firsthand accounts of the ghastly deeds and foul plots of this man. Within a year, he could go nowhere in Westvale without the tales of his history dogging him.
  He removed himself from towns after that.
  
  Dunan wandered for a while, eventually stopping to help an old woman gather firewood. She was blind, and unknowing of the horrible tales being told about the strange, cursed man. She invited him to stay a while, so Dunan stayed. He learned to darn, sew and cook, and helped cut firewood for her hearth and winter stores. In the evening as they sat by the fire, they would trade stories, some true, some fabricated, but both enjoyed the company. It was this old woman who gave him his new name: Dunan Skye, named for the little island where she had been born.
  
  A few bright months Dunan had in that house, then one night the old woman told him a tale of the Cradle, and how the secrets within had the power to grant any wish. Dunan dismissed it at first as a fantasy, but restlessness began to take him. Dunan started having dreams of being covered in blood, sticky and sharp-scented and he could not wash it away. He heard the cries of victims, pleading for mercy and himself, an indifferent figure as he watched their deaths from outside his own body. The nightmares plagued him, until he made a decision: He thanked the old woman for her kindness, and set off to uncover his past, so he could atone.
  
• 
  Abilities:
  
  The curse of the Grim: Due to the curse that stripped him of all his memories, Dunan is forced to take the form of a large black wolfhound every night when the sun’s light leaves the earth. To turn human again, he must be touched by dawn’s new light. The transformation is painful, leaves Dunan open to attack and occurs wherever he is, as soon as the sun sets. The curse is not without benefit however, and grants some abilities both in human and dog form.
  
  - Vessel of the Grim: The dog form Dunan takes can grow and shrink in size by Dunan’s will. He can be the size of a regular dog, or grow to the size of a horse if he chooses. Though he cannot leave the form of a dog until he is exposed to sunlight. He can speak, as a dog, in his normal, human voice.
  
  - Eyes and nose of a dog: even as a man. He can see in low light, and smell the faintest of trails. He is red-green colourblind however.
  
  - Light step: Dunan can tread as quietly as a hunting dog padding through a forest.
  
  - Death does not want him: In dog form Dunan’s injuries and ailments heal quickly. This makes him immune to most non-magical diseases. Anything that is not a mortal wound can reverse itself in as little as a night. He is still very much mortal, and a fatal wound to any man will be enough to kill him, human or dog.
  
  - Strength of the Grim: In human form, Dunan’s strength is twice that of a normal man, and in dog form, his strength grows to match the size he chooses.
  
  - Superstition: Though not really an ability, Dunan’s dog form can spark irrational fear due to local belief in death omens. It is one reason why he has been exiled in so many places. There is a rumour chasing him that if anyone looks upon his black dog form, they will die within a fortnight. Dunan supposes this is not true, but he hasn’t been allowed to stay in one place long enough to verify that.
  
  Skills: His loss of memory has not affected the skills he likely had before the curse: Dunan is handy with his sword and a staff or spear. His sense of smell lets him track both people and animals with precision. Dunan sometimes displays a strong sense of empathy and has a sixth sense when it comes to the true feelings of others ((if there is an underlying feeling a character is hiding, and you want to share it with Dunan, you can put it in ((_)) in your post and Dunan will pick up on it)).
  
  
• - A simple but sturdy long sword, worn with use, the hilt guard is decorated with two snarling hounds. Its scabbard is simple but well-made, its only adornments are three rounded, obsidian stones, set into a metal ring that sits just under the guard.
  
  - A small leather pack containing a bit of food, rope, small bone and metal tools for darning, sewing and patchwork, and several other personal items, the origin of which, he has no recollection.
  
  - A dirty old doll, made of rough-spun linen and in the form of a badly-sewn, misshapen fox. It must have been a child’s toy, but he has no idea if it was his, or someone else’s.
  
  - A crystal and ivory pendant: a crystal sun is cut of the clearest quartz and polished to sparkle with all the colours of a rainbow. A white moon made of ivory is folded around the crystal sun. Dunan wears this on a steel chain about his neck, but mostly it is hidden under his tabard.
  
  - A hunting knife, made for cleaning small animals and fish, and perhaps cutting branches to start a fire.
  
  - A small hatchet for cutting and gathering firewood.
  
  
• Weaknesses: Dunan, though coordinated, has sloppy footwork, so pushing him to move during a fight may lead to advantages. You can get to Dunan emotionally by bringing up his unknown past, and the fact that he must have been truly evil to have such a curse placed upon him. He cannot explain it, but accusations of betrayal especially rankle him. Dunan’s cursed form can also present many challenges. No thumbs for one, and the fact that he cannot change back unless he is touched by the light of the sun, simply seeing it is not enough.
  
  Fears: Dunan’s true fears lie in his past. He wants his memory, but is terrified of what he will find if he recovers it. Deep down, Dunan doesn’t want to be evil.
  
  Dunan is also not great with heights. He prefers his two (or four) feet solidly on the earth thank you.