Chivalry Characters

Killigrew · Jan 17, 2015

Feel free to format it to your liking -- make it pretty, make it ugly, make it legible. All I'm looking at is the information. The character must be approved before you start posting in the rp.

Feel free to PM me if you have any questions!

Knightly Order:

(make it bold! be proud!)

Name:

Gender:

Age:

Appearance:

Social Class:

(see

http://www.lscacamp.org/portals/0/medieval people.pdf http://www.lscacamp.org/portals/0/medieval people.pdf

http://www.lscacamp.org/portals/0/medieval people.pdf)

Province:

(kinda like hometown/where they come from governmental-ly. Should be on the map, and lore-integrated, but besides that, you've free reign to construct it)

Weapon:

(note the Weapon of choice and mention all weapons carried)

Character:

(mental and moral qualities distinct to this individual as well as quirks, talents, and the like.)

Personal History:

Elle Joyner · Jan 19, 2015

~ Lady Brien Fromm ~

The Eastern Fire

Order:

Vinoviloc

Name:

Gabrienna Anleigh Fromm

Gender: Female

Age:

Twenty-four
Appearance

Fairest ivory is the canvas upon which Gabrienna Fromm is painted, with features far more delicate than her disposition might suggest. Long curls of ebony hang to the middle of her shoulder blades, the style of which is typically a plait. Under thick lashes are pale green eyes, the color of the field of Machtigen in fall, containing a depth of wisdom beyond her youth. Full pink lips, gently bowed and straight, even teeth make up her mouth, and a narrow, round nose complete the image.

Her form is thin, her musculature strong, but feminine. Her waist narrows in the middle, with hips and bust well endowed. Her limbs are long and lean, ending in graceful hands and feet.

Her armor is of Roman design - metal breast and shoulder plates and gauntlets, a red leather apron, a thick maroon tunic of wool beneath thin mail, dark leather chausses and black boots.
Social Class: Gentry

Province: Mächtigen Schild

Weapon: A expertly crafted arming sword, roughly 33" from point to grip - a long, blood red hilt centered with gold filigree and a double fuller cross section. The blade is sheathed in a poplar heater shield, plated in metal. In her boot is a long, thin knife. While she does not carry one on her person she is also skilled with a staff and has been known to utilize anything within her general vicinity as a weapon, if necessary.
- Greatest Strength: Her unerring devotion to anything she puts her mind to. She will never give in or give up. Those things to which she sets her mind are fixed... no matter how improbable.
- Greatest Weakness: Her determination and resolve occasionally come across as stoic and frigid and she lacks a lighthearted quality often attributed to one so young.
Mount: A black Friesian draft horse, sixteen hands high. Well-broken, even tempered and extremely loyal. The horse was rescued during the Black War from enemy soldiers and has since remained a faithful companion of Brien.

Politics_____________________________________________________________________

Canticlar: Brien has never been impressed with the piety of the Canticlar Order, preferring a more private measure of devotion herself. She finds them at best showy and pretentious, at worst, hypocritical and dangerous.

Leonhart: The Leonhart Order, to Brien is unequivocally ridiculous, their pompous, flamboyant manners bordering on foolishness. Still, despite her lack of enthusiasm for her neighbors to the west, she bears no animosity towards them.

The Dragons: Brien is both awed and frightened by the dragons, having grown up on the legends of their infamous beginning and man's triumph over their infamy. Their unprecedented aid in the Black War only helped to cement her duel minded opinion.

________________________________________________Quirks, Proclivities and Soft Spots

An effect of the expectations pressed upon her in her youth, Brien has become something of a perfectionist. She takes great pride in her accomplishments, but is greatly troubled by failure. On such occasions, however rare, she has been known to be indulgent and under the influence of strong drink is prone to tendencies of brashness - not limited to but largely centered around brawling and extremely loud singing.

In battle, Brien never wears her hair plaited - this is strictly a matter of vanity. She fears having the braid cut off, resulting in what she imagines to be the loss of her one girlish feature.

While not common knowledge, Brien has a tender disposition towards children. Having grown up quicker than most, she enjoys the freedom she sees in the young and spirited and cannot abide the mistreatment of them, for any reason.

Character___________________________________________________________________

You would be hard pressed to find a more persevering, determined sort in the whole of Mächtigen Schild Province, something Brien prides herself on. She is of noble mind, possessed of a strong code of honor and sense of morality, and this is the very thing which drives her. It is also the thing which can, at times prove her detriment. She is benevolent, but not without fault - believing strongly in justice, occasionally to the point of seeking vengeance. She is gifted in combat, particularly with a longsword or staff, a magnificent rider and can, to her credit, drink more men under the table (though she rarely caves to the temptation).

Despite her upbringing, or perhaps in spite of it, Brien harbors no ill-will towards her family. Strength and honor were, after-all, the Fromm way, as much as the Vinovil way.

Despite her stoicism, Brien can be, at times, quite passionate. She is generally uncomfortable with the advances of the less-fair gender, however, and has yet, in her twenty-four years of life, found someone worthy of the arduous pursuit. Once, she came quite close, but tragedy removed all chance of exploration. Her platonic relationships are met with nearly unconditional loyalty and consideration.

Though rarely incensed, the fullest extend of her anger is both incredible and formidable, manifesting in an almost unworldly rage. Only twice has she succumb to this monumental fury - once, when witnessing the assault of a young girl from her village and again, during the war, upon the loss of her dearest comrade at arms.
The Coming of Ostfeurer

My name is Gabrienna Fromm and I am the only child of a man, desperate for a son. I am not, however and most contrary to those commonly in my position, a victim of my circumstances. What some would see as misfortune I see only as opportunity. I have both the skill and fortitude of a man and the graceful distinction of a woman. I am able both to hold my own in battle, a necessity of those of Vinoviloc patrimony, as well as exist in the more dignified milieu pertaining to a woman of a certain societal bend.

In other words, I am as perfectly knowledgeable about needlepoint as I am knowing where the pointed end of a sword goes.

This, I credit towards my parents; A father who most comprehensively willed a male child but could not produce one, and a mother who refused to allow her daughter to be raised all boy as punishment for her sex. I am in every way a product of two worlds and in my views, the better for it.

In my youth I spent the vast majority of my time with the Augustin family - primarily with their youngest child, a girl named Katrin.

Early in my childhood, I was sent to a neighboring land where I was to receive my apprenticeship training as a knight. Several years later, war came... shattering Vinovilan. I was barely eighteen when I was called to take up post on the front lines. We were not expected to survive, but I was proud to do my duty and I served my land with fervor.

Of my small brigade, only three of us escaped with our lives. We were, for all intents and purposes, immediately advanced, under the merit of valor... and, to some degree, sheer dumb luck, into knighthood. In the light of Mächtigen Schild's veritable destruction,I honored my title to the fullest of my abilities, helping to rebuild and protect what was left of my home. In time forged quite the reputation. Some, I've heard, though rumors are rarely completely accurate, refer to me as Ostfeuer... Eastern Fire

Soon I will begin the Pilgrimage - Mächtigen Schild is healing, slowly, but there is very little left there for me. Only time will tell what might come of my journey, I can only hope to bring justice to that title and honor the knighthood I have since birth been called to.

Riddle78 · Jan 19, 2015

Disgraced Vinoviloc

Name: Narathzul Arantheal

Sex: Male

Age: 43

He stands six foot four,and many would say that he's built like a dragon; His shoulders are broad,and his limbs are bulked by corded muscles,gifted by birth,and honed through discipline. His hands are also noticeably larger than normal. His hair,although graying,is a light brown,and his eyes are a deep green,like a pine's needles.

His non-combat attire consists of dark blue trousers,tucked into knee-high reinforced and armoured boots,with a white shirt underneath a blue and gold belted jacket. He wears his dagger openly in this outfit,on his right hip. He also bears a curious ring,which bears the image of a curled,sleeping dragon.

Due to Narathzul's service record in the Black War,and subsequent meteoric rise in station,his preferred equipment is known across the kingdoms.

-Zweihander: Narathzul's preferred weapon,a design that was new at the outbreak of the Black War. Well sharpened,well cared for,and a few inches longer than he is tall,pommel to point. It clocks in at three kilograms in weight,making it a heavy sword. However,he is very skilled in the use of the weapon,allowing him to swing it deftly and with agility. When not in use,it's either found in hand,on a wagon or horse,or in his quarters. He keeps a large sheet of vellum to wrap the weapon in while in storage.

-Parrying Dagger: Narathzul's secondary weapon,a one and a half foot long,sturdily built dagger,designed to parry,slash tendons,and,most importantly,pierce armour with little effort. Like any proper knight,Narathzul knows how to use it well. Always kept in the scabbard on his belt,when not in use.

-Longbow and quiver: Narathzul,as a knight,was expected to know how to use many weapons,the bow among the most important. Narathzul's personal bow is simple in design,and possesses a higher than average draw weight. His quiver,kept at the small of his back,is filled with broadhead and bodkin arrows. When not in use,the bow is either hitched on his shoulder,or in storage somewhere.

-Gambeson and plate: Narathzul Arantheal prefers to be well protected and very slightly restricted in movement than unprotected. In his mind,armour is life. To that end,Narathzul wears two layers of armour; The bottom-most layer is a gambeson,a suit made of numerous connected layers of tough fabric to produce light,flexible armour that provides protection equal to mail,and a suit of armoured plated over top,which includes a gorget to protect his neck,a mail coif,and a helm to protect his head. This armour renders him nearly unassailable,unless his foes wield spears. It should be noted that this armour is lighter than it looks,and does little to restrict his movements,often catching his opponents unaware. Over top,he wears a tabard in Vinoviloc black and white,but instead of the sword-and-nail-cross,it bears the image of a bellowing dragon.

Class: Marquess (Formerly),hedge knight (currently).

Character: Quick-witted and bullheaded,Narathzul is the portrait of an ideal Vinoviloc citizen,if it weren't for the rest of him. He is of the firm belief that the nobility and aristocracy is a decaying,pointless,and outright poisonous system,working only to keep the peasantry down. Valuing one's worth on their deeds and character,rather than their blood,Narathzul has made an enemy of nearly every noble family in the three kingdoms. He also holds a very dim view of the clergy,suspecting them to be corrupt and weak.

The quickest way to earn his ire is to demonstrate that you represent what he hates. The quickest way to gain his support is to support change for the better.

Background: Narathzul Arantheal was born as a lowly lord. However,as he and his family displayed an uncanny aptitude for combat,their status rose,eventually to the point of having their own Dukedom,such an ascension possible only in the Vinoviloc order,who value martial prowess above wealth or lineage. However,even still,such a meteoric rise in power is uncommon,and raised more than a few eyebrows.

Narathzul,in particular,was a fine specimen of Vinoviloc ideals. He was strong,disciplined,and clever. Favouring a relatively new sword design,known as a zweihander,Narathzul cut an imposing figure to his opponents in duels of honor,clad in half-plate and chain,wielding a sword as tall as himself with swiftness and deftness seemingly paradoxical to such a sight.

Making a name for himself as a peerless fighter,Narathzul,after earning his status as a knight,was given command of several detachments during the Black War,and was responsible for numerous important strategic victories in the tail end of the war. Up until this time,Narathzul was a devout follower of the gods,believing that they would bestow their favour upon those who showed their devotion.

However,as thousands of good men and women died to the godless enemy,he questioned this. Surely the gods would deign to grant their faithful the skill,strength,and fortune to overcome those that deny the gods...Right? When the dragons made themselves apparent to assist in the war,this question became an obsession. The dragons were demons - Nay,devils,and they assist the followers of the gods? It was too much for him to blindly accept as the grace of the divine.

After returning home,his people bruised,but victorious,Narathzul took it upon himself to investigate the "grace" of the gods. While the nobility of the Vinoviloc order grew fat on money earned by their bloodline and laborers,the commoners barely made end's meet - If they were lucky. And it was the bottom rungs of society that prayed to the gods the most fervently. It was as if they didn't exist. Either the gods didn't,or couldn't,do anything for the mortals who died in their name.

Ever since,Narathzul abandoned his religious habits. He refused to serve myths and legends. However,he never voiced his opinions nakedly. He knew what it would mean for him and his family if he did. While his opponents prayed as they prepared for their duels,he observed and stretched. While his family went to services,he walked among the peasantry,assisting whenever he could.

Eventually,unknown to Narathzul,the Leonharts taken notice to his skill,and his family as a whole. One of the youngest families in any of the three orders,and they were among the most powerful. It was an affront to them. The higher Vinoviloc,of which there were few,feared his family's skill and influence. They hatched a conspiracy,to tear apart the family,and discredit their star child.

One day on the markets,Narathzul came across a Leonhart noble striking a commoner. Upon askance for the noble's reason,he responded that the churl was in his way. Narathzul was disgusted by this Leonhart's overinflated sense of entitlement,and said,quite calmly,that he could have simply pushed past the commoner,or demanded they step aside. The Leonhart bristled,and demanded to know whose side he was taking,to which Narathzul replied,quite simply,the commoner's,for the noble was very much in the wrong.

For the insult to his honor,the Leonhart demanded a duel the next day,in Leonhart style,to blood. Narathzul accepted,stating that the better man will win,and be proven right.

The next day,they assembled at a neutral Lord's hall,to a small audience of Vinoviloc and Leonharts. After arming themselves,and bowing,the two men dueled. Narathzul's opponent,a Duke Faarquad,was a nimble opponent,and tough to get a hit in on,considering that he stood four feet tall,in what he deeply suspected were elevator boots.

Their bout lasted for fifteen minutes,a good thirteen minutes longer than it should have. The large man pressed any openings he could,but the epee favoured the small man,and thus the match was drawn out. The combatants lunged and feinted,parried,and riposted,but it all served to make a flashy flailing. Neither man was able to land a single blow,let alone a square one.

However,Faarquad made a mistake. He overswung on a sweep. Tiring of the show,Narathzul stepped forward,planting his boot on the little duke's blade,and plunging his own epee into the dwarf's shoulder,drawing blood. Narathzul stepped back from the defeated duke,and was surprised to see that the witnesses were shocked. He drew blood honorably. His opponent made a mistake,and he punished it. Such was combat.

Before anything could be said,however,Narathzul heard the rasping of a blade leaving a scabbard. He sprang forward and wheeled around,causing the duke to miss. Faarquad continued,going for the chest without breaking stride. Narathzul,with his extreme reach advantage,simply lunged,driving for the chest,the best opening. The weapon drove home in his heart,deflecting and bending off of ribs,brutalizing his organs. Narathzul stepped forward,using his momentum to boot the duke off the blade.

The tiny man floundered like a fish out of water,trying to get up,and failing. Narathzul was dismissed immediately,and within the week was visited my a magistrate,reading him his charges. Murder of a duke being at the top of the list. He was to appear for sentencing,as he was already judged on every witness' testimony. It went as well as he expected; Narathzul was stripped of title and station,and removed from his house. Effectively,he was made a commoner.

Narathzul left the city in disgrace. This was three years ago. During this time,he wandered the world,and eventually made contact with a man calling himself a priest,who has heard of Narathzul's story and deeds. The priest asked him to accompany him on a journey to the south,to meet with old friends. The priest was sickly,so Narathzul agreed,assuming the priest desired protection.

Narathzul was quite wrong.

The priest served the dragons,and he was sought out to be their agent. They knew of his misgivings of the church that commanded the kings and queens. They offered him a choice: The means to right what is wrong,or to proceed alone,and die in ignominy.

He chose the former.

Father Gigantor · Jan 20, 2015

Vinoviloc

Name: Ser Percival 'Percy' Jaeger

Gender: Male

Age: 37

Race: Human

Appearance:

Percival has a solid build with prominent shoulders, broad arms and thick legs muscles as a result of years of fighting and training, weighing in at around 230 pounds. Though heavily built, he is of only marginally taller than average height, standing at around six feet while unarmored. His face is heavily scarred on the right as a result of his encounter with a ferocious feline, and he is partially blind in his right eye.

Being a frontline fighter, Percival most commonly dons heavy cavalry armor consisting of two layers. A full set of Gothic Plate Armor on the exterior and an arming doublet underneath. At Percival's request, the doublet has has the Jaeger emblem emblazond on the back, though more often than not it is covered by his plate armor. The Plate armor itself comes with two different configurations, one meant for day-to-day combat and the other being much more ceremonial in nature. The figure in the middle is how the armor usually looks. It includes a Gorget and a Close Helm modeled after the likeness of a Lion's head.

The ceremonial configuration of Percival's armor is comprised of the same base plate armor, but with extra plating along the sides extending from his hip down to sides of his legs, as well as additional spiked shoulder platings and a much more ornate helmet. The helmet's likeness to that of a Lion is far more exaggerated and is significantly heavier than his regular helmet. It also has a red cloth running down the back of the helmet, meant to resemble the mane of a Lion, which serves no practical purpose whatsoever.

Primary Weapons: Percival has several main weapons, due to the multiple roles pole weapons can fulfill

Winged Spear:

Percival's most commonly used weapon. A standard thrusting spear, with protruding 'wings' meant to assist with defensive maneuvers during skirmishes and to prevent the weapon from penetrating too deeply which can potentially damage the weapon. Vertically, it is about a foot taller than Percival himself and is a rather lightweight weapon, allowing for Percival to utilise it with ease and finesse.

Cavalry Lance:

A heavy lance meant to be used while on horseback. Significantly longer and heavier than the standard infantry spear, it is meant for piercing the heaviest of armors, to unhorse opponents through sheer force and to kill enemy mounts. While usable on foot, it isn't exactly practical and is generally meant to be single-use.

Pike:

A ludicrously long and heavy pole-arm meant solely for use in defensive and offensive formations. About 20 feet in length and weighing in at around seven kilos, it would be an understatement to call the pike an unwieldly weapon, and in single combat it is only marginally more effective than a dining fork. Its strength lies in the ability to completely halt the advance of infantry and cavalry when wielded by large groups and to skewer groups of hapless soldiers from a safe distance.

Secondary and situational equipment:

Flanged Mace:

Standard infantry mace, meant for use in close quarters, no noteworthy features at all. Mace meets skull, skull ruptures and splatters all over the place. Plain and simple.

Throwing Javelins:

Shortened spears specifically made for hurling at enemies. Not quite as long ranged and as practical as a traditional bow, and not nearly as easy to use as an infantry crossbow but offers good piercing power and damage over a short period.

Heater Shield:

Small metallic shield easily used both on horseback and on foot. Doesn't offer a particularly large area of protection, but compensates by being light, easy to handle and very reliable.

Social Class: House Jaeger Vassal, Military Lancer.

Province: Riverside lands near the border between Leonhart and Vinoviloc territories, near the Scinan River. Currently resides in the Gallace Academy as a trainer.

Hyperion

Species: A grey Percheron, strong and large.

Height: 17.6 hands

Weight: 920 kilos

Personality: Hyperion is a very lax and easygoing stallion not unlike his very master. When not being ridden, he can often be found dozing away on a pile of hay, stuffing his face silly, or repeatedly attempting to mate with nearby mares, usually with far more success than his master ever has with the opposite gender. Hyperion's laziness causes a great deal of frustration to his master whom he disobeys on a regular basis. The only thing that can rouse Hyperion out of his usual stupor is the promise of battle, during which his personality does a complete 180. Despite his mischevousness, Hyperion's loyalty is unquestionable, and he will follow Percival to the ends of the earth if need be.

Family Description:

House Jaeger is a name well known amongst the Vinoviloc provinces as one of the best mercenary cavalry and pikemen in the business. Their rise to infamy came during the height of the wars, when casualties were astronomical and soldiers were dying by the second. Friedrich Jaeger, a disgraced Tempellar knight, started the organization with other outcasts and proclaimed his alleigance to the highest bidder. For years to come, the group fought countless battles for all three orders, whoever had the highest bid at the time, and the three groups learned to raise their bids fast, lest their troops hear the dreaded rumble of the hooves of the Jaegers' mounts. The group had fallen into service to the Vinoviloc order as the War Among Men came to a close. King Berlichingen, impressed by their mettle, offered the Jaegers a land of their own, a title amongst the nobility as well as a partial pardon from any previous crimes and asylum from the other orders, in exchange for alleigiance to the Vinoviloc order alone and homage to the Berlichingen line. Friedrich knew an offer he couldn't refuse when he saw one, and he immediately accepted, marking the formation of House Jaeger.

House Jaeger is more akin to an organization rather than an actual noble family, all those under the employ of them have to cast aside any previous titles and status and adopt the Jaeger name, Percival himself an example of a commoner bearing the Jaeger name. Every Jaeger undergoes the same rigorous training during their youth, and every single one is taught to ride and the ways of the lance. As they reach adulthood, they are granted a mount of their own after which, they are either cast out from the castle so that they may seek their own paths, or sent to serve the royal Berlichingen line. Most stay true to their origins, serving as sellswords and spreading the Jaeger name across the land, however all individiuals are not bound by duty and are free to forge a path of their own. The leader of House Jaeger, known as the Kaiser, is also decided through battle, like most things in the Vinoviloc provinces are. Every year a competition amongst all those who wish to join is held to determine the Kaiser for the year, and till this day, Friedrich Jaeger is the only person ever known to hold that position for more than a single year.

The average Jaeger mercenary is most commonly known for their weapon of choice, the humble lance or spear. While thought by many to be an overtly simple weapon only wieleded by the rank and file, in the hands of a Jaeger it is a force to be reckoned with. It is favored by the Jaegers for its sheer battlefield practicallity, low maintenance costs and the ease of which it can be used on horseback, yet another field the Jaegers are famed for.

In battle, the Jaeger serve as the frontline charge and the face of the army. An enemy will judge an entire force's strength by the way the frontlines fight, and the Jaegers ensure that they will never have the chance to underestimate them. They blitz right into enemy lines with the intend to crush the morale of enemy troops and send them into disarray in one swift blow. The Jaegers will not flee, the Jaegers will not falter, they will charge through the enemy lines, and will yield only to death, or the sight of a bare field.

Character:

Percival contrary to his position, is a slovenly and lazy individual and prefers to spend his off-hours dozing away in a spot of his choice. He assumes a rather calm and nonchalant attitude to the affairs of the world around him and is only concerned with tasks at hand. Despite this, his reputation as an exceptional fighter is unquestionable which has managed to keep him his knighthood, and he manages to display a modicum of enthusiasm when teaching new recruits, many of which vouch for his teachings. He possesses a strong sense of loyalty and honor, having being taught the importance of such values from young, and despite what his habits suggest, is constantly seeking for ways to improve himself, although actually putting in the required effort for such is a different matter altogether. He has a fondness for reading books, both for their educational value and for the fact that they help him fall asleep faster.

Best trait: His acceptance of failure and constant desire to strive to greater heights.

Worst trait:His lack of any actual drive to strive for the aforementioned greater heights.

Soft Spot: He can never turn his back on a good sob story.

Strengths:

- His skill with the lance is unerring, having trained with it from a very early age and his prowess is widely known throughout Vinoviloc lands.

- Respect for all opponents, no matter who they are. The Jaegers instill the values of respect amongst trainees during mock duels from an early age, and his many experiences on the battlefield have taught Percival to never undervalue an opponent under any circumstance.

-

Weaknesses:

- His laziness has lead to a large number of idiotic situations that could have easily been avoided had he been paying attention.

- His lack of noble blood, sketchy history, and the Jaeger's controversial status as a noble house has led to him being outcast by some in the Vinoviloc Order.

- His adherence to his old Jaeger traditions has led him to come into conflict with several laws, and is part of the cause for his stubborness.

Personal History:

(Subject to change)

Percival was born to a lowly pair of serfs in Vinoviloc lands, who slaved toiled endlessly under the opression of several cruel nobles. Unable to handle the responsiblities of bringing up a child in such a harsh environment, they sold the child to a local pitfighting ring at the early age of five in an attempt to procure enough money to cross the border and flee to Leonhart lands. From that moment on, Percival was forced to fight for his survival every passing day of the week. With literally nothing else to live for, he dedicated himself to training every minute of the day, using nothing but a crude lance and targe, the young boy would enter the arena and spill the blood of his opponents for the crowd's entertinment, and with each passing fight his reputation as the arena's youngest comabatant soon spread amongst audiences.

On the day of his fourteenth birthday, Percival after killing several other esteemed pitfighters during the previous weeks was wanted dead by several unhappy betters. Bribing the match officials, they had his would be opponent pulled from the fight, and in his place, was a lion. However, as the match was about to begin, a drunken man fell from the upper levels and into the pit, where Percival was about to square off against the lion. Unable to properly orientate himself, the man was helpless against the charging feline, and was only saved by Percival's timely dive. The ensuing skirmish was short but grim, and ended with Percival imapling the Lion through the neck, but not before sustaining grevious claw wounds all over himself, leaving him bleeding out next to the lion's still corpse.

Percival awoke lying on a makeshift bed in the middle of a large stone room, covered in bloodstained bandages, but otherwise very much alive. As he stirred he was greated by an elderly man, one bearing a striking resemblance to the one he had defended.

"Ah, you're awake, I was starting to think you had succumbed to death's embrace. It's not everyday one such as yourself faces of against an opponent so very ferocious."

"Where am I? This isn't the combatant quarters, it's far too.... clean."

"An astute observation, child. No this most certainly is not the pit from whence you have came, welcome to my humble abode."

"You brought me here?"

"Indeed, it was a move valiant thing you did, placing yourself between the path of the beast and my idiot son. It would be most... impolite of me to simply leave his saviour lying on the ground, choking on his own blood. So I took you here, and had your wounds tended to. I trust you find my services satisfactory?"

The man brandished a sheet of paper from his pocket at Percival.

"You didn't come cheap at all, the spectators at the arena seemed to have a fondness for little boys such as yourself. Starting today, you're family now, Master Percival Jaeger, I think you'll fit among us just fine."

The rest is as they say, history, Percival was brought up the Jaeger way and when he came of age, he faithfully served the Vinoviloc order. Nowadays, he resides in Gallace academy as a trainer. mostly likely fast asleep under a tree, as he waits for the next batch of recruits to whip into shape.

Syrenrei · Jan 20, 2015

Priestess of Glaeslin

Name: Areynia Schwartzenacht

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Race: Human

Appearance:

At no more than 5'5" and 110 lbs. dripping wet, Areynia doesn't exactly look threatening. She has lackluster brown hair and brown eyes, with a slightly foreign look to her in the shape of her eyes, and would be quite lovely if she wasn't always... well, so her.

Social Class: Priestess of Glaeslin. As 3rd daughter to a noble house, she appears affluent but has given her life to be a servant of Glaselin rather than pursue knighthood or mastery of a fighting technique.

Province: Vinoviloc Province

Weapon:

Staff of the Stolen Frost (see below) can be used for combat. As a priestess, Areynia truly hopes she doesn't have to get up close and personal with anyone; she'd prefer to stay in the background with her spells at if all possible. A sword is also carried on her hip that has seen little to no use. It's dubious whether or not she's ever used or practiced with the thing, but she has been told she should carry two different means of protection.

Staff of the Stolen Frost

This tall staff was initially made out of wood, then covered in a strong metal of unknown origin, and finally encased with smaller fragments of dragon scales carefully pieced together near the top. At the apex is a crystalline orb tinted blue and partially covered by a larger fragment of a white dragon scale, that wraps from the base of the orb, up one size, and to the top.

Mount Name: Enigma

Mount Personality:

Enigma appears to be a wild horse that is barely able to be ridden by Areynia. Given her inability to do much of anything well, this is somewhat disturbing on many accounts. Enigma is docile until ridden and then tries to challenge the authority of the rider, often resulting in mistreatment. For all her faults, Areynia is firm with Enigma and earned the stallion's respect.

Family Description:

As Areynia tells it, her father was a typical overbearing warrior and her mother was not much better. If her children had not shackled her to responsibilities of the home, the wild woman would have taken up arms with her husband and displayed their prowess in battle for all the world to see. Unfortunately for her mother, they were so fruitful that she was obligated to help in the raising of her many (seven) children. Areynia is the third eldest and has a horse, Enigma, that she inherited from her family and uses for travel.

Personality:

It is no small wonder that Areynia not only stumbled into the faith and following of Glaselin, but was accepted! She is wonderfully kind and friendly with all she meets, but comes across as nearly inept at many great feats she attempts. There are children with better use of a sword, she frequently trips over her own two feet, stares off into space in the middle of eating, and sometimes forgets what she is saying halfway through a sentence. The only time she shines is when she incites prayers and works with the temple to create new, more potent 'spells' for others to use. She has yet to reap the wild success she dreams of, but that doesn't appear to be slowing her down. At all.

Best trait: Courageous
Worst trait: Absent-minded & clumsy
Soft Spot: Areynia will do just about anything for a story or a book. She has a personal library in her quarters that can barely be carried on her horse and she is often found mulling over her tomes by herself time and time again.
Strengths: Steadfast determination & stamina (especially for such a small girl)
Weaknesses: Lacks any sort of physical strength, oblivious to many things that don't concern her, ignorant of some the finer points of culture (such as art, dancing, etc.)

Personal History:

Since Areynia was small, she knew she was not destined to be a great warrior like her parents and siblings. They possessed physical traits that seemed to have passed her over entirely and so she waited and sought for a way to prove her worth. The three deities had all appealed to her in their own different ways, but the intellectual angle of Glaselin pleased her the most. From a young age she began to walk by herself to the temple to study and pray and soon it became apparent that she would find a place there instead of in a set of armor. Her parents were (of course) disappointed but eager to 'off' themselves of a child that truly had no place in Teutonic culture. She was sent to the academy to practice her 'magic' and to help encourage students to find faith in Glaselin as their 'peer.' It's dubious she could inspire anyone, however! It seems that the lovely priestess can befriend just about anyone even if she fails in most other tasks.

Shura · Jan 20, 2015

~Corinna Oriel~

Priestess of Pyros

Those with true faith in Pyros need not fear death!

Corin

Gender

Female

Age

19

Race

Human

Social Class

Pyros Priestess

Family and Connections

Corrin's lineage is a long line of priests and priestess devout to the great god of Pyros

Mother:

A devoted follower of the church.

Father:

A priest to the church of Pyros

Kierstyn:

(@AkuNoOkami) Younger sister by one year. They stuck together after the fall of their village until her sister ran away from the church that had taken them in. Corin hasn't seen her sister since.

Father Alberus

: a priest who took in orphaned children and raised them with in the church. Not only did he become a second father for Corin, he also became her mentor.

Province Vinoviloc, Mechthild

– Destroyed

Once a small mining town on the border of the Charred Mountains. Despite its size it was a prosperous town this was mostly attributed to the faith of the people in the god of Pyros. Tales passed down from generation to generation speak of the town once barren and poor. The mines had no more resources to give thus causing it to wither as the population fled to more promising towns. Only those who truly held out hope in the mine stayed toiling away night and day in search of resources.

A Priest of Pyros from a town or two away a arrived to spread the word of the great god. While most were set in their faithless ways some were drawn by the priests promising words. A small church was formed as the faith spread. Despite the change the town still shrank. In an act of desperation a sacrifice was made to Pyros. Whether by coincidence or a true miracle a vein was struck a few days later. The mine was revived with a new source of gems and minerals which were more promising than before! Most believed it to be a miracle and the faith of Pyros took a strong hold on the village growing as the town grew and prospered once more.

Unfortunately not even their faith could save them from the Forsworn. They fought back the with everything in them however they eventually fell and the whole town burnt to the ground.
Appearance Notes

Standing at a full height of only 5'2" and only weighing 115 pounds even with her robes. Most do not take Corin for a threat. However hidden beneath the white and red trimmed robes lies a surprising amount of strength and agility. She has a natural petite and slender build however years of training and travel have kept her fit and trim, strengthening her arms and especially her legs. She still maintain a mostly feminine form with her slightly broader shoulders and chest narrowing down to a slim waist in a gentle curve before widening again at the hips. Her natural movement, though aggressive at times, still holds some grace in her movements.

Her auburn hair appears to be a warm brown most times but in the sun or by fire light it shines crimson. Naturally straight her hair falls to the middle of her back but is most times tied back in a ribbon of some sort with her bangs parted slightly to the right side. Her eyes a warm golden brown, nearly amber in color and normally hold a fairly determined look to them. Corins daily wear consists mostly of white robes with red trims which extend down to her ankles. Clasping her hood closed as a circular pendant with the symbol of Pyros. Thick well worn leather boots clad her feet up to her shin. Soft leather gloves normally cover her hands concealing most of the scaring from her training over the years.

Reference picture of Corinnas normal dress.
Relic

Klammer von Pyros

A pair of armor bracers which cover from her wrist to the elbow. The outer layer is constructed from hardened leather with softer leather used around the wrist to allow for movement. Strips of metal are worked into its construction to provide added support. The outer side has very simply engravings into the leather while the unnar arm has more complex engravings of swirls and suns. Three ruby red studded gems about 1 inch in diameter are embedded into each of the bracers centered into each of the suns.

Primary Weapon

Jäger

A Messer given to Corin by her father. With an full length of 30 inches Jäger is a well balance curved slab of sharpened steel It has seen many years of warn and blood shed as is show by the nicks along the blade and permanently tarnished spots. It is one of Corins most treasured possessions. It never leaves her person and she takes care of it before and after battle. She has only had to use it in a few fights and keeps it close more out of her fathers memory than anything else.
Secondry Weapons & Base Equipment
- Bow and Arrow – A strong wooden bow painted a dark crimson with a soft leather wrap around handle below the notch. Corinna only mildly experienced with a bow but has a fair accurate with a bow. Mostly used for hunting she aims to strike at vital parts of her targets anatomy. Preferring quick kills as opposed to slow ones.
- Daggers - A pair of four inch blades which she keeps close for utility and emergency purposes.
- Torch - Usually has at least 2 - 3 in her pack at all times.
- Mess Kit - Tin pot, plate, bowl and cup along with eating utensils.
- Healers Kit - A collection of herbs, bandages and equipment for basic first aid
- Collection - A box with vials of various oils and incense.
- Rations - sizable supply of dried fruits, meats and nuts.
- Misc. Survival Gear - Extra blanket, rope, flint/steel, water skin, sturdy leather backpack, soap
Personality

Passionate - Driven - Fearless - Stubborn

Raised by priests and priestesses religion has always been a very important part of her life. To most she is fairly warm and friendly but has a habit of leaning most of conversation towards religion in some way or another. She spends much of her time praying or practicing the blessed “gifts” granted to her by the wondrous Pyros.

It could be said that Cori is a bit fanatical in her beliefs and heaven help anyone who tries to argue with her about it. This does not mean she is disrespectful to those of other faith. Though bias towards her own god, she respect those who share the word of Glaeslin and Aquila as well as those who follow them.

Corin is rough around the edges and very outspoken about her opinions. Corin can come off as very pushy and loud. She has a severe mistrust towards Dragons believing them to be evil demons. Despite her small form Vinoviloc blood run strong making her is just as much a warrior as her father before her. When push comes to shove she will draw her blade and fight with no fear of death. Most would consider her reckless in this respect but Corrin fully believes herself to be a holy warrior of Pyros.

Best Trait
Strong Will

Worst Trait
Blind trust in her faith

Soft Spot
Children and babies

Strengths
Corinna is very suborn and driven. She will not stop until her goals have been reached. She has a high stamina and is able to endure large amounts of pain. There is very little that can shake her faith giver her courage and optimism in even the darkest of circumstances.

Weaknesses
Corinnas overzealous nature can be very off putting and sometimes causes her to jump to conclusions based on her teachings. She is extremely stubborn in battle and won’t stop until she is killed or unconscious. Reckless at times she doesn't fear death and believes that so long as their is faith victory is assured. While she has high stamina and can endure more pain than most she is not invincible, her high threshold for pain often has her with injuries she doesn’t even acknowledge. Her small stature does not lend it’s self to being very strong physically either.

Drives and motives
What drives Corin is her faith and need to cleanse the world of sin and evil.
Personal History

Corinna’s mother died while giving birth to her younger sister only a year after she was born leaving the two girls in their fathers care. Being a man of the church the two girls were raised by the clergy. Along side the teaching of pyros Corin, like most children of Vinovilic, she was also taught how to fight. While rough in the beginning Corin went from an unskilled klutz to having a moderate amount of grace and skill with a blade.While unclear as to why everyone was to be trained in combat she soon found out in the worst way possible.

When she was eight her small town got word that the invading force was drawing near. The whole town prepared for battle even Corinna prepared to fight alongside her father. Her father gave her his sword used by her ancestors in place of the older one she had used for practice. As the enemy grew closer it became clear that it was a very large force, one that would end the lives of many, if not all, of the towns people’s lives. So in an attempt to save those who could not fight the children, elderly and women willing to leave were sent away to find refuge in another village. Corinna refused to leave and had to be dragged away kicking and screaming.

Not very long after they arrived at the village word was received that the town had fallen and there were no survivors. Corinna wept for the loss of her father and others who were family for her but vowed to become stronger so she could stand up and fight next time instead of running.

With no blood family left Corin fully embraced the church and devoted her life to worshiping the great god Pyros. The others studying with in the church became her siblinga and Alberus became Corins mentor as well as an adoptive father. She spent her time traveling from temple to temple taking refuge and learning from her mentor. Through faith and hard work Corinna hoped that she would one day be aided by divine power and give her strength. Everyday when she wasn't in lessons or working alongside her mentor she practice the skills her father had instilled in her as a child.

Her prayers were answered in the form of an artifact bestowed upon her by her mentor for the diligence Corin showed. She was given the Klammer von Pyros at the age of fourteen starting the next phase of her training. Hours upon hours were spent reading and researching Theurgy. She practice night and day between prayer and chores, enduring the pain when she messed up or made a mistake as penance for her folly. Over the years she has gained many scars on her hands and arms from working with fire but has also gained a high level of success with her relic.
Geist

Geist is a very spirited horse. He loves to run in open spaces and often play keep away with anyone who tries to catch him. The only one who seems to be able to “talk some sense” in to him is Corin and that’s mostly because she gives him treats for his mischievous behavior.

Kaine · Jan 21, 2015

LEONHART

Name:

Countess (Heir) Colette Bourbon of Aveyron

Age:

14

Sex:

Female

Weight:

107 lbs

Height:

4‘ 7“

Appearances:

Deep Red hair, lightly tan skin, freckle dashed face with thin red lips, dark lashes and pale blue eyes. Everything from her mother except the darker skin tone. Her hair is long and wavy, often kept clean by her own grooming but when traveling she keeps it braided so it is not such a hassle.

Her clothing is often made of generic cotton and she wears light leather armor, decorated, on her wrists, ankles and chest. It is often burgundy, the color of her mothers family, and draped in gold as required of nobles and on her right hand, her middle finger, is a

http://i.imgur.com/bThXLMb.jpg Ram's Head

http://i.imgur.com/bThXLMb.jpg ring. This ring, to those in a few circles, will know it represents an assassin's apprentice. It is worn to be seen in battle so an enemy knows their foe.

As her weapons follow, the sword is often strapped across her back, her knife is lodged vertically on her right side waist in the front and her skewers are hiding in different spots. One on each wrist in between her armor and her skin and a third is hidden in her left boot piece of armor.

Personality

Different. While most are worried about costs, ruling and social appearances, Angel cares more about those around her. She is sweet, kind and caring. So much so she tends to be viewed as Naive and Innocent. Maybe she is? Maybe she isnt? Children can put on many facades. Her’s tends to be the overly nice little girl.

For her age, she is skilled, but when comparing to an adult, not so much. She lacks strength but not agility, finesse but not motivation. Angel is not to be taken lightly though. she is as she was trained, cold, calculating and effective. When the time calls for a life to end, she can do it no questions asked.

Personal History:

From the day she was born, Colette’s life has been laid out. Even though her borthers is as well, she is always a little envious of him. Sabastien has much more freedom, at least from her point of view, than she does. While he trains to one day take over Aveyron and make it his own, her training is to always be at her brothers side and protect him.

From the first day she could hold a knife, her father has been training her in the ways of fighting. While first learning of ways of nobles, the honors, gestures and politics of common fighting, she also has been taught the ways of the shadows. How to kill without being seen, how to make someone enter eternal slumber without ever touching them, and above all, how to move about without catching the attention of any one person.

So much for a child, and now, even at the age of 12, she still undergoes much training. However with the onset of world troubles, her father feels this would be good real experience. A drone does as they’re told, a warrior thinks for themselves.

Character:

On the side everyone sees, that is her first and most trusted attribute. She strives to help others, to protect them and to do what is morally right. She would give food to the hungry, shelter to the homeless, and pity to the less fortunate. She does not really worship or believe in any god because if something can be done, it needs to be done with one's own hands.

However this is where it turns dark. If a person wishes harm on another, then they should do so, but recognize the consequences of it. If you want to murder someone, so be it, but recognize that it will be your own end. She is much like a coin, on one side is is kind, on the other she is a demon. She will not hesitate to kill, if commanded to do such by her father, or someone he trusts. She has already killed her fair share of people and because of it has become desensitized to the act when needed. This does not mean it doesn't hurt. Very rarely has she ever needed to show this side, but it was created and exists in case the need should arise.
Aveyron
- The City of Aveyron is unique in its own design. Out on a lone out cropping of solid cliff faced rock, stands Castle Bourbon. On most days, the castles gates and bridge are open to the public for visitation, commerce and meetings. This castle is larger than most as it harbors more; being home to the royals, Travelers, and rare trades. Only the finest of merchant items are found in here and everyone in the land knows it.
  
  Across the bridge is the Economic center of the region. Merchants from around the world come here to buy, sell, trade, and barter. This side of town is triple the size of the castle and everyone from fine rarities, to food, to armor and clothing and in every style can be found here. Lastly the area around Aveyron is clear and grassy. Peasants do not work the land, and in fact, only merchants live here. Some full time working their trader, others just travel. Some peasants are paid to upkeep the lands, making everything beautiful for those who arive.
- There are three factions of Rulers in Aveyron. However, This is the actual pecking order, not what people see from afar.
  
  First and foremost is Countess Abigail Bourbon. Widow of the late, Count Gregory Von Beckenstein. It the wake of his death, and against much of her families wishes, she remarried the lovely Ambrose Bourbon. Seizing complete control of her city, she now rules with an iron fist. However this is not a bad thing.
  
  For run of the mill, everyday tasks, she has a council of 5. 3 men and 2 woman, Merchants themselves, and all successful from Aveyron, they have been chosen and granted power to assist in ruling by Abigail herself. These operations work to keep the peace, assist in collecting taxes, assembling banquets and much much more. Most would fear corruption in a place as this, but the last man to line his pockets became ill with fever and died suddenly. Abigail loves her power more than riches, she knows the key to keeping her city flourishing.
  
  Lastly are the patrons of the city. These are merchants who have put permanent residence in Aveyron. This people are the heart of the city. They fuel its economy, getting traders to come and go, to bring rarities often or on request. Most traders are travelers, but the few who can provide the most of Aveyron are treated dearly. They are invited to Royal banquets, to attend balls and even if low blood, are treated like royals themselves. Many disagree with these actions, but this is Abigail's city and no one will stand in her way.
- This is a brief history of Aveyron.
  
  “...During its darkest days, Aveyron was horrible. Disease, poverty and death struck hard...”
  
  During these times Abigail was a young, distressed wife of a coward, imbecile of a count Gregory Von Beckenstein. During these times, he taxed the people to the point of nothing. He cared not, only for his gold, his women, and his throne.
  
  Abigail, a beautiful young woman of 30 years was done. She wished to run away and never return, to leave the wicked place and live a just life out in the fields. One night, the night she escaped, she ran into a band of traveling merchants. They knew not who she was but had set up camp for awhile near Aveyron. There she met and fell in love with traveler by the name of Ambrose. As if his name wasnt wondrous enough, he was everything she wanted. Strong, determined and smart.
  
  She decided not to run away yet, but nearly every day she would sneak out and visit the man. as time went on eventually he learned of who she was. The countess of a dying town. When the time came for the caravan to move on, Abigail pleaded with to go. Frustration and arguments ensued but as the day progressed a plan was hatched.
  
  The details are lost to time, but within the next weeks, Count Gregory became direly ill with fever and passed on to the next life shortly after. No one even seemed to notice, the town was so deadly, and suddenly, only days after his death, Countess Abigail announced her engagement to Ambrose Bourbon.
  
  In the months following their wedding the town took a complete 360. People started coming to visit, citizens started to get healthy and actually be able to feed themselves and things started looking up. That is till Gregory’s family accused the countess of murder and debauchery. She quickly silenced those claims with truth.
  
  She had indeed killed the count, that he was scum, and the people suffered from it. That her higher born blood was superior compared to hers and that if any actions were taken upon her or her husband, that war would ensue. Maybe took the threats at face value, but the turn around in Aveyron was truth enough of her statements.
  
  Many years have passed and now with children and a thriving town, the next step in Aveyron history unfolds.
  
  Their first born some Sabastien Bourbon, 17 years of age, is being groomed to take over as Count. Through his fathers strict regiment, his son is already turning out to be great. He is merciless and cold when needed, but caring and kind when not. However their Daughter, while Countess (Heir) to the Throne, is being treated much differently and often is not seen by the public.
  
  (Unknown to the Public)
  
  Part of the reason Abigail and Ambrose were so successful is that Ambrose is one of the best Assassin’s in the region. He protected his love Abigail, while she did was was needed to rise. Surprisingly though, he never had to kill others besides the first count. Everyone took Abigail’s threats and remained in the shadows and now that Aveyron is successful no one dares attack her even in darkness though some still harbor hatred. It would not be strange for someone to target her children at some point in time.
  
  His rank as an Assassin is represented through the Ram's head ring he wears predominantly on his left hand, middle finger. The mark of a master. Those under his protection, his son and namely, his love, Abigail, where the same ring on their right hand, ring finger and lastly, Colette wears one on her right hand, middle finger to signify she is an apprentice of the master. Few master assassin's as there are, they all use animals to represent their past and depending on placement, use it to show those few circles, where their reputation stands.
  
  Abigail wears her ring proudly, so do her love for her husband, but also as a warning to those afar. Back to Sabastien. He is being groomed for leadership by his mother, what is not known is that Colette is being groomed by her father. She is being raised to protect her brother at all costs. She has already gone through more than any child should and because of this when the time calls for it, can be a cold, calculated killing machine. To the public, she is the sweet, innocent countess that is dumb and will never amount to her mother.
  
  Both parents are extremely proud of their children, and regardless of what others say, they both know this.
- This long sword is a custom made one specifically for the use of Colette. It is a mix of foreign design and homeland design, featuring a single, sweeping edge but forged with strong dense steel to put it on par with other long swords. It does have some basic engravings of it quoting her family, heritage, the vow and a few other intricacies.
  
  For its usage, while an adult can one hand it like any similar sword, this blade is nearly as long as Colette is tall. This means for her child stature, she wields it like a claymore. She must use two hands, and her attacks can be slower and wider.
  
  Lastly this blade is almost always kept in a sheath, and wrapped in a basic silken fabric to not so much mask it, but to draw less attention.
- This is a common, cast steel knife. Once sharpened, it retains a razor’s edge for days when maintained properly and can be maintained easily. It has a wooden handle and even in a needed situation could slit a throat as easily as slicing an orange. Colette uses it for many things and is not afraid to show her skills.
- These are the weapons of trade for Colette. Referred to as Skewers they do exactly as they look, they find the teeny most tiny parts of a knights armor and exploit it straight to the heart... or lung, kidney or artery. Three of these are kept on Colette and if a target is fleshy and close enough, they can be thrown to great effect.
- One of the largest horses around, Colette's Clydesdale Roy is as friendly of a horse as you would expect for a monster. Standing taller than any man, and wider than two normal horses, many question when the see such a small child riding him. Using a mini ladder or just leaping off of other things, Colette is quite adept as riding and mounting him.

khuyen · Jan 21, 2015

KATRIN HANNELORE AUGÜSTIN

______________________________________________________________________________________

Knightly Order: Leonhart

Name: Katrin Hannelore Augüstin

Gender: Female

Age: 24

Appearance: Standing at a mere 5"6, Katrin isn't what you would call intimidating. She has a strong gaze to make up for it though. She has mastered the one-eyebrow lift and an icy-cold glare, but is mostly seen with a very neutral facial expression. Her hair, a golden blonde, is kept long despite inconvenience in battle as a sign of defiance (though she ties it up neatly most of the time). She walks with her back straight and her gaze high.

"Someone once told me,

'if you can't beat them, join them.'

Perhaps a bit vague. So why do I use

the quote,if I do not know what it

means..? Hmm. Who knows.

It has a nice ring to it."
THE STORY OF KATRIN HANNELORE AUGÜSTIN

Part 1: Upbringing up to Disownment

Ludwig Augüstin, a man of strength

Born into a family of Knights, Katrin is the only and youngest girl to 4 brothers. Her father, Sir Ludwig Augüstin, was a famous knight, though now retired. He served the Duke of Lichtenburg, a wealthy town in Vinovilan, and was his Vassal Knight for many years. Katrin’s brothers continued in their father’s footsteps, which was not surprising - Ludwig Augüstin had trained his sons with much discipline since their birth.

Katrin on the other hand grew up, adored and pampered by her brothers, as the only girl in a household full of men would be. The Vinoviloc values of dominated this household as well: strength above all. This might've been the reason, her father did not acknowledge Katrin, as he acknowledged her brothers, and this seemed so unfair to her. But she was strong-willed and stubborn, and refused to learn the ways of a proper lady, when she would much rather spar with her brothers and learn the ways of the sword. She needed to become strong. The Augüstin Family held a close relationship with the Fromm family and the kids of both families grew up together. The daughter of the Fromm family, Gabrienna, began training for knightship alongside Katrin’s brothers. It took Katrin a week of constant pestering to convince her father that it wasn’t fair, and that she should be allowed to join as well.

And so they trained and trained and trained. As they grew older, and everyone seemed to get stronger, Katrin became more and more frustrated. She wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t moving along as fast as the others. She was quick and light on her feet, but in terms of strength, she wasn’t up to par. Her brothers and father insisted she stopped the training. “You’ve had your fun, Katrin Hannelore, but enough is enough.” Impossible. Was this all she could do? The Black War had been going on for years, and had destroyed many cities near the border. They had to recruit many knights and fighters to protect what was left of Vinovilan. When Katrin became of age, she insisted on joining the knights and squires and her friend and brothers in battle, but Ludwig Augüstin put his foot down. In order to get his daughter to stop the nonsense, Ludwig arranged a duel between Katrin and the son of his friend. If she was not the first to draw blood, she would lay down her sword and forget about becoming a knight. “Father, let me prove myself, I beg of you! If… I win this, you will let me go to war!” Stubborn as she was, she had to put down her own terms. Yet, her stubbornness came from her father’s side, and the cold war that had been ongoing between them broke out. “Fine. But if you lose this battle, you are no longer my daughter. You will leave this household and never show your face before me again.” Despite protests from her mother and brothers, these were the terms Katrin agreed to. And the terms she would have to uphold.

She lost. And she left with only a small bag of clothes and necessities. She left behind her long-sword, but most of all; her identity as Lady Katrin Hannelore Augüstin.

Part 2: The Journey

Had she really been cut from the family? It was hard to believe, and a part of her expected her father to soften up and tell her to come back home. But as days went by with Katrin wandering further and further away from her hometown , she realized: The Augüstin family does not go back on their word. If she had gone back and begged, perhaps it would’ve gone differently.

As she made it to the neighbouring city on foot, Katrin was close to giving up. She was out of food and with only a pouch of coins left. Yet it wasn't a lack of resources that made her feel despaired - it was the lack of motivation to go any further. Afterall, where could she even go? So she turned to the nearest pub. Hours passed. Days. Just as her money - but not her luck - ran out, Aquila had shown her mercy and sent a kind weapons-merchant her way. He approached her and said he needed the extra help, selling and producing his weapons for the war. He could use a girl like her, he said, but the look of pity in his eyes said something else. Sympathy. But who was she to reject it.

So they traveled, selling and buying weapons, trading with knights, and repairing the many damaged swords as resulted from the ongoing War. The kind merchant acted like an uncle to her, teaching her various skills like simple weapon’s repair and the art of getting the best trade out of customers. Each month, Katrin found herself further away from home and in the end, away from Vinoviloc. Her last stop with the merchant was in Couer d’Or, the capital of Leonharte, though their parting was not planned.

Milo de Gambel, "Hawkeye" - Leader of the Outlaws

They traveled in a caravan, heading for a smaller town outside of Couer d’Or. Their caravan was modest, nothing flashy, but yet they were still attacked. A group of bandits had ambushed them and knocked Katrin out cold. When she came to, her friend and benefactor was gone, and she was tied up in the bandits’ camp. This was it. The tragic end of her short life. Or so she thought. Arrows suddenly started raining down on the camp, taken the bandits who were standing guards out. It all happened so quickly. Before Katrin could even realize what had happened, the bandit-leader who had taken her laid dead on the ground and in front of her, a new man stood, the leader of a fearsome group. Milo de Gambel, it was. Most rumours, stories and whispers called him Hawkeye. The group had no official name, but yet they were well-known. Who were these people? A group of lawless bandits, who steal from the corrupt and give to the good. The Outlaws, many named them. With nowhere else to go, Katrin had to rely on her charm and wit to get the group to take them with her. They were not bad people, she thought. Hoped. They had saved her after all. And if the rumours were true, she could be helping them in their quest to right the many wrongs in Leonhart. “Hmm. I normally don’t let strangers join us, let alone see us. But I have a feeling, you could be useful. Hop on, milady!” And so, she did, starting a new adventure.
CHARACTER

Katrin, though she wants to deny it, has grown up with poise and elegance, but often tries to hide it for several reasons. It's been stuck in her head, since she was a child, that being a lady was her curse. She cannot deny having used her womanly charm to turn things in her favor on several occasions, and only in those situations will she acknowledge herself as such. She realizes how silly it is, but emotions are not rational to her.

She tries to be levelheaded, calm, and often succeeds - she has a knack for looking at situations from a clear point of view for coming up with the best solution. Her special skill though is putting up facades - she rarely lets her guard down when around people, and it's hard to know who the real Katrin Augüstin is. Sometimes, she's not even sure herself.

Despite her only-average stature, she can pack a decent punch or two. Back in Lichtenberg, she trained hard to become a knight, and though she never reached the level she desperately needed and wanted to be at, she picked up a lot of things that came in handy later on. Her merchant benefactor had made a sword for her, which she keeps close to her. Her fighting style thus switched from the usual long-sword to a more interesting weapon. She learnt how to use her speed to make up for the lack of brute power and uses a more 'calculated' way of fighting.

She keeps in shape - though she doesn't show it to anyone and tries to train on her own, when no one can see her. Fighting is a sore subject for her, and she'd rather avoid it if possible - in her head, she's always afraid, she still isn't strong enough.

Born: Lichtenberg, Vinovilan

Current residence: Unsettled, travelling around in Leonharte

Family

Father: Ludwig Augüstin

Mother: Marianne Aügustin

Brothers: Lars, Björn, Nathaniel, Kaspar.

Her values are an odd mix between the strong and strict values of the Vinoviloc people, and her newly found acceptance for some of the more relaxed and cunning values of the Leonhart people. It puts her in a bit of a tight spot in most situations, but deep down, she really just wants to do what's right in her own way. At least, what she thinks is right. Her current situation often puts her in positions, where she's strongly against her own actions, but in the end, it's the thought of "how I can be useful and do what's right of me" that keeps her going.

Her main weapon is a handcrafted Falcata, which she received from the merchant who took her in. She has a small buckler shield, which she carries on her back with a strap. She hides a dagger on her body at most times as well, having learnt from experience how necessary it can turn out to be. She doesn't get in many fights though, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared for when the time comes. Otherwise, she travels pretty lightly. Aside from her regular clothes, she owns a fitted gambeson, which she uses for both armour and outerwear.
LICHTENBERG

Lichtenberg is a relatively small, but wealthy town, in Vinovilan. It’s west from Mächtigen Schild and only a few days travel away. The center of Lichtenberg is the Buchlinger Castle. The Buchlinger family is an aristocratic family, who over generations have built their wealth with the management of their mines. The Lichtenberg Mines are scattered around the many hills that surrounds the walls of the town. The majority of the mines produce minerals such as Iron and copper - thus strengthening the weapon production in the small city. Despite it’s size, Lichtenberg sells and trades with many neighbouring cities in Vinovilan and especially Mächtigen Schild.

Lichtenberg is as mentioned surrounded by many hills. Robbers and thieves would have a hard time attacking this town - partially due to the Vinoviloc Wild, which can be dangerous travelling through, and partially due to the knights living in and protecting the areas in and around Lichtenberg.

Majority of the population consists of the lower-class mineworkers and their families. The upper class consists of knights and gentrys and the Buchlinger family.

Knights are fairly common in Lichtenberg, mostly due to the short distance between Mächtigen Schild and the town, and many travel back and forth, making Lichtenberg a bustling town with many new faces. Lichtenberg even has a training-field for youngsters, training in combat and sparring. Aside from Knights and their families, there are many merchants and tradesmen, who live in or frequent Lichtenberg.

The current Duke is Geoff von Buchlinger, who has been in charge for almost two decades. When the war came, Mächtigen Schild took the hardest blow out of all the Border-cities. Lichtenberg was on the luckier side, being strategically placed further away from the border. Most of the men, women and knights in Lichtenberg were called to battle, leaving the once lively Lichtenberg to resemble a ghost town. Those who are left though spend their days in the mines to supply the increased demand for minerals and metals.

AkuTheWolfOkami · Jan 21, 2015

Kierstyn Agathe Oriel

The Shadow of Vinoviloc

Order:

Vinoviloc

Name:

Kierstyn Agathe Oriel

Gender: Female

Age:

Eighteen
An eggshell white skin color provides the background of the lass to go along with the supplementary features that build the rest of her. Bright hazel eyes hinted with the slightest grey give her the visual organs to see forward. Her long brown hair usually favors that of dirty blonde, but it can get as dark as the bark of a tree in the appropriate amount of sunlight. Or lack there of rather. Her delicate looks deceive her actual nature as a killer.

Soft hands (aside from the calluses gained from her archery and sword fighting), gentle skin, and a small frame portray a woman of high nobility, and of domestic duties. This deception plays well into her small frame as she only comes to a standing height of about 5'2, even with her boots she has not giving her much over that.

Usually she can be seen in something as marvelous and grandeur as a dress she had purchased with her own money. Gently walking the streets of a town, an elegant flower against the dark backdrop. Courteous. Very respectful in her manners, and never the type to provoke conflict.

Yet, when she puts her armor on, and lifts the hood of her cloak up she becomes a different person. Even her looks seem to be different. Those bright eyes, now as cold as the coyote's on a hunt. Those gentle hands, now gripping a blade meant to deal death. The darker cloaks helping hide her appearance before lightning strikes.......and blood is the only thing remaining.
Social Class: Vassal

Province: Vinoviloc, Mechthild

Once a small mining town on the border of the Charred Mountains. Despite it's size it was a prosperous town this was mostly attributed to the faith of the people in the god of Pyros. Tales passed down from generation to generation speak of the town once barren and poor. The mines had no more resources to give thus causing it to wither as the population fled to more promising towns. Only those who truly held out hope in the mine stayed toiling away night and day in search of resources.

A Priest of Pyros from a town or two away a arrived to spread the word of the great god. While most were set in their faithless ways some were drawn by the priests promising words. A small church was formed as the faith spread. Despite the change the town still shrank. In an act of desperation a sacrifice was made to Pyros. Whether by coincidence or a true miracle a vein was struck a few days later. The mine was revived with a new source of gems and minerals which were more promising than before! Most believed it to be a miracle and the faith of Pyros took a strong hold on the village growing as the town grew and prospered once more.

Unfortunately not even their faith could save them from the Forsworn. They fought back the opposing force for several years however they eventually fell and the whole town burnt to the ground.

Weapons and Equipment:

Bastard Sword:

Forged by a smith specifically for a Ranger, this sword provides everything she needs for her style of combat. Quick, smooth, with Power and Grace. Usually worn on her back.

Anelace:

Due to her fighting style and favor of using stealth, she carries an Anelace next to her Bastard Sword on her back. It is mainly used for close quarters combat, but sometimes she is adept enough to use it in place of parrying dagger in conjunction with her bastard sword. This is a worst case scenario situation.

Parrying Dagger:

In the times where she must endure intensive combat, Kierstyn prefers to head in with her Parrying Dagger to even the odds that her lack of strength versus some larger foes offer. She is very capable with her sword, but she is able to use her agility in conjunction with both the parrying dagger and bastard sword to bring down a larger opponent who she wouldn't be able to overcome otherwise.

Bow and Arrow:

Preferring stealth and range (and the fact she's a ranger) Kierstyn often times has a bow and quiver full of arrows. She is an excellent shot, and that along with her stealth abilities, are easily her top two talents.

Armor: (just doing a lose description so proper names will be missing)

Often Kierstyn will be wearing simple leather armor with chain mail underneath, with plated shin guards and gauntlets, and a cloak. When stealth is imperative, and noise needs to be minimized -she goes without the chain mail and gauntlet/guards. When she is expecting heavy combat, plate armor takes over her upper torso, but her bottom is only left with shin guards.

Mount:

Shadow.

Shadow is a compliment to Kierstyn. A very tamed horse who lacks interest in anything except eating, running, and helping her. He rarely makes any noise, which is one of the reasons after she stole him (it was just to be used to cover her escape) she actually kept him.

Character:

A devout follower in Pyros, the death of her foster father had thrown her off that path a bit. A bit weary because of the traumatic event.

With her history, Kierstyn had turned into a bit of a shy woman. She likes to be social, and move about lots of people, but she turns into a mushmouth when approached by most people. Her gentle voice becomes a cadence of low volume, partially coherent words. She does better with people she knows, and is able to show off that silver-tongue of her's when she's comfortable, but still remains a soft-spoken woman. When she finds the courage to speak, she can be a bit rude, which might play back into why she's timid when she does begin to speak.

Yet, a flower is all she wants to be. She loves to be seen in the most gallant of dresses, when she can afford them that is. Beauty is what she desires to showcase, to show herself off. A woman with much tact, manners, and class. Johan had always taught her, that just because she had the tools to kill and fight, she didn't always have to. She could go be the flower. Roses had thorns right?

She's not one for an up right conflict, preferring to sneak in somewhere and get what she needs without being seen, but she is very capable of handling herself in a direct conflict. Whether it be a fight, or an argument. She works hard, but can lack focus on a mundane task (though never when it comes to stealth). Her discipline, or lack thereof, has gotten her in trouble in any many occasions. Yet, she always finds someway for her to sneak out.

A woman, who should not be trusted. As most honorable knights fight in direct combat, even initiating duels. She will concede defeat, and just as soon thrust a blade into her enemy's throat. Even in her personal relationships, she is much of the same. Were it not for her status, she doubt she'd have any friends particularly because she teeters on a harlot.

Yet. She seeks approval, and acceptance. An insecurity coming from her plight since birth. An insecurity developed from being in the shadows. When you're a person who she wants approval from, she'll go out of her way to get it by any means, even if it means not being herself.
The Tale of the Shadow

Darkness...We all start in it. In the womb. In your mother's stomach. It's all darkness. Our birth is suppose to be our emergence from darkness into the light. Well, I was born out of darkness and into the shadows.

My Mother died giving birth to me, a year after she gave birth to my elder sister. The child who killed her mother. The second born. The one who had no claim to anything. No mother there for my sister and I, we both were mostly raised by the church, there. There I found my light in Pyros.

Pyros would cleanse me, the earth, temper me to be better. I could never live up to my sister, but I didn't need to. Pyros was proof this. So I continued to serve in the church, despite my shortcomings. Despite living in my sister's shadows.

They raised us, my sister and I, teaching me the staff and other teachings that came along with being a priestess. My sister took well to it, learned quick. Father was proud. He didn't seem too proud in me. "You'll get it one day Kierstyn." That smile, I'm not so sure if it was genuine or not now.

The other kids didn't seem to care too much about my shortcomings in the church. We enjoyed each other's company, and they actually seemed to prefer me over my elder sister. Maybe because when you live in someone's shadow, no one pays attention to. Nothing expectations to meet? Just live free..

I was 7 when the dark days returned. The army who had come and taken the village, leaving everyone slain. My sister and I had escaped, but as expected my father had left his sword with her. Just another shadow.

We'd gotten split up, I'm not sure where she ended up but...I was alone. I was crying by myself, alone surely to meet my end before I was approached by a cloaked man. He had just fled the battle, like a coward, but he was my hero, my savior. So how could I judge him?

There was something off about him. His face showed cowardice, fear, his body trembling, but his eyes. His eyes showed fire, like Pyros had just touched him his self. He would take me in, claiming that he would not let another female child die because they are a flower. Roses had thorns, so should she.

His name was Johan Morkin. He was a sellsword,a hunter, a thief, and that's how he made his money. He taught me to hunt, daily. How to skin, and how to cook. He showed me the importance of a clean kill, as it kept the value of the skin and meat up. He even taught me what certain pelts or meats were worth. With hunting, I started to become a good tracker. Started to learn how to sneak without making a sound, and how to aim and fire a bow.

He was devout in Pyros, and we burned the carcass of animals that we had killed we found no value in. He'd make sure to pour his finest drink into a fire before every hunt or celebration.

When I was 10, we moved from the woodlands to somewhere where hunting wasn't as easily valuable. He had decided it was high time I learned how to defend myself, so he trained me. First, he trained me with just an Anelace and how to fight well enough to escape. After a few months, when I had become proficient, he taught me how to be offensive with it. He even let me keep it.

Apparently, he had taught me how to defend myself because he began to leave for whole nights, sometimes even a night or two. He'd leave me and when he did, he'd tell me,"May Lord Pyros burn bright in your soul."

I would return with,"And even brighter in your's."

My training would become more versed, he had started teaching me how to fight with a sword, and once I was good enough in that, how to use it in conjunction with a parrying dagger. He never let me use the sword or dagger outside of training (subsequently wouldn't let me train on my own), stating that a rose should always be able to hide her thorns.

I was 15 by the time he decided to show me the tricks of his trade. Why he was as good as a hunter as he was, pass what he had taught me before. Eventually after many trials, failures, I had gotten pretty good at living in the shadows. Yet, he still wouldn't take me with him when he disappeared some nights. Well, until I had begged him long enough.

He had finally taken me. This journey, we had to steal and kill someone quietly, it was quite easy. Not even worth going on about. The one I will tell you about is the one worth going on about.

We had followed our routine, burning the kills from the night before that we hadn't planned to use, and pouring our best wine into the fire. It was time to move out. It was night time, and Lord Pyros seemed to be burning in our favor, for it was storming. The thunder and heavy rain would cover our noises, sight, tracks. It was perfect, but still it was a fortress, and we need to remain patient.

The infiltration was simple enough. A climb, that the rain actually made harder, up the side of the brick structure and we were in. We'd sneak together around, avoiding detection and conflict altogether. Yet, where we needed to go there were two guards manning the front entrance.

He instructed me to be patient, they'd either switch guard duties or one would go relieve himself. Either way, whenever they would get separated that's when I'd fire my arrow at the one who left, and Johan would quickly dispatch the second. Well, time passed and neither moved. I grew impatient, and so without confirming it when I thought one was turning, I let the arrow fly through the air.

It struck the man in throat, and he bled but the sight of it was in his plain sight, so he made his way to ring the alarm bell. An unhappy Johan grabbed my by the arm, and we made our escape or at least tried to. Once we had descended the wall we had come up, we were met by a group of men.

Johan yelled for me to run, and began to fight the men. When I had objected, Johan would only yell louder and I would oblige. And so I ran, like a coward. I ran until I was at out rendezvous point. Time passed. I grew concerned, but eventually Johan came.

He looked at me, a smile on his face before falling on his side. He had been hurt, he was dying. I couldn't believe it,"No, Johan you can't die. Come on, we'll burn that wound close. Lord Pyros will cleanse that right up for ya'."

Yet, he only shook his head,"You need to run, I managed to kill the first group. But they'll still be after ya'."

"But even if you die, we have to burn your body...."

"Go Kierstyn...take my sword and my parrying dagger. You're on your own now, but you'll never have to live in the shadows unless you choose to. Lord Pyros burns deep within your soul."

Reluctantly, I obliged, before taking off with his parting gifts. Lord Pyros couldn't have possibly allow for an injustice as big as this? We had done everything he asked, we did more...

So I returned to our home. By myself. I picked up where he left off. I became a huntress, a sellsword,a thief, an assassin. I chose to live in the shadows, because I'm not so sure Lord Pyros Flares bright within.

Stickdom · Jan 21, 2015

Argrave Stolkes

The Hawk of Aquila

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Gender: Male

Age: 28

Social Class: Gwentan Falconer

Province: The Bay of Seven Tides; a spreading community of fishing and sailing villages along the northern coast of the continent, some miles east of The Aquellican and far north of Mount Heofon. Destroyed in The Black War, it has since been rebuilt. (based loosely on the Irish coastal cultures.)

- Argrave's more wild appearance.
  His complexion weather-beaten and tanned, the best word to describe Argrave would be rugged. Robust and sturdy, his body bears the results of his harsh lifestyle in the wilderness and hinterlands of the Canticlar provinces. The features of face are sharp and defined, his cheeks and chin covered in a thin coarse beard when it has been kept. The dark facial hair matches that on his head, a solid and ruddy black, cut to length about his shoulders. An air of a smile is always on the corner of his lips, alike to his eyes, a soft brown flecked with green and golden sparks.
  
  Strong legs carry his figure with some finesse, though none would describe his manner as elegant, more so that his muscular limbs are befitting of his stature. He has scores of marks from his training as a Gwentan, the range of sizes of scars trace his biceps and his back, and an intricate tattoo of Aquila's Golden Eagle is etched into his left shoulder and on the backs of both of his hands. As if to complement this array of physical milestones, the roughness of his hands implies the hardiness of the rest of himself, hard-working, adaptable, toughened by the his own feats, and the winds and the rocks and the trees.
- Argrave's constant companion, his crossbow is modeled to fit his occupation and its piercing bolts are as the talons of his falcons. Granted that he has rarely had occasion to use it in actual mortal combat, more often it has been put to use hunting game or slung behind his back on a border patrol, searching for the roving bands of ruffians and thieves that occasionally preyed on the humbler of travelers. In the instances that the bandits had actually attacked in force, Argrave's aim proved true at range, while the edged metal trimmings about the front and rear of the weapon's stock have proved effective makeshift weapons in a melee.
  
  Due to the occupations of many of the lower class as fishermen, hunters on the shallow seas, a harpoon is much more common place than a spear, and much more adaptable. Easily wielded in either one or both hands, this weapon is little over a meter long, with a glaive-like blade affixed at one end, and a stout spike at the other, and a tassel by which a rope may be attached to pull it in return to the thrower. Argrave has carried his in honour of his father, who was in his own time a fisherman, and though Argrave has surpassed his humble beginnings and become a knight, of sorts, he still wishes to honour his family through their traditions.
  
  An iron buckler completes Argrave's basic kit. This minuscule shield has little weight in blocking a heavy-handed blow or catching piercing spears and arrows. Instead, it is built for speed and precision, as his other weapons are, using the buckler's size to create openings in his opponent's defenses or to catch the thrusts and jabs of an opponent whose speed is faster and lighter than his own.
- Not one for extravagance, Argrave prefers the simple clothes of a forester to heavy armour. This he supplements with thick boiled-leather pauldrons and braces for his shins, but his philosophy is in order to be injured, they have to hit you first. The wind's speed is his guide, agility is his ally. He may not be able to stand against the strongest of blows or the sharpest of blades, but any who challenge him will have difficulty landing a blow of any sort in an even match against him.
  
  His trusty woodsman's axe is always slung over Argraves back when he ventures into the wilderlands. This he considers more a tool than a weapon, simply because of his uses for it, cutting lumber for a fire, felling a tree for a shelter, hollowing out a log for a simple boat, even used a walking staff when the blade is sheathed in its leather encasement. Still, should Argrave find himself in need of a melee weapon, the blades of his axe are more than capable of hewing through both man and metal.
  
  Fancying himself both an author and a bard, Argrave usually carries a satchel full of old-fashioned scrolls, several bottles of thick and heady ink, and a quill from the tail of his falcon's first moult. He records in it often, though very few besides himself have ever read their contents, though he may read tidbits and selections to those near him if he feels so inclined. Oftentimes, they describe experiences of his past, hopes of his future, or snatches of songs with lilting tunes and untraceable melodies.
- An important part of The Bay's culture is their falconry. Often used to hunt small game, such as rabbits and hares, fish, game birds, the seahawks and falcons of The Bay are integrally linked with the culture, providing many with both pastime and provision. His constant companion, Argrave's bird-of-prey is the most steadfast and loyal of friends. The way others would care for a hound or horse, Argrave does his falcon.
  
  Beryl
  
  Beryl is Argrave's oldest companion, with him for nearly 9 years now. So named for her splendid coloration, she is intelligent and obedient, appearing to understand Argrave's intentions at the simplest of commands. She was his first personal falcon and she has a special bond with him, almost as if her mind were an extension of his own. Beryl was given to him as an eyass (A raptor that is taken from its nest as a downy chick), and has long since grown to maturity into a creature of swiftness and beauty.
- Personality
- History
- Chiefly boisterous and optimistic, Argrave's personality seems to clash with his hardened and worn appearance. He can be serious or even fervently violent should the situation arouse his ire, but his temperate attitude and training background give him a window of grace for his persecutors, though his composure will not hold eternally. However, at times, he can seem downright insane, raving to himself or to inanimate objects, or lecturing any who are nearby on the topic of their false view of the dragons as monsters or demons. Believing himself an avatar of Aquila, a pawn at her complete disposal, he does not hesitate to challenge any who dare question her will or his motives in achieving them.
  
  In battle, Argrave fights with conviction and instantaneous moral decisions. His fury is directed towards the impenitent, the impious, the blasphemous. Those who doubt the might and will of Aquila are heretics, bound to the fate of humiliation and defeat. His own calling, to protect the dragons, is a crusade, a holy mission, and fie shame on those who would renounce that. Argrave’s style of fighting is single combat on his part, though he has sometimes fought against groups on his own. This is not only to protect the uninvolved innocents, but to prove his worth to Aquila that he is following her calling.
  
  Dedicated in his prayers and fiercely devoted in his faith, he believes that his fate is his own, guided by Aquila and that his falcons are familiars granted to him, tokens of her favor. He believes he has been granted the ability to find the Scent of Aquila, as he calls it, an aroma which he claims reveals a man or woman’s devotion to the goddess, or of an object’s importance in her will. A sword dedicated to the purging of evil will have this scent around it, while the dagger of a wicked thief will have a stench of impurity. None but himself has ever claimed to have recognized this smell, so it is quite likely that it is a figment of his deranged mind, brought on by the ceremonies and oaths taken under dubious circumstances of his acceptance as a Gwentan.
- Argrave's childhood was average for being born into The Bay of Seven Tides, he was raised on the out-of-doors experience. No book-learning was necessary to hunt and trap, fish and track, set up camp among cliffs, forest, and caves, and otherwise exist in the palm of nature's hand. As he grew into a hearty young man, he joined the guard of the city, patrolling the limits for intruders and attackers. A period of drought in some of the southern, rockier provinces had driven bands of desperate thieves to the shores northward, seeking to plunder lonely farms and stores. Messages came in from outlying settlements on the long stretches of countryside between the towns; horror stories of barns and temples razed to the ground after being pillaged of all valuables and of innocents driven out of their homes or slain.
  
  This brought the attention of the Gwentan, who soon began to scour the highlands and fields of these miscreants, bringing them to civilized towns for judgement and execution. This became the turning point of Argrave's life, a single Gwentan leading a troop of villains into The Bay to be publicly put on trial, as much to encourage the citizens that their threats were being removed as to exact justice. This arbiter of order fascinated the young Argrave, and he approached the man asking for an apprenticeship. The man stared, stating that it was not as simple as he thought it, and asked if he was certain that was the path he wanted to take with his life. Argrave affirmed his wish to become a Gwentan, and was told to meet the man outside of the town at dawn of the next morning. There was little ceremony as Argrave packed a few important possessions, bid his mother farewell, and swore to his father that he would make him proud of his decision.
  
  Upon meeting the man in the forest, who did not introduce himself except as "Master", Argrave was presented with a sword engraved with flames dancing across the blade, a buckler laced with intricate designs of trees swaying in the wind, and a book whose leather cover was etched with hexagonal patterns of crystal ice. Argrave was instructed to choose one, as that would determine the type of training he received. Hesitantly, thoughtfully, he already having a weapon, and almost no experience with books or reading, picked up the buckler, which he noticed felt extraordinarily heavy. The man packed the others within his satchel, then commanded him to follow in his footsteps. His Master was a man of no words at all after this, remaining totally silent as they traveled through the nights and rested during the daylit hours. This went on for some weeks, avoiding all traces of civilization, not a soul to be seen as they made their way slowly to whatever location his Master had in mind. Finally, they were within sight of Aquellican, or so Argrave assumed, as it was the only city he could think of that matched the beauty he had heard it described of.
  
  But, he was not to enter the Holy City of Aquila, but lead to a cavern on the outskirts of the city. Down his master lead him, the narrow and grimy hallways lit by dark hooded lanterns. From this point on, a heady smoke began to fill the tunnels, fogging his wits and his body, he became sluggish and mentally detached from his whereabouts.
  
  Time passed in a blur, he faintly recalled rituals performed and oaths taken. The clearest memory, however, was of a revelation he had while kneeling in prayer. A stupor came over him, and he was in a grassy field with a beautiful woman, her garments a swirl of summer breezes, her face clouded and unrecognisable. Her voice floated to him, not audible, but as a whisper of his own subconscious. She was Aquila, she told him, and she had chosen him for his pure heart and strong body. He was to be her arbiter, a meter of justice upon the land. The dragons long-thought to be mankind’s enemy were her servants, and they had been a test to humanity’s openness to accept her will. Now that they were being lead on this journey around the continent, still being treated in disregard even after their aid in The Black War, she had chosen him as her emissary, the guide of the dragons, warder against mankind’s ignorance and folly. As the vision began to fade, she granted unto him the winds of her will, the Scent of Aquila, that he may know the tools of her choosing and the enemies of her cause.
  
  Argrave awoke from his trance, clear-minded, his thoughts transformed from muffled and blurry to sharp and keen. He was aware of his surroundings with clarity, his course of action became clear. He sought out his Master, who saw that he had found his revelation, scored the tattoos of his calling into his flesh, one on his shoulder as a brand, two others to the back of his hands as reminders that his works were no longer his own, but at the command of Aquila. His belongings, which had been removed from him some time hence, were returned to him, the buckler of Aquila that had once been so burdensome now felt natural, as if he had been accepted by it. His Master offered him the other two tokens, the book of Glaeslin and the sword of Pyros, as sign of his completed training, but upon attempting to take them, the book refused to open, as the sword refused to draw. Aquila alone was to be his guide, as it seemed, and he returned both gifts to his Master's hands.
  
  Then, he set out to meet his destiny, the dragons that were to be marched over the continent were his wards, and Aquila, his guide.

Jays · Jan 21, 2015

Eeonus Ignis

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From the Realm Beyond rose the line of Ignis, forged in molten flame of the Elder World, scorching as the sun and unmovable as mountains, a force of nature in all of its glory. But as time passed and oceans churned, gods fell and skies shattered, so too the Ignis returned to the Great Mother's embrace, in ashes and bones. Until only one remained. The last Ignis, tained but pure, Elder flame trapped in festering blood of a half mortal, denied the oblivion its kind deserved. Awaiting the revolting Underworld of human for the crime of a long dead Lord. Injustice, it seemed, spared neither gods nor even Ignis.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

I pity the Creator and his children, whose very life-force drained ceaselessly by these creatures they had once treasured in the guise of worship.

Eeonus Ignis

Dragon of Fire, Earth and Light || Name: Eeonus Ignis || Gender: Male || Age: 452

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Origin

Eeonus lay in his egg for 1826 days, slowly growing to the steady hum of his Sire's low rumbling breath, to the comforting heat of flame that regularly bathed the cave in searing intensity, a flame that while seemed lifeless was in truth his Sire's murmured secrets and emotions, like human's bedtime story, whispering to the hatching drake the tales of centuries. The history of the Ignis itself, for the word is not simple a name but a title, older than this child of a world, as old perharps as the World Beyond for there lay the true home of dragons. In his Sire's tales there were indeed pride, but hidden in that pride could be found pain and shame, for instinctively Eeonus knew that his kind had been tainted, that the legacy so rightfully his is no more, lost to the meager undeserving souls of mortals sinfully woven into the Bonds. As it did his Sire's so too the truth broke the youngling's heart with its brutal injustice.

The tales came ever so rarely, weakness and desperation edged the whispers. And so the drake hatched into a scorched cavern with his Sire an unmoving carcass beside the shattered egg shells, leaving behind an umcompleted Ignis with a lost legacy already burdening its shoulders. What more, he wondered, did this devastating world have in store for this broken one?

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Four Centuries

The young Drake struggled to survive in the absence of guidance. There were few game in the barren sierra, just barely enough to keep the dragon fed. Fortunately there seemed to be a lack of other dragons as much as lack of food, so Eeonus had the whole of Charred Mountains for himself. Hard rock and dry valleys quickly became his home and territory. The Drake adapted to the harsh life and so grew strong and tough, tough enough to sometimes invaded the Scorched Plane and raided the herd of the wretched creatures that dwelled there.

He discovered another of his kind residing on the South peak of the sierra, but neither him nor the other ventured close, each's territory a silent agreement that was honored for centuries after.
Contact was made with the tribes of Mt. Heofon 142 winters after Eeonus' hatching. The two newly matured dragons seemed surprised and intriqued to discover a fire drake in the Charred Mountains living alongside the elder serpent that had resided there for so long. The two were as alien to Eeonus as he was to them, and so he too was excited to hear their tales of the last dragons far far away. But Eeonus was perplexed of these dragons' way of life. Living as a tribe, hiding among human as one of their own? How could such a thing be tolerated? And he found his answer when Feualan and Gorged, one a fire dragon and the other wind, showed him their human forms with pride, presenting them as if mastering the transformation was a great feat worth respecting. The dragons had fallen, Eeonus realised, fallen so far.

They acted human enough, smugly and testily, prowling his land as if it was their own and destroying the mountain as if it was a game. Perhaps for them a game it was, but Eeonus could not tolerate their presence. The two dragons seemed troubled at the concept of territory. There is no such law, they said, and the only law worth noting is to respect your elders.

Wrong. Only the strong deserves respect, and these tribes seemed to had forgotten that, sharing a crowded space for survival. Feualan and Gorged were weak, softened by a century living among human, so they could do naught but flee with wings in tatters and scales scorched as Eeonus taught them that ancient rule, for as frail as they were even two were no match for an Ignis, tainted or no.

The Heofon tribes learned to respect him after that. Every decade as they came to give tribute to the Elder dragon sharing his mountain, they dared not venture too near his cave less his wrath be unleashed once more.
The wretched creatures from the plane beyond swarmed the Charred Mountain and its valleys, rushing onward to the human cities of the West. The stench of blood and terror hung thick in the air, awakening Eeonus from his months long slumber to the Foresworm war. A representative of Heofon came in search of his aid and the Elder dragon of the Charred Mountains, both of whom refused. Mortals slaughtering each other was hardly his concern, unlike the fools who gave their lives for the descendants of those who had slaughtered their ancestors.

Eeonus, once, did come to observe. He assumed his human form, one of only a handful of times he had done so, and walked the human road to the battle site. Death enveloped the field like a gleeful child seeking new playthings, corpses covered the grass as far as four leagues, stinking of excrement and festering flesh. Among it all lay the carcass of an Ice dragon, beautiful in its horrifying scope.

He learned something new that day, that human too knew to protect their territory. Maybe they are not close to mindless beasts after all. But so were the Foresworns, who were perceptive enough to steer clear of his land as they retreated back to the Scorched Plane beyond.
Once again the Heofon tribes came for his aid. One of their own, as foolish as any of the rest, had foiled the effort of the tribes to make peace with human and so can roam the land once more. The fire dragons had disowned the one responsible, but shame burdened them all. Perhaps, they thought, one devoid of any emotional connection to the ordeal might not suffer from the same shame and thus able to fulfile what none of they could not bring themselves to do.

They were partially correct. In the end, by no sense of duty did Eeonus accepted their plee but simple out of boredom, an emotion neither mortal nor god could escape.

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Self

Hunter Senses: Smell, Hearing, Eye-sight, Heat sense

Partial shifting combat form: Eeonus uses spikes grown out of his human form to fight. He has no skill with any human weapon.

Night & Eagle Vision: Peeping Tom

Heat & Cold Endurance: Ignis blood cared nothing for the weather.

Ignis' Breath: Heat and Fire

The Undoing

Eeonus is extremely uncomfortable in his human form, he requires constant concentration to keep the shift, any slip of control causes draconic traits to appear.
- Proud: What can be more proud than the last legacy of an ancient noble line?
- Immovable: His decisions are set in stone, just as his heart. One could hardly success in swaying a mountain.
- Noble: A disgrace to his name Eenous would not be.
- Observant: The draconic eyes see all but for the most determinedly hidden.
- Protective: As any territorial being would be of himself and his.
- Forgiving: Hate? Vengence? Such mortal things to taint one's self with with.
- Curious: Fast to be fascinated, fast to learn.

Dusky · Jan 23, 2015

Minerva Purpurea

This new age where dragons and humans mingle shall provide boundless new opportunities... for experimentation.

Minerva

Element: Ice || Name: Minerva Purpurea || Gender: Female || Age: 152

Growing Up

Minerva hatched on the northernmost side of Heofon Mount. She was born to Juno and Jupiter, but as one of the first dragon offspring, the entire tribe participated heavily in her raising. She was given the best of everything, taught everything they could fit in her head - which, it turned out, was quite spacious. She knew history, science, combat techniques, lore, mastery of both her forms… Everything a dragon should know. She mastered all of these, but for two - though certainly a formidable threat, she has always been more cerebral than ferocious, more interested in experiments and research than battle. She is to be feared, but she is no master. Furthermore, she has never quite been able to get the transition into human form quite right, most notably maintaining draconic scales around her eyes. Those who know her well may suspect but never be certain that it’s more a matter of won’t than can’t.

Specialty

Fragile Strength: Minerva can form ice on her skin in limited amounts.

This can be done at any time in either form.+

She can control the shape - so, a barrier or a spike, for instance.+

These are easily maneuverable.+

This is especially helpful in her more nimble but less sturdy human form.+

-This does not serve as much use in her dragon form.

-She cannot withstand the cold for too long as a human.

-She can only conjure a limited amount of ice - no three feet spikes.

-This ability is only as strong as ice is - so, it depends.

Character

Exactly what it says on the tin. Minerva has a vast assortment of knowledge and she picks up on new things quite quickly.
Her proverbial feathers rarely get ruffled. She is not an emotional being, and rarely will she get swept up in any excitement. She has no interest in involving herself with conflicts, and indeed seems utterly unflappable. Patience, quietude, and peace are qualities she has or facilitates.
Minerva has developed a distaste for others. She does on a rare occasion enjoy conversation - in small amounts. She prefers to limit the amount of time she spends with Others, as they do, eventually, wear on her patience. She can be viewed as stand-offish; indeed, she will blatantly ignore Others if it suits her mood. She feels like she's been cheated, and her one warming influence is gone now.
She will always choose the most direct means to her ends. This doesn’t necessarily imply she always makes her ends practical - but on those occasions, she is at least aware of the impracticality. Occasionally, this penchant for practicality clashes with Others’ ethical sensibilities. Except to avoid conflict, Minerva pays little heed to this.
She cannot always hide her derision for Others, in particular humans. She is almost feline in disposition, wholly self-centered, and valuing Others generally for what they can do for her. This does not mean she is incapable of affection - merely that she uses it sparingly and only for her very favorites, in much the same way someone dotes on a pet. On top of it all, she has a high opinion of herself, never wanting for self-worth.
This comes with the territory of being intelligent; knowing as much as she does, she wishes to know more. If something strikes her as interesting she will certainly make an effort to learn more about it.
The situation may change. Minerva is fine with this. She can change too, if need be.
Minerva’s proclivity for research and quick wits means she rarely goes into a situation without knowing all she can about it. Her decisions are informed ones.

Personal History

Minerva was hatched 21 years after Flavius - in draconic terms, a remarkably close birth, considering their lifespans, population sizes, and infrequent mating habits. In human proportions, a three year age difference - enough for him to clearly be her senior, but not enough for them to truly feel different. He doted on her as she grew, as she was the only other hatchling at the time.
Minerva learned breathtakingly quickly all the things her tribe had to offer. She developed normally, physically, but within two or so decades she was already on Flavius’ mental level.
Flavius was displeased by this, which turned their friendship to competitive pursuits. This did not immediately tarnish it, though things grew more strained as time went on and Minerva advanced on his level, always keeping him on his toes. For Minerva’s part, she disliked that she had a challenge in Flavius.
Maturity comes with age, and over time the two dragons came to be equals rather than competitors, contemporaries rather than rivals. They were so very close in age, and as Flavius broke into maturity and Minerva approached, it seemed obvious that they would soon breed.

And then Flavius died in the brief and bloody war.
The war left scars, one of them physical. From under her wing to the tip of her flank runs a thick, knotted rope of knit-up tissue. In her human form, this is from the pinch of her waist to the top of her thigh.
She'd volunteered to go among the humans as an ambassador, though she would be horrified if you were to suggest as much to her face. However, she was not selected to go. The elders had said they were concerned for her following Flavius' death, and thought it best she stay home with her own people. They failed to account for the memories, the many iterations of his ghost around the mountain.
And bitter, too. Being given "time off" to "recuperate" has only made things worse, and she's become if possible even nastier than before. When she heard the news about the fire dragon, she scoffed. "This is why you should have sent me. I could have stopped that," she outrageously claimed. And she might have been right, but nobody would say so.

She has a funny way of mourning, this one.

simj26 · Jan 25, 2015

VINOVILOC

, friend.

"To simply follow what others have set for you is not living at all, friend."

Name:

Syd Parque

Gender:

Female

Age:

54

Appearance:

Syd Parque is not an attractive woman. Her huge physique is devoid of the usual womanly charm present in most of the female cast, and is instead, filled to the brim with bulging muscles and pure, raw, unadulterated strength. Towering over most at 6'7", Syd is a freakishly tall giantess of a woman, and wields similarly freakishly gigantic weaponry and armor. Each of her swings with her halberd is said to be able to decapitate 11 men, and she boasts the strength of 10 regular men. She is NOT a body-builder, and is not 'ripped', as one will put it. Her body is more stoutly built than a body-builder's. She does not build muscle to look good or presentable to the public. She does so to be able to send her opponents wishing they never picked a fight with her.

Underneath her helmet, Syd Parque is no less unattractive. She bears scars throughout her face, one over her left eye, clouded with blindness since birth, and another across her left cheek as well, just beside the scar upon her eye. Her wispy, greying hazel-brown hair, cut short and boyish, and the wrinkles forming upon her face says that age has not caught up with her well. It is not a surprise that Syd refuses to leave her quarters without her armor. She is warmly complected, but her various scars and facial flaws often detract from that specific feature.

Speaking of her armor, it is only fitting that is larger than herself. Made for pure frontline combat, or defensive strategic placement, Syd's armor is heavy and suffocating to anyone who isn't her, bearing shoulders of massive proportions and hugely padded thigh armor. Her armor is detailed more clearly in the image shown.

Social Class:

Born as a child to a Baron.

After desertion and defection, earned the social standing of Knight, but serves no Lord. Only accepts direct instructions from King Lukas himself.

Province:

Originally from Leonhart. Deserted and defected to Vinoviloc, and currently acts a pseudo-nomad. Owns a relatively quiet shoreline at the south-easternmost coast of Vinoviloc territory. She is never around to provide any presence within it, however, and leaves it as is. Thankfully, her underlings are doing a great job of keeping things together.

Weapon:

A 7 feet halberd with an axehead twice as wide as she is, coupled with a ridiculously large greatshield that is able to cover 3/4ths of her entire body in height, and is as wide as she is. With a mobile impenetrable wall and a customized halberd, she needs no other weapon.

Character:

"A man who serves others first before himself is a man looking to die a fool. Pense, donc je suis, friend. Do you exist?"

Syd Parque prides herself as the 'knight who serves herself', although technically, she belongs to the Vinoviloc Order. Her fellow Order members, however, fear her enough to leave her to her own devices, and she appreciates them for it. True to her self-imposed title, Syd Parque shows no interest in following the Vinoviloc Order's orders, nor does she seem very intent on following whatever code of honor and chivalry knights are into nowadays. To her, she sees the words 'honor', 'bravery', 'chivalry', and 'loyalty' simply as excuses made by others to explain their actions. She believes that no one should have to act on any of these to perform good deeds, and must act, instead, on what they themselves believe is right. She has no care for any of the deities, and sees religion merely as well-intentioned beliefs that have been befouled by far too extreme establishments. That having been said, Syd respects the opinions and beliefs of others, but only if she can truly feel that it is genuine. She has a tendency to test the faith of others by bringing up controversial talk, challenging others in both words and actions, just to see how far they will go. She, herself, is approaching her death with every day, and will wholeheartedly defend her own beliefs with every last ounce of strength.

"Hah hah hah! Partez, friend! My respectable features, they are horrible! C’est une maladie contagieuse! You will be as ugly if you stay here! Hah hah! Je suis desole, I enjoy self-depreciation. I know I am ugly, appeler un chat, un chat, why bother with kind words?"

Syd is more or less, very lighthearted a woman, and takes everything in her stride. She cares not for her appearance or what others may say of how she looks. She has a healthy sense of humor and it is not rare to hear her hearty laughter once she gets talking with old friends or acquaintances. She is willing to listen to the problems and stories of others, and is more than likely to empathise with them. She is nothing short of the definition of Gentle Giant. Even if she is equipped with the encyclopaedic knowledge of how to entirely crush a human head, she is regarded by those who know her as a noble and kind soul who would rather prefer the pacifistic alternative. It doesn't always work out for her. As long as one does not intrude on her own personal code, she is more than willing to be a friend in need. Take note, for she is the type of friend that will be there, no matter come rain or shine, hell or heaven, and will bring down even armies just for one she truly sees as a friend, as long as she believes that they are in the right.

Syd Parque's contribution to any combat situation is to mow down enemy crowds by the dozens with a swing of her halberd, and provide an immovable wall to her comrades. Her strength lies in, well, her strength, and she capitalizes on it very well. She, unlike most knights, does not rely on skill or actual proficiency. If she can sweep through armies like a farmer does with a scythe in his field, with just one hand on her oversized halberd, why bother with trivialties? Her heavy armor makes it insanely hard to even wound her properly, and her shield has survived numerous flails and maces, and is still as resilient as ever. Her actual experience in several actual battles make her almost invaluable as an intimidating presence in whichever side she chooses to ally herself with in any skirmish, and is aptly known by most as the veteran of veterans.

"Ah, I cannot say much to that.

Chacun voit midi à sa porte. Men believe what they want to believe in the way they want, non? I let them."

Unlike what most will tack on to a hulking figure like her, Syd Parque is not dumb muscle. She is not placed at a high priority as a strategist in the Vinoviloc war room for just her presence, and is a strategy lecturer in Gallace Academy. She is well-versed in all three main languages in Gallace, and is able to communicate with locals of all lands and places with no difficulty, and shows the ability to quote various philosophies in all three languages. She admits she's not very good in chess, however, since she thinks it is foolish to think that some units can only move in certain ways. Claims the only good thing chessboards are for is to knock riders off their steeds when thrown properly, as well as home decor.

"La mort est personnifiée comme figure anthropomorphe dès le début de l'humanité. On this day, he is I. My name is Syd Parque, knight who serves herself, prepare to FEEL MY WRATH."

All in all, Syd is your best friend if you need one, but she is NOT dumb, and she is NOT tied down by whatever faux code of honor other knights claim to uphold. Her black books are clean, because no one lives through her rage long enough to be put in them.

Personal History:

Naturally unappealing to the eyes, and blind in one eye since birth, Syd Parque's life was not joyful when she was young.. Born in Leonhart territory to a noble family of some rank, she was not very popular, for you see, no one appreciates an eyesore, especially not a woman with not even looks to save her soul. Syd Parque grew up as a mostly ignored child in her family. On retrospect, had they actually devoted time to her, Syd Parque would never have become who she was today. During her free time, even as a young child, Syd could be found reading up the exploits of heroes past, and battles from long ago in her family's library. She later took to building her strength by lifting various fill-ins for weights while reading, all while her family continued on their own personal tasks, leaving her to her own devices. At a young age of 14, Syd Parque was already known for her unmatched strength at her school, and those who had unwisely thought they could provoke a girl who made a name for lifting entire persons with one hand found themselves utterly demolished with one blow from her. She dropped out of education at 15, and left her family's home to sign on as a militant in the Leonhart army.
There, she found no solace either, both because she was a woman, and for the fact that she was not eye candy, like the rest of them out there. Women were supposed to be pretty, weren't they? Her tormentors quickly shut up, however, when one of the braver ones got too close and found his face being introduced to the floor post-haste. It didn't stop, though, the tormenting. Her name as the strongest woman in the Leonhart army spread to the officers, and they began deploying her out as a frontline unit. For nearly two decades, Syd never complained once, keeping entirely to herself for her whole life in the military. During this time lapse, she grew, in size and strength, devoting each day to better herself as a soldier. In no time at all, she towered over almost every man and woman in her squad. At the same time, she ordered a custom-made halberd and shield to suit her needs, both of which have become part of the image of Syd Parque. However, the twenty years she had spent in the Leonhart military felt...empty. She longed for something more. Something more than just sending rows of enemy knights across the field and breaking the necks of horses of the riders thought wise to ride close to her. Her higher-ups were basically using her to be an impenetrable meat shield and made her to be a force to be reckoned with, and she was given no extra pay for this. For a lack of better words, Syd Parque got sick of their shit, walked up to the officers quarters and more or less punched down the door. She demanded, for once in her entire life, to know why she wasn't receiving any recompense for performing life-threatening stunts. The officers, who had wrongly thought that Syd Parque would never harm a fly despite having seen what she could do on a battlefield, laughed and told her that the only life being threatened were her opponents' eyes when they saw her. Syd Parque, tired of enduring thirty-seven whole years of being looked at like so, took the officer's oaken desk from under his arms, broke it in half with her two bare hands, and flung the pieces across the room. She turned her back to the officer and walked towards the exit of the room. Halfway through the threshold, just before she had to stoop down to ease through the door frame, she turned slightly, and gave one last salute to the quivering man.

“Je m’en vais. Adieu.”
Leonhart did not see the last of Syd Parque after that day, but none, even as knights, could muster the courage to apprehend her. She took to wandering the land of Gallace alone, earning her keep as a unaffiliated mercenary. Her strength was of high demand, and she contested various whole mercenary groups in terms of ability to deliver on the job. Many of these mercenaries have tried to eliminate her as a threat to their business. One such man almost suceeded, scarring her blind eye. As a reward for being able to wound her, Syd Parque allowed him to keep his life, but not after denting his shield beyond utility and breaking his sword. It would look like this would be the end of the attempts on her life. Alas, Syd Parque's life was not so simple. The competition lessened their attacks on her, but some extremely loyal members still tried. After a while, Syd Parque grew tired of having to deal with her 'lovers', and attempted find another job where she did not have to face competition in. Her attempts at other tasks, such as being a florist, ended mostly in something being handled too harshly, and, as a result, things being broken. She wasn't cut out to be anything but a tool of war and battle.

She had thought this, but her life changed when a traveling troupe of entertainers, something akin to a circus, just happened to visit the town she was staying in, requesting aid. They had recently run into a pack of highwaymen, and their guards were killed in the ensuing skirmish. They had escaped relatively unscathed, but they could not travel with safety if they had no guards to back them up. Seeing this as an opportunity, Syd Parque grasped her halberd, hoisted her shield, and strode up to the entertainers. They took one look at her huge size, ignored her other aspects entirely, and nodded in approval. That was how the knight who serves herself became a bodyguard. Within the troupe, she was warmly accepted as part of the family. The troupe consisted not only of bards and mages that enthralled the audience, but as well as other humans that could perform inhuman acts from swallowing swords to growing beards even if their genders dictated they shouldn't. Treading on 42 years in age, Syd Parque lifted her halberd and shield for someone else for what she thought was the last time in her life, and hurried to keep up with the troupe as they began to set out for other provinces.
Over the years, Syd Parque was content with her life, with the members of her troupe having treated her as one of their own, and she, having her legendary humor of the Buddha, grew a tightly knit bond with them. Good times must, however, come to an end, and it began not longer than 7 years after Syd happened to meet these angels in her life. Monetary income became sparse, and the members were becoming restless. Syd, worried about their condition, wondered aloud to them if she could help them in any way at all that did not compromise her pay. After a while of discussion with Syd herself, they came to a decision to have Syd be part of the show herself, masquerading as the Strongest Woman in Gallace. While this wasn't far from the truth, Syd was pretty humble enough to be quite embarrassed by such a title. Through Leonhart and Tempallar (will correct later when I check it) lands, she performed feats of strength, such as lifting almost impossible weights such as cattle, and lifting smaller trees. When her strength was challenged by any, she would accept, but for a price. If she won, she would receive the wager. If she lost, she would have to pay the challenger twice the price. Many men who prided themselves for their strength lost much of their purse on these occasions.

When they finally arrived in Vinoviloc lands, the demand for the Strongest Woman in Gallace to be presented and challenged was overwhelming, due to the nature of the Vinoviloc populace, so much so that her original show of strength was cancelled in favour of just the challenges. Her popularity drew crowds to the troupe, and she was hailed as a hero by her friends. Vinoviloc's respect for strength and might garnered her much attention and respect never experienced by her in the other lands. Vinoviloc citizens had always shown a certain attraction towards her power, but never so much until she became part of the act. Many of the nobles offered her a position in their lands, so that they could show off to their neighbours, but she turned them down in favour of her troupe.
I mentioned the end earlier, didn't I? Here it is now. Her 49th year of having lived on this earth came around, and the troupe finally disbanded, after near a decade of entertainment, leaving Syd Parque alone once more, after the rest had parted ways. Syd Parque stood at crossroads, looking to the skies above Gallace, as if they dictated what she should do from here onwards. Then, the giantess sat down on these crossroads, set her armory down, and thought for a long while. Days passed, and both rain and sunshine fell on her, until she finally made up her mind. Gathering her belongings, she marched, a one-man army, marched to the King of Vinoviloc. When halted at the gates, she demanded, with reasonable force, to be allowed in, on the grounds that she was defecting to the Vinoviloc. As if she was ever with the Leonharts in the first place. When her attempt to enter was refused, she directly challenged the King to a duel. Might made right in the land of Vinoviloc, that much she knew, and she exploited this to great effect. The farcical practices of other lands did not apply here, and she was allowed her time with the King.

Whilst she clashed with the man who usurped the throne through his strength and skill with her own strength and skill, she talked and mulled various things over with the man known as the King of Vinoviloc. A day passed, and neither was tiring, it seemed, until at last, Syd Parque earned the scar under her blind eye from the king's blade, whereby she straightened up and laughed heartily at this wound, before throwing down the towel. The King, knowing that such an asset to his people could not be let to wander, acknowledged her as one of his own people, handing unto her a title of nobility, which she disregards with much impunity. For the past few years since then, Syd Parque has resided mainly in Vinoviloc lands, wandering around. She sometimes features herself as a lecturer in Strategy in Gallace Academy, and as her act of the Strongest Woman in Gallace in taverns and pubs here and there.

Pense, donc je suis. :"Cogito, ergo sum.", "I think, therefore I am."

C’est une maladie contagieuse: This ailment is contagious.

Appeler un chat, un chat: To call a cat, a cat.

Chacun voit midi à sa porte: Every man sees noon at his own door.

La mort est personnifiée comme figure anthropomorphe dès le début de l'humanité.: Death has been personified as an anthropomorphic figure ever since the début of humanity.

Je m’en vais. Adieu.: I leave. Farewell.

Double posting because I'm a right douchebag.

Killigrew · Jan 26, 2015

Sayne de Challant

~“Il n'y a qu' un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé.”~

Leonhart

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Appearance: He's five foot eleven, and has all the dancer-like grace and carved muscles to make the lithe body of a trained fencer. An objectively, notably handsome face, and a playful expression are usually what a person would notice first. His demeanor works to put others at ease, and his voice, made strong by song, is smooth as butter.

Relic: Aquila's blessing is caught around his thin rapier's hilt, a green, curling shine that calls out to the goddess of wind. The blade's name is 'Chaste'.

Weapon List: Chaste, Curved Backsword with a wide blade, Battle Axe, Poignard, Buckler, Lance, and a Double-curved Long Bow.

A beautiful white stallion

Mount: Snowflake

Mount Personality: Docile and calm even in the heat of battle, Snowflake obeys with no second-guessing even unto death. He follows specific commands vocally given, from rearing to snorting to stomping his hooves. The intelligence of a trained beast sparks in those dull brown eyes.
Social Class: High Noble (Son and Heir)

Family Description: In rank and heritage, the Challant house stands beside the Grandmaster’s own. Sayne is the family's only child, the Duke is years dead, and the Duchess Nathalie reigns over the land. Rumors circulate of Nathalie's intent to be wed to King Hugh de Payens.

Province: Challant, a hilly spread of land that farmsteads and villages litter. Towns huddle by forests, rivers, and water wheels; nomads roam through the wide stretch of plains. Challant is the top producer of grain and apples, and its largest city, Palvi, is an architectural achievement.
Best trait: His Face

Foible: Impetuous

Soft Spot: Womenfolk

Notable Capabilities: Eloquent, Dexterous, and Agile

Weaknesses: Headstrong, Frivolous, and quite the bully. If the right buttons are pushed, he breaks from any and all inhibition.
Sayne is a doer, not a thinker. He is reckless, prone to jumping into action without considering consequences, for he contemplates only the urging of his heart.

This young man has been described as romantic, as frivolous, as wicked, affluent, despicable and cold of heart. "All claims true," would he admit with a childish grin. Sayne condescends naturally; his eloquence blends with persuasive niggling, is highlighted by a cacophony of swelling words. He loves the dance of poetry, the masking of intentions, and the playing with lies. The subtle and hinted, yet dual in meaning manner of speech is his favored forte, and rarely, if ever, is he direct with his intentions. He is not unwilling to be cruel given an occasion where it is required, and holds fast to the Lionhart hierarchy; those that have been given their place must by the will of the gods remain in it.

But Sayne is also contrary. No matter the class, women are what he gravitates toward, and unto them he exudes every manner of praise, by way of varied ballad and useless, exorbitant flatterings. The more dramatic, the more enjoyable the chase. He's playful with women as he is in most things, enjoying the escape offered by pointless endeavors.
“Quand on parle du loup...”

Sayne has made a name for himself. A philanderer, a seducer, and a trouble-maker, he is viewed by much of Leonharte as a man with a mission; to ruin the purity of daughters and wives. And yet, to this youth was handed King Hugh’s own ring, a symbol of authority second only to Hugh’s own.

This occurred mainly by accident, but partially by circumstance. For as fate courses the lives of men, so was Sayne’s life directed from the time he was in his mother’s womb, soon to be born the first son of the Challant line.

A silver spoon in hand was not the only thing he received; two parents that held fierce love for one another, and for the child that was their flesh would give the babe a wantless life.

It was during this golden time that Sayne came to meet his soon-to-be friend, Curtis. They two were drawn together by circumstance, bound by the politics that link Canticlan and Leonharte. At the time of Sayne’s birth, trade between the two Orders had burgeoned, and, to keep the coins circulating, the Challant family was having moons-long stays at the Grandmaster’s residence. In the idleness to follow did it occur that the son of the Canticlar Grandmaster was roped into companionship with the Leonhart High Noble’s son, a bond that proved lasting.

Friendship was born in the broken silence of the castle halls, with the masking of mistake. Curtis fell into a priceless artifact of a statue, sending it careening down a staircase, snapping the arms clean off. Young Sayne took the blame, and suffered lashings in Curtis’ place.
- While the love of a brother was born in sacrifice, it was tested in tragedy. In the moons that they were apart, the High Noble of Challant passed away. His death came on suddenly, and in its wake a dullness settled over Sayne’s mother. Her distance wrought emptiness, and the loneliness Sayne experienced cut wounds in his heart, for the boy, who was merely six, had been loved once with an affection like the hearthfire, warm and enveloping, and now had been made to know cold. The child was severed from his mother completely when he was sent to Gallace Academy, where he would spend his days under strict tutelage. There, Curtis reunited with Sayne, and while the Academy boarded them in separate towers, Curtis saw to it they remained boon companions.
  
  “Since I am to train my body, it will be Sayne to sharpen and propel me.” Curtis exhorted.
  
  The leisure hours were spent in unity, and Sayne still treasures those days by the river, fishing and swimming. And the aches of conditioning and the sting of correction were shared with his friend, and rendered painless.
  
  As age developed him, a devil made a home in Sayne’s heart. Whimsy led him to habitually perform pranks in the studyroom, quip cheeky retorts, and torment girls with frogs and snakes. The teachers of Gallace Academy marked him as a troublemaker, and once his arms and legs had filled out, the slope of his body developed, those childish misdeeds became adolescent misdeeds. Ballrooms and bedrooms as wrecking places, havoc developed his skills, dexterity of hands and slipperiness of tongue. The juvenile Sayne was the embodiment of the maxim “les juenes sont les esclaves de leurs longes,” for he was addicted to the touch of women.
- The ballroom was a hunting ground; dance and music-playing were the art of courting, the medium of attraction. Sayne learned the steps until they became habits, egged on by a growing appetite. The rumors to follow his miscreant behavior were puffed up truths, endowing on him a reputation that assisted only in furthering his misdeeds.
  
  Yet there were those that left a fault on his heart, and a stain in his mind. They were islands in a sea of revelry.
  
  Lilac, the flower girl, a peasant with rosy cheeks and a sunny disposition. It was she to tire of Sayne ere long. "A handsome face can only offer so much," she sighed, and willed not to see him again.
  
  Beatrice, the barmaid, proved a lucrative excursion. Free drink, a stage to play his flute on, a group to bellow drinking songs with -- the tavern served as a rife establishment for such buffoonery. Unfortunately, he was not the only one visiting her bedroom at nightfall, and the wench was plump with a child by the end of the first month of Sayne's courtship. She tried to point the finger at him, get some coin out of him, and Sayne was all to happy to oblige, if only to keep her quiet. But when he dropped his purse in her hands, the worn look that passed over her face stuck with him. Her expression was that of one that the world has spat upon and left out to dry.
  
  Wendeline, the Vinoviloc Academ, a shimmering flame-hair whose love was wildfire; sporadic and fearsome. She swore she loathed him first, but after he bested her in a sparring match, her passion turned licentious, and covetous. While Sayne found their 'courtship' pleasing, the restlessness brought on by her smothering required his escape, and, because he is not prone to confrontation, he ensured she see his enjoyment of another woman, so that she would leave him be. Unfortunately, this caused an outburst of temper, and a slice through his stomach. The wound healed without a scar, but he would never forget the fury of a woman scorned.
  
  Curtis took a backseat to Sayne's behavior, and behaved as the rock for Sayne to orbit around, a consistency in the young Lord's life that, once he stepped over his bounds, reeled Sayne back in.
- The Foresworn war had raged for a good four years, and in the midst of their adolescence, Curtis made it known that he would go to war against those beasts, as squire to a Gwentan. No knight would refuse the son of the Grandmaster’s request, and Sayne was loathe to let his friend go alone. He acted as a mirror to Curtis, taking on even the same Gwentan, circumventing his mother’s messengers and assuring his conscription.
  
  The two went off to war together, to fight side by side.
  
  On their virgin battlefield, Sayne turned coward and Curtis was slain. Duchess Nathalie roped Sayne back into the safety of Leonhart territory and the dragons came two years later. That Sayne survived and Curtis hadn’t was madness, wherefore was Sayne convinced fate was mad.
- Because he, a highborn, had not died in the war, Sayne was honored. The town criers told a lie of gallantry, and the Grandmaster put on Sayne’s right hand the ring of the King, granting the young man authority in all Leonhart provinces.
  
  The King’s motives were dubious. Sayne suspected Hugh de Payens desired his mother, for Nathalie and the king had now made a habit of travelling together. His suspicions were confirmed when Hugh revealed he was testing Sayne as a prospective heir, and towards that cause did send the young Leonhart to accompany the dragons on pilgrimage -- for those beasts were either a future of blood or of peace.

Terragon · Feb 2, 2015

Wind Dragon

Name: Vencorus

Gender: Male

Age: 120, appears 17 in human form

In human form he stands at 6’2. Decently built young man with cloudy (grey/white) eyes. Straight white hair that falls just below his eyeline. Little is known about what he does in human form, other than that he is usually found alone but can be rather joyful and sociable around the right people.

At shoulder length he stands at 10 feet, but standing on his hind legs it is roughly around 27 or 28 feet. His scales are the same as his hair color, cloudy greyish white. They can be fairly reflective off of sunlight.
He was born and raised on Mt Heofon in the tribe of about 30 dragons.

Vencorus is the supposed son of a war hero from the forsworn war. However, there have been rumors that he was actually adopted by Venoptimus, the war hero. It was said that Vencorus was found in the midst of the forest at the base of Mt Heofon inside a small clutch of eggs and no parents in sight. One of them was already hatched, while the other was just about to hatch. This is just speculation, but the only one who knows the truth is Optimus, and he has always reassured Ven that they are related by blood. The reason why Ven was selected to be a student and ambassador for the dragons was mostly because of endorsements from Venoptimus. At first the dragons put off the recommendations due to rumors that Vencorus was insulting his elders, but the dragon council eventually acquiesced. To the humans, this was definitely a bargain.
With allies and friends, he's jolly, sociable, civil, a troll, and in some cases all in one. With enemies it varies from him having fun and toying with weaker enemies, to being more focused against ones that pose an actual threat.

Best trait:

Fast learner.

Worst trait:

Sometimes he simply doesn’t know or care when to start being serious. Trouble finds him because of it.

Soft Spot:

Those who can’t protect themselves. He has at one point witnessed travelers being robbed and murdered, and felt pity for them since he did not have the capability or the right to help.

Strengths:

Sociable, Agile

Weaknesses:

He does have mild mood shifts which makes him a bit more sensitive and temperamental to a few things. Its almost like a seasonally thing.
Vencorus only has one parent/guardian, Venoptimus. Venoptimus’s mate was reportedly killed by a barrage of arrows. They were no confirmations whether those arrows came from Foresworn or humans. Though for Ven, he has only known Optimus. The first face he saw was Optimus, and only Optimus. There were rumors that Vencorus was actually adopted by Venoptimus, but he kept denying those claims. However, even to this day he wonders what the fate was of his supposed sibling. Even Venoptimus has pondered on what may have befallen that other baby dragon.

Venoptimus, as an air dragon himself decided to raise and train Venc under his wing. What was surprising to him was how fast Vencorus was able to learn how to perform mechanical maneuvers. At his drakehood, he was able to keep up with even the strong, full-grown Optimus when it came to flying. Also he was able to control his own wind powers during his adolescent years, while others would be still trying to control their emotional impulses and outbursts. Venoptimus half-jokingly thinks that his son’s defense mechanism to a dragon’s dangerous impulses was Ven’s sarcasm and his willingness to laugh at how ridiculous things were in the world. This made Optimus relieved.

There were two types of air dragons on this land. One who has wanderlust similar to flame dragons, and prefers loneliness but likes to get along with others. These dragons are usually the cool-headed, light hearted and carefree ones.

However, when this wanderlust is not satiated, when the air dragon is inhibited or caged, unable to roam freely, they become perhaps one of the most dangerous beasts roaming the lands. Their mind deteriorates, and they become as changeable as the wind. Rather than the wind moving carefree around them, it gets absorbed into their hearts, resulting in a whirlwind of emotion. Mind that he doesn’t think these individuals are evil, not at all. But these are ones that can cause a lot of damage and harm to others by pure accident of not being able to control their emotional impulses. Thankfully, Vencorus seemed to have fit into the former category and not the latter.

Venoptimus was called into the line of duty when the dragons entered the Foresworn War, and became a recognized war hero due to all the lives he saved, and the hardships he endured. He restrained Vencorus from the battlefield, as he did not want his only son to be caught up in the violence. Though of course, that didn’t stop Ven’s curiosity. Once in a while he would sometimes wander outside of the boundaries, just to observe what life was like during war. Of course, he would be in his human form and wear a blindfold in order to keep his kind from being compromised. There were some traveling merchants who have witnessed a man matching Vencorus’ description either being helpful to them or providing distractions for hostile foes in order to help them get away from danger. When Venoptimus caught wind of this, he was downright furious, though Vencorus always denied any involvement.

Killigrew · Feb 2, 2015

NPC Characters

The Soldiers from Gallace

Eirik of Kenbury, a blue-eyed, russet-haired, befreckled man in his 30s. He’s missing his middle and pinkie finger on his left hand, which he’s strapped tight to his shield. Hair is thick in every place it could naturally be -- his face, arms, chest, and legs. Even his back, if you’re exploring it. Eirik has a daughter and wife in Kenbury, Canticland. He guards the front of the caravan by night and is often light with wine spirits during the daytime.

Bordeaux de Loire, a man that is dark of hair and face, and broody of expression. The years have weathered his face to a leathery finish, with creases and wrinkles to match. White and grey pepper his hair and beard. He doesn’t talk much and keeps to himself, and when he does talk, it’s in French -- but he doesn’t drink either. A trustworthy soldier and a vigilant lookout. He prays with the priests and seems devoted to the three gods.

Vinzenz von Berthold, a talkative young man whose chatter is often met with “Shut your mouth, Vinz!” He is often found with the cooks, tasting their meals and adding spices -- often causing more harm than good in the process. Brown hair and the dust of peach fuzz clads round his head in tightly woven curls.
Pilgrims

A family of seven; one pregnant mother, a rotund father, and five children ranging aged 3(female), 5(male), 7(male), and 11 (female). They all share in bright blue eyes, soft red cheeks, and pale blonde hair. Their names are, in order of appearance, Alaina, Gerard, Haven, David, Kipling, and Cassandra.

Old man with a greying head and red, sunbeat skin. He’s a storyteller and holds a bunch of parchments under his long beard. Wisdom coats his voice and a playful sparkle in his eyes suggest the riddles in his mind. He’s grandfatherly, and partial to guiding children and fools. His name is Wardell.

Talkative middle-aged widow whose desire on this trip seems to be to gain a husband or perhaps just a man to take hold of. A nasally voice and robust body belie such a want. Her name is Josefa Bath.
Godelieve Etheless, the shunned

Age: 35

In the midst of bandit territory, deep in the heart of Canticland was Godelieve born. The Aquila temple raised an orphan girl in the name of love, and as was poured into her Aquila-bourne affection, so did her growth yield such fruit. Compassion beget inquisitiveness as her home temple met with a malignant Gwentan, who meted out an unjust ruling on those Godelieve ministered unto. The young priestess poured over the Stories of Yore, finding in Aquila’s scriptures no cause for the Gwentan’s authority nor the detestation of dragons. With foundational doctrine put into question, Godelieve tested what she had once taken for granted; divine intervention. The method was simple. She lied to a child. She placed a penny-sized relic into a boy’s palm and persuaded him that Aquila would make him warm. The relic was Pyros’, and the heat was enough to scald him. As the relic clanged against the wood floor, Godelieve’s heart converted. She set out to wander, as Aquila priestesses are prone, but with a secret motive in her heart -- to find and uncover the truth of this world, and not be swayed by the words of men. What Godelieve would discover in her journey was swept under the rug, hidden from the eyes of the populace. All that Arodlan knows is Godelieve returned after the Foresworn war, with a dragon by her side, and a peace treaty in hand. Her negotiations were on the side of the serpents -- she had discarded mankind. Were it not for the Leonhart Grandmaster’s protection, Godelieve would have been drawn and quartered by the Aquila courts -- they have declared that she still will be if they get their hands on her.

The Empress of Ice · Feb 15, 2015

Be ready to scroll. That is all I have to say.

Émillien

Meet-the-World-s-Most-Gorgeous-Hipster-Model-and-Viral-Star-Ben-Dahlhaus.jpg

Little boy... In the forest... Death awaits... Demons gone... And saved he become.

~ Voyada, The Fire

Social Class

Oh, that's a hard question! Let me see... I am a Gutnicht, an honored Knight of Vinovilan, impressive eh? ... But Clarice would murder me if I described us as such. Crazy bitch thinks she's still a Noble. Sure, this body was born a bastard to a Margrave but we left years ago! Fucking father he was... Call us a Mercenary, but if you don't adress me by Gutnicht... Death is kind.

Marwin

Name

Such a long time ago, that we were called by that name. S...Sa... Sauveterre! Aha! Émillien Gérald Sauveterre! God, I hate that name.

René

Age

This body has yet to come to its end, after all these years. Forty-One summers we have lived through, by the mercy of Glaeslin.

Aloís

Gender

Foul body this is. Constantly craving the touch of women. Despicable man

Clarice

Knightly Order

We were born as Leonharts, however, not many of us truly wish to be from the lands of Leonharte. Some of us, wish to be from nothing.

Akhenaton Kallistos

IMPORTANT!!! Émillien suffers from what is presently known as D.I.D. Dissosciative Identity Disorder, or as it was formerly called Multiple Personality Disorder. And as such, he has no 'set' charasteristics, as he, Émillien, is not 'Émillien'. D.I.D. is a coping mechanism, which is believed to be caused by intense physical and psychological trauma that has occured between infancy to late childhood {below the ages of 7-9}.

More information is provided in the D.I.D. tab. Please note that the charasteristics set underneath only apply to the alters Aloís, Clarice and Marwin, not to the whole 'system'. They are the dominant alters/hosts of the body, other alters will not be listed in the D.I.D. tab, due to his complex System and is explained in the tab.

Traits: Cold, alluring, somewhat pessimistic, philosophical, somewhat caring

Personality: Aloís is a man of God, a man of Glaeslin. While such a believer that none dare question his absolute faith, his trust that 'All shall end one day', he is not the type of person you can look at and think priest. No, Aloís carries his sword, made by his own hands as a man ridden with poverty does. He does not crave women, as he does not crave company. And certainly is he obedient, putting every need, every whim and rule of his Lord first. Like the protection of the dragons. After all, are they not a tool to bring The End?

Goals in life: Nothing is more important than pleasing his lord, his God, Glaeslin. But yet another innate part of him, a part that he cannot control, seeks to keep The Body protected at all costs. The former goal drives him to protect the dragon race, and secure The End.

Traits: Foulmouthed, pig, drunkard {he can take his booze}, without morals, man of the battlefield

Personality: Aye! What a good day... A common greeting by the lively and possibly witty Marwin. Foulmouthed as he is, the man can charm any woman... Or he can pay a good peasant to bring him a dirty damsel from around town, it doesn't matter. In fact, nothing does but the glory, the women and the riches.

Goals in life: None. Life is to be lived now, life is to be enjoyed now, goals mean something to be achieved... Something that takes time. And time, Marwin does not have.

Traits: Proper. Cunning. Feminine. Mad. Introject {D.I.D. Type}

Personality: Clarice is perhaps the most intelligent alter of them all, as well as the most sane yet insane alter of them all. Her thoughts are coherent, her talks to the point and like any noble, she knows the proper ethics to woe the crowd. With the smallest of quirks and the strongest will, she tends to be... Opinionated. And if her 'looks' don't tell you who she is in the social ladder, her mouth shall.

Goals in life: Prevent The Body to come to harm, enforce the rules of 'that' house, save The Body from itself, Find a way to kill Voyada permanently, Keep 'their' secret hidden.
Note: They're all the same model. However, every alter have their own style. {One is of Emil Andersson, playing Clarice after she has had The Body for a month.}

Note: Has scars of whips all over his back as well as a large, third-degree burn scar across the left side of his body, from his hip to the outer part of his ribs, reaching out towards his stomach.

Carrying around more than a few things, Émillien has both a horse and mule to carry all his belongings. The horse has been bred and trained by the whole system, and is quite the intelligent beast, so as it only comes when called but never strays away from its master. Kaylar, as it was named, is perhaps the easiest tool to know when a 'switch' between alters have occured, as the beast has grown accustomed to its master's different forms. Adjusting to him, like a belt. Loyal, like a knight.

Waverly, however long he has been with Émillien, does not notice the shifts quite as much, accompanying most times Aloís and Akhenatom Kallistos. The two alters, close in personality and manners, keeps the mule from freaking out but considering Clarice has taken this bad boy around too... Well, perhaps, mayhaps, he know more than we care to care.

Waverly, the lazy, observant mule. Waverly, the strong.

And let us not forget, Falcon, the squirrel. As many of the system are afraid of birds, Falcon acts instead as the messenger of Émillien. Trained to carry letters through harsh weather and long paths, at the least, you can rest assured it will get there. At one point, it must, right? And how does this squirrel find its Master? Why, it traces the red trail! Falcon has fourteen stations around the whole continent, all tied with one colour. Blue. The lucky red is where it leaves the message. These places are far and inbetween, and Émillien rarely gets the letters at time but who cares. At least he got 'em.

Falcon still rocks.

D.I.D.

Important, Must Read

D.I.D. is a serious condition, and I, being someone who doesn't suffer from it, cannot and will not claim to be able to ever fully describe/act/roleplay it out correctly. Why? Because unless you are blind, you don't know how it is to be blind and while you can try to portray it as hard and realistically as you possibly can, you will never be able to portray it the way a blind person can.

In the same sense, I cannot portray or describe the feelings, the actions and/or the abuse and/or trauma that a person with D.I.D. has gone through, neither can I claim that I ever will. This is merely my portrayal and idea of how it is to have this condition. Please also note that I am portraying this in an age and day where D.I.D. was considered to be... Less of a condition/disorder and more like witchcraft, as such I may/will adapt it so as to keep it relevant.

If you feel like I am portraying it wrong and/or making the symptoms more strong than what is considered normal, please do inform me. I have and will continue to study and research about this disorder throughout the rp, and mistakes are bound to occur. Please forgive me beforehand.

Note: Because I suck at describing conditions, and don't want to confuse you guys, I'll quote and edit in a fairly well description of the condition in the spoiler. Seriously long read, unneeded but for those that want to, go ahead! ^^

D.I.D. is a coping mechanism, which is developed {usually} by infants/children to cope with intense physical, mental as well as sexual abuse and the trauma that comes with it. It is a rare disorder and a complex one at that. A person with D.I.D. usually has a 'System'. The system is merely another word for all their alters and their 'positions' and functions. Every system is unique and while most have one or two 'typical' alters, not all are the same neither can one claim that they are.

Émillien has polyfragmented D.I.D. which, compared to 'The Standard' D.I.D. is more severe, caused by extremely violent, ritualistic trauma and in turn makes his 'System' that much more complicated, filled with alters that have D.I.D. themselves to cope with one certain trauma etc. {100+ alters/fragments are a requirement for Polyfragmented D.I.D.}
What is D.I.D?
Note: There are something called fragments, these fragments are like the smallest pieces of the personality and usually have just one function and/or feeling and/or repressed memory.

Fragment

A fragment is a dissociated part of the personality that may be too limited to see as an alter, yet it still usually is an alter in those with DID. A fragment usually holds one or two emotions or responds to a few specific situations

Note: About the different alters having names, some do while others don't but as it is much easier to identify and describe an alter with a name, {as well as allowing the patient to easily accept the other alter's existence], they are usually asked if they would like to be called by a name they themselves have picked or be named by a Psychologist/Psychiatrist. That's why every alter I make will either have a name or a title/description, so as not to get confused.

Note: Due to a former incident as well as the fact that Émillien getting burned at the stake every other day, the majority of the system are aware of each other, with the help of ISH etc.

Previously known as multiple personality disorder, dissociative identity disorder (DID) is a condition in which a person has more than one distinct identity or personality state. At least two of these personalities repeatedly assert themselves to control the affected person's behavior. Each personality state has a distinct name, past, identity, and self-image.

Dissociation" describes a state in which the integrated functioning of a person's identity, including consciousness, memory and awareness of surroundings, is disrupted or eliminated. Dissociation is a mechanism that allows the mind to separate or compartmentalize certain memories or thoughts from normal consciousness. These memories are not erased, but are buried and may resurface at a later time. Dissociation is related to hypnosis in that hypnotic trance also involves a temporarily altered state of consciousness. Dissociation occurs along a continuum or spectrum, and may be mild and part of the range of normal experience, or may be severe and pose a problem for the individual experiencing the dissociation. An example of everyday, mild dissociation is when a person is driving for a long period on the highway and takes several exits without remembering them. In severe, impairing dissociation, an individual experiences a lack of awareness of important aspects of his or her identity.

The phrase "dissociative identity disorder" replaced "multiple personality disorder" because the new name emphasizes the disruption of a person's identity that characterizes the disorder. A person with the illness is consciously aware of one aspect of his or her personality or self while being totally unaware of, or dissociated from, other aspects of it. This is a key feature of the disorder. It only takes two distinct identities or personality states to qualify as DID but there have been cases in which 100 distinct alternate personalities, or alters, were reported. Fifty percent of DID patients harbor fewer than 11 identities.

Because the alters alternate in controlling the patient's consciousness and behavior, the affected patient experiences long gaps in memory— gaps that far exceed typical episodes of forgetting that occur in those unaffected by DID.

Despite the presence of distinct personalities, in many cases one primary identity exists. It uses the name the patient was born with and tends to be quiet, dependent, depressed and guilt-ridden. The alters have their own names and unique traits. They are distinguished by different temperaments, likes, dislikes, manners of expression and even physical characteristics such as posture and body language. It is not unusual for patients with DID to have alters of different genders, sexual orientations, ages, or nationalities. Typically, it takes just seconds for one personality to replace another but, in rarer instances, the shift can be gradual. In either case, the emergence of one personality, and the retreat of another, is often triggered by a stressful event.

People with DID tend to have other severe disorders as well, such as depression, substance abuse, borderline personality disorder and eating disorders, among others. The degree of impairment ranges from mild to severe, and complications may include suicide attempts, self-mutilation, violence, or drug abuse.

Causes

The severe dissociation that characterizes patients with DID is currently understood to result from a set of causes:
- an innate ability to dissociate easily
- repeated episodes of severe physical or sexual abuse in childhood
- lack of a supportive or comforting person to counteract abusive relative(s)
- influence of other relatives with dissociative symptoms or disorders
The primary cause of DID appears to be severe and prolonged trauma experienced during childhood. This trauma can be associated with emotional, physical or sexual abuse, or some combination. One theory is that young children, faced with a routine of torture, sexual abuse or neglect , dissociate themselves from their trauma by creating separate identities or personality states. A manufactured alter may suffer while the primary identity "escapes" the unbearable experience. Dissociation, which is easy for a young child to achieve, thus becomes a useful defense. This strategy displaces the suffering onto another identity. Over time, the child, who on average is around six years old at the time of the appearance of the first alter, may create many more.

IDENTITY DISTURBANCES

Persons suffering from DID usually have a main personality that psychiatrists refer to as the "host." This is generally not the person's original personality, but is rather one developed in response to childhood trauma. It is usually this personality that seeks psychiatric help. DID patients are often frightened by their dissociative experiences, which can include losing awareness of hours or even days, meeting people who claim to know them by another name, or feeling "out of body."

Psychiatrists refer to the phase of transition between alters as the "switch." After a switch, people assume whole new physical postures, voices, and vocabularies. Specific circumstances or stressful situations may bring out particular identities. Some patients have histories of erratic performance in school or in their jobs caused by the emergence of alternate personalities during examinations or other stressful situations. Each alternate identity takes control one at a time, denying control to the others. Patients vary with regard to their alters' awareness of one another. One alter may not acknowledge the existence of others or it may criticize other alters. At times during therapy, one alter may allow another to take control.

The DSM-IV-TR lists four diagnostic criteria for identifying DID and differentiating it from similar disorders:
- Traumatic stressor: The patient has been exposed to a catastrophic event involving actual or threatened death or injury, or a serious physical threat to him- or herself or others. During exposure to the trauma, the person's emotional response was marked by intense fear, feelings of helplessness, or horror. In general, stressors caused intentionally by human beings (genocide, rape, torture, abuse, etc.) are experienced as more traumatic than accidents, natural disasters, or "acts of God."
- The demonstration of two or more distinct identities or personality states in an individual. Each separate identity must have its own way of thinking about, perceiving, relating to and interacting with the environment and self.
- Two of the identities assume control of the patient's behavior, one at a time and repeatedly.
- Extended periods of forgetfulness lasting too long to be considered ordinary forgetfulness.
- Determination that the above symptoms are not due to drugs, alcohol or other substances and that they can't be attributed to any other general medical condition. It is also necessary to rule out fantasy play or imaginary friends when considering a diagnosis of DID in a child.
{Read more: http://www.minddisorders.com/Del-Fi/Dissociative-identity-disorder.html#ixzz3Rk5W0B4F}
My research is primarily done in PsychForums, a site dedicated to physchological disorders and where I can get first-hand information from people with the actual disorder. There is alot more to this but I don't want this to become a wiki.

For different types { of alters}, please note that every system is unique, as mentioned before.

History

The Virgin Whore, The Brothel and The Marquess of Leonharte.

At the outskirts of the vast land of Marquess Andrion Sauveterre, in the city of Lévon, came a virgin to the brothel of Ser James. Cecilin Achterberg, once the daughter of the chief of Achterberg Village in northern Vinovilan, now but the orphaned soon-to-be whore. Lord must have loved her, bringing to her Marquess Andrion Sauveterre himself as her first {and soon only} 'customer'. Indeed as he spilled secret, after secret, about the Noble Household of Sauveterre, Lords of the land of Lévon, it was a charity. Yes indeed, even the day that he took her by force was a blessing hidden in the disguise of a child and a brother that does not exist. A brother who, as told by Cecilin, holds the story of the Household of Sauveterre.

What else could have Marquess Andrion have done? The child was his, as she was virgin, and the secrets that she and the brother that does not exist, have are far more dangerous than her to be in his home, among his hated wife and legal children.

The Torture, The Pain and The Knights

The child, named Émillien, did not find peace in what he was to call home. Whipped, strangled, drowned and used he became as time passed and as time passed, so did his conscious. As it left, came others to save him. Others like the knights he once watched on his father's fields, ready to defend the borders of Leonharte. Like guards, keeping him locked in a cage. And so he ran, not from the home, but from himself and others came to be him instead. Mother neglecting, father spiteful and his sister, if he even can call her that, a betrayer

The Escape

And when Émillien left, came Jérome, holding The Body like a fort. Keeping the core of himself safe from the torture that came to be everyday life. Jérome, for a year, took care of them all, tending to their whims and needs. But nay, Akhenatom refused to stay, and so they left. With belongings in hand, his mother dead due to his father's anger and her ring with him, he left. They left. They survived.

The Fire and The First Counsel

Voyada. Hated is she. The foolish woman that set them all into danger, putting them in fires way, telling their secret to the world, albeit a small world at that. And fire licked their skin, burning them to hell and back but luck stood on their side, as Aloís had been fateful to his lord Glaeslin for years, earning The Blessed Pendant, freeing them and granting them a miracle in form of ice. The flames tamed, the body saved and Voyada locked deep, deep inside, The System finally gathered for The First Counsel. And as the counsel led, and as the rules were set, they became united.

Somewhat.

The Marriage, The Happily Never After and The Present

Time is vast yet small and life is long yet too short, and so Christopher, beholder of the cires of everyday life and sorrows, the light of the system and the most beloved, set off for three moons cycle. Found a lass, Josephine, beautiful as day yet dark as night, his love and The Body's love. His wife. Married he became, and most likely The System turned their gaze while mad but allowed it breifly, for the sake of peace. And as time goes and time passes, The Dragons came and Aloís knew that his duty was clear. Protect them, bring forth the end and service his lord Glaeslin.

Because... Adelheid. DAAH!

Adelheid ~ The Barbarian

~Ich mag Frauen. Ich mag ihre Schnitzer. Und ich mag ihren Esel. Bekam ein Problem? Verpissen. ~

Traits: Rowdy, Warmhearted, Crazed, Tomboy, Brute, Feminist, Spontenaous, Foul-Mouthed, Introspective, Optimistically Pessimistic. And like Adelheid likes to describe herself, Menschlich.

Personality: Menschlich. Humane. Behind the large grin, and the booze, and the flirting lays Adelheid. Do not get me wrong, she is an alcohol-loving, women-crazed brute with the strangest ways of looking at life and its mysteries. But she also craves freedom. Craves the right to be what she wants to be without someone putting a leash on her, giving her a speech about who she is and what she is, and what she should be doing. She IS. SHE is.

Her.

Not you, not her grandmother, not some king or Grandmaster. Respect is something to be shared, not forced. And until you see her as she IS, as she will never be, you deserve nothing but spit on your face.

Name: Adelheid Lillie Adler

Gender: Female

Age: Twenty-Four

Knightly Order: Vinoviloc

Province: Schlaraffeland, Vinovilan.

Social Class: Knight {Gutnicht}

Goals in life: None. Adelheid is a free spirit, one that take things as they come and go. For her, life is meant to be experienced in the moment, craving something and being stuck at it for years upon years is but a sickness in her eyes. Like the wind, unstoppable in its path towards nowhere, she flows with time and fiollows her most innate whims.
My past? Fuck, here we go again.

Sommer! Es ist Sommer! Froh ich sein!

Twenty-four summers in the past, on the seventh moon of the suns cycle, at the break of dawn, Adelheid entered this world. And that very day, her mother left it. Adelheid wishes that she could say that she feels sorrow at the thought or that she missed having a mother-figure but she doesn't. Because she had Eldrich Alder. She had her father. And for Adelheid, her father is all she needed. Yeah, he might be rough around the edges, a bit senile and just as much of brute as Adelheid, but he was also the one that took care of her when she fell sick or decided to break a bone or two while fencing or climbing a tree.

Ah, indeed, her father was her parent. Besides, she was raised among men, raised with booze-drinking men and scantily clad women of the small island of Schlaraffenland! The Island of Barbarians, the Las Vegas of

Shut Up!

Ich bin nur eine glückliche Scham meinem Vater, und ich bin ich selbst darin stolz.

The first time Adelheid felt her heart flutter at the sight of a woman, she was three. Albeit, at the time, it fluttered for more innocent reasons and one can't blame her for that. After all, her heart fluttered for the Queen of Paradise, Lucinta. Red-headed, doe-eyed Lucinta. Ah, if Adelheid had ever thought of her mother, she'd imagine her to be Lucinta in the flesh.

And as time passed, Adelheid rarely batted an eye towards the men but gasped at the lucid thoughts of women. Once matured, at the age of twelve, she understood. She was not a woman of men, she was a woman of women. Fear ran deep into her veins until she turned thirteen and let it all go. And what a shame she was to her father. A happy shame. One he accepted in the bat of an eye.

She owed him much, for merely being her father, but she owed him even more for being there for her when she did nothing but tarnish his reputation.

Drunk Night Out

Die Herausforderung, Meine Herausforderung

And tarnish his reputation she did. As much of a barbarian they were in the island of Schlarafferland, they kept things straight. Literally. Women were for men and men for women. Do not question that, or you're a fool. A true barbarian. One not accepted and shunned, as for Eldrich, shunned was putting it lightly. Guilt ridden, and mad at the hypocrisy, Adelheid did what she did best. She fought.

Every man, and every woman that dared to question what she is, she fought. At first with her bare hands, losing each time and then she started to win. And then with the swords her father made for her. And she trained. Hard, long, every day, in and out. Train, train, train. Until she became unbeatable in her whole island.

But it wasn't enough and Schlaraffenland had never been enough, so she left, straight into whatever battlefield she could find. Victories after victories, and a life she had yet to experience began at the tender age of 16.

Look! Fire! Me no care.

Und doch ein anderes Abenteuer

Which leaves us at the present. At the place we are currently at, Adelheid is merely out for one thing: Adventure. And what sort of adventure doesn't a Dragon party filled with gorgeous women and the possibilities of free rides everywhere not hold? Nothing, that's what. And if there is one thing her father taught her, it was to take chances.

Besides, it was DRAGONS. And she was a Gutnicht. Easy way in with that title.
Name: Lenard

Age: 10

Personality: Lenard is a mama's boy and his mama is the one and only Adelheid. Loyal, affectionate and most likely her best friend, he has been there.... For the past eight years. And that's all that matters, right?

Note: Carries around the food, and weapons as well as heavier baggage.
Main Weapon: Leslie

Subweapons: Scythe, twin daggers, chakram{s}, bow and arrow + throwing knives

Note: Carries around mostly misc items and personal ones, as well as basic survival equipment.

Auren · Feb 17, 2015

Lureana Rompth

Knightly Order:

Leonhart

Gender:

Female

Age:

Seventeen

Social Class:

Viscount

Occupation:

Student

Weapon:

In order of preference and experience: Rapier, Long Bow, Dagger

Character:

Lureana is a very strong-willed girl. She fights for what she believes in and doesn’t put in much effort if she doesn’t have to. She enjoys working in the stables and grooming the horses. It gives her a calm sense of mind, especially when she is upset. Even with her small size, she practices as hard as any of her peers and has been known to defeat men twice her size. She has no care for dragons, devils or not. She just wants to protect the weak and create a fair order for others.

Le Rompte Peninsula

The Rompth's rule over a small peninsula that juts into the sea. Their main city is made of the purest stone, and has marble statues or fountains on many of the main city's centers. Crystals dangle from many windows and buildings, making the city sparkle at high noon. The city is pristine and Lureana's father often brags about the cleanliness of his city, the lack of poverty. But outside the city where the farmers and non-city folk live, towns are in shambles. The wood that is used to build the homes rots and warps from the sea's wind and storms. The peninsula itself is never without wind outside the main city's walls. If a person were to reach the very highest point inside the city, they could feel remnants of the wind gently caress their skin, but nothing more.

Only the more privileged lived inside this city, and the rest of the citizens live outside it's tall walls. Lureana's father rules as Viscount over this region, and while he is fair and just in his treatments towards his citizens, he is also filled with vanity. This is the main cause for one city to be so well kept, while other towns wither in poverty.

Personal History:

Lureana was born at the height of the morning bell tolls on a soft summer day. Her mother was a woman of lower social class than her father, but she did reside inside the city, which meant she was wealthy enough to be of standard to the Viscount. While Lureana was the eldest of her siblings, five in total, she was originally not given heir to her family's wealth.

At the young age of four, she was kidnapped by her nanny (she claimed she could raise the child better than the rich pests that ran the city, accompanied by many mumbles whenever Lureana asked her why she took her), and raised for five years outside of the city on a farm. Her hair grew long, as her Nan didn't believe in cutting the hair of women, she was often covered in dirt, and her hands grew hard from labor. In her first year there, though she doesn't remember it much, she would often complain of the hard work she was given. Then, she eventually stopped. She was never hit for complaining, as it was seen as an attitude most children take when they haven't worked much, but her Nan's hard stare made her feel ashamed, and unladylike.

She was found by a city guard on his way back home by age 9, and the guard received a fat reward for the return of the city's eldest. Her Nan, on the other hand, received some form of punishment that Lureana was not privy to.

In the five years that she had been gone, two of her younger brothers had died from being weak in nature. Her other, younger siblings were girls. Her parents had tried again and again for another child, though it seemed that a dragon had cursed her mother so that she could not birth anymore children.

The Viscount then appointed Lureana as heir to his home and city, as he did not trust his cousins or brother to run the city to his liking. He was a vain man, and loved to keep the look of his "rich" city intact. He worried that his other relatives may tarnish his land with a hideousness that he preferred to never think of. Lureana, in turn, was then enrolled at the Academy by the age 10 so that she would learn good "lady" conduct, how to keep political appearances and how to move among the high society.

Since she wasn't at her home for long, she did not realize that her family had grown poor due to the debt created from her Father's unnecessary demands on their city's upkeep. Her father had been handling some political mingling in order to clear the debt, and from this he began to marry off his daughters. The last that he arranged a marriage for was Lureana, and he had it arranged while she was away at school. She later found out that it was one of the boys that attended the Academy, and that the marriage wouldn't affect her inheritance of the city. She knew of the boy's name, but never cared to find out what he looked like. She was much more interested in what she could achieve at the school.

Being an ambitious sort, Lureana practiced every chance she could while she attended the Academy in hopes of being knighted. Even though she was married off like one would sell cattle, she strived to at least make a Dame of herself and serve for the greater good of the people before she was tied down to the overly-decorated city that she referred to as her home. If she were to be knighted, it also offered her a sense of freedom that her arranged marriage and inheritance did not.

simj26 · Feb 25, 2015

Leonhart

Name:

Jacques deCapre, alias Arthur Gottsheim

Gender:

Male

Age:

23

Appearance:

Born an albino, Jacques' most notable trait is his snow-white hair and his pale complexion. Stand as he may in the sun, he never tans too much, and he might even catch fire if he did anyway. Albinism is not kind on the body, and it shows on Jacques. His naturally weak immune system has left him in a rather ghostly state. To add to matters, he is not exactly very tall either, measuring up to 167 cm, and is underweight, weighing in at 53.4 kg. To those who have yet to pick up on the cues, Jacques is not a combatant, and he can never be one.

Jacques, a rather simple man by nature, is usually seen in his fittingly simple habit, a grey hooded cloak thrown over himself, a rather dull white tunic and green trousers, and finishing the set with black boots. He is never seen without his bag of books and his lute.

Social Class:

Bard

Province:

Neunenberg, a Vinoviloc area populated by families that raise their children to be great knights or smiths. It is situated near the mountainous regions, and as such, they possess a highly defensive position.

Weapon:

His sharp wit, kept in shape with the whetstone of his encyclopaedic vocabulary.

His lute, which is wooden, and very fragile. He'd sooner use his own self as a weapon than sacrifice it.

His collection of books, which he hands out like pamphlets after every telling of an epic or story. Their spines make excellent blunt weapons, though, but knowing Jacques, he would never hurt any of his precious treasure trove of books.

Character:

Anyone’s first impression of the man known as Jacques deCapre is of a talented young man who could weave the most marvelous of stories without so much as an effort put into it. A highly imaginative and colourful bard, Jacques is often found wandering around the local area, thinking of new stories, or perched on odd places, such as trees or even rooftops, strumming idly on his lute as he murmurs new tales into existence under his breath. Despite his weak physique, it seems that Jacques retains some of his Vinoviloc blood by often putting himself in danger, even if he doesn’t know it. His flakiness, however, is seen as part of his odd charm that draws children, animals, and even adults to him. The true vastness of his mind is impenetrable by most, and many will never know how and what he actually thinks and sees the world.

It is simple, however, Jacques deCapre’s world. He wants to live in one where stories hold crowds in thrall, a world of peace and neutrality, where no swords, no fighting, no war exists. To this end, he only presses forwards by spreading his stories as a travelling bard, and spreading the love of stories through the world. Jacques is a peaceable man, in a nutshell, and would not wish ill on any living creature. He openly despises conflict, and believes the only wars that should be fought are those in the books. In the case of a fight occurring within his vicinity, he will quickly make himself scarce. While he does seem to enjoy pacifism, he is not below cursing those who criticise his tales without proper constructivity, and curse he will, running their names and their reputation to the ground by spreading rumors and foul tales of their lives, truths mixed with untruths. He is a popular user of the placebo and nocebo effects, and his stories, while not magic at all, seem to work a spell over those he tells them to, especially those he weaves his tales about.

Personal History:

While Jacques is a man to go to when one needs to be enthralled by tales of valor, bravery, dark horrors, love and revenge, drama and mystery. Alas, deCapre's past is nothing as close as his mystical tales.

Jacques deCapre, born Arthur Gottsheim, was the eldest child of a Vinoviloc family. This being Vinoviloc, the albino boy was expected to do great things...except that his frail physique made him unsuitable to be anything that would amount to greatness. His younger sisters, Annabelle and Isabelle, became accomplished fencers, while he was busy spending his time in a decrepit library reading stories, sometimes even writing them, or in his room plucking away at a lute he had bought from a travelling merchant. This distressed his parents to no end, for men of literary talent were valued no less than a beggar on the streets. Of course, the then-18-year old Arthur knew of this, and gathered his things, comprising of his lute, some clothes, and several books he had not had the opportunity to finish as of yet, and left his home.

As he went, he stopped at various bars, taverns, town squares, and told his stories to earn his keep, sometimes playing a little tune if the crowd demanded it. He was awful at the latter. With no sense of rhythm and no idea how to sing, Arthur was a horrible musician. However, there was one thing that the crowds began to pick up on. Arthur had the ability to charm anyone with his stories. Although it was obvious Arthur had a tongue that could flatter even the gods, many came to him anyways just to hear him speak wonders. Through his words alone, people have said to have their spirits lifted, and most gain a spring in their step. Others disapprove of his wit and his silver tongue, claiming him to be nothing more than a charlatan and an accomplished liar. They were right, of course, but the effects of his stories were undeniable.

And just like that, Jacques deCapre, the wandering weaver of tales, came into existence. Arthur Gottsheim changed his name, and lived his life as the wispy, white-haired wanderer, whose only purpose was to spread the love of stories. He now claims he is from Leonhart, but his lack of ability to speak in French tells much of his true origins. He spends most of his time and money buying books from different places and people, and then proceeding to distribute them to children, sometimes adults. As of right now, Jacques deCapre is attempting to write his own book, but, having no inspiration, no main character, no villain, nothing, to go on with, he continues his daily life, until he finds something...or someone, that sparks his muse.

Jacques has a rather strained relationship with his parents. His father, who had expected an heir that would carry the legacy worthy of a Vinoviloc family, was instead landed with a no-good weakling that spent his time

reading

and

writing

like some common entertainer. His mother, a subservient woman, could say nary a word to go against her husband, and supported the very angry man throughout. To Jacques' relief, however, his sisters, the twins Annabelle and Isabelle Gottsheim, were there. Not only did they offer shoulders that their father could now heap his hopes on, they also proved to be rather happy to have a brother like him. Jacques often spent his evenings and nights telling them of stories he read and wrote, and both of them were rather entranced by his then-budding 'magic'. Jacques often wondered where he would be now, were it not for them. When he left, only his sisters were there to bid him farewell. Both sisters have alluded to their brother as an inspiration to become knights worthy of the land, if only to hear stories about them spoken with the words he so delicately weaves with his own unique brand of wonder.

image and appearance to be filled in sometime later. I'm going to take a nap.

Sol · Mar 22, 2015

Francesca Stenhardt

Leonhart

The Ransomed Daughter

Nickname: Fran

Gender: Female

Height: 167cm/5'6ft.

Weight: 61kg/135lbs

Age: 21

Social Class:

-Possible Steward

-Possible Commoner

-Possible Foot Soldier

Weapons:

-Stenhardt Family Katzbalger

-Daggers

-Short bows

-Spears

Notes:

-Her chest is bound in this image.
Province:

Her displaced family resides in La Boucier, a Leonhart town that sits on the Leonhart-Vinoviloc border. However they had originated from Kunsberg in Vinoviloc territory where their family had been exiled after failing trial by combat to prove their innocence in another otherwise sour incident that involved them and their rivals, the Brandt.

La Boucier is a largely frontier town that supplies raw lumber and stone to wealthier Leonhart cities due it's position, being near a quarry that the Vinoviloc oh so conveniently didn't notice as well as a rich forest. The disgraced Stenhardts have been given leave to oversee this lawless region because the other noble families have better things to do than deal with brigands and bandits that also call the wood their home. That and they took the youngest Stenhardt daughter to allow the remainder of the clan to live there.

Kunsberg, though now under Brandt influence, is more of a fabrication and refinement city deeper within Vinoviloc territory. A large number of the populace are skilled artisans in their own right, experts in manipulating the metal to suit Vinoviloc needs. Little wonder why the Brandt wanted to wrest control of this place from the Stenhardts. Both its current rulers and its citizenry still remember the old family that used to own this land, in differing lights. Should Fran be caught here, she would be harassed by the reigning family to no end or simply be put through the pleas of the stifled artisans. No pressure really. How would they know it's Fran? Well she still does look similar to the little girl who used to play around in the forges with her siblings and cousins.

History:
- Now she is a bit of a special case. Taken away from her family by the Leonhart when she was 6 to be turned into their own personal tool. Of course, coming from a Vinoviloc family, meant that she had some degree of martial skill. Skills that were tested against pages and squires.
  
  For a long time since her arrival into a Leonhart hall, she had been used as a training dummy for the pages to practice on. Initially she had been beaten several times over, the little boys laughing all the while at her expense. Over time, she'd study and learn their movements, predict what they were going to do and beat them bloody whenever an opening presented itself. Regardless of whether or not she actually won, she was hurt in the end. Because what kind of noble house would let their little boy being trained into a knight be beaten bloody by a young girl from a disgraced family from another territory? Either she would be struck down by wooden swords or lashed by whips. After all, she had no rights.
  
  Ah but it doesn't stop there. The first time she won, they had her hair cut. Probably to dampen the blow to the training pages' prides. After all, who would like to admit they were defeated by a daughter no less? The change wasn't just cosmetic neither. They changed the way she thought using the lashing as a teaching device. She wasn't a girl, she was a boy. She didn't look like a girl, she didn't fight like one neither. Her interests were not lady-like. Her body would be that of a female and that held her back from attaining her 'true potential' a cruel jape that warped him.
  
  As he reached thirteen and his breasts began to sprout he did what he could to keep it under wraps, binding his abnormality. He took up repeating mantras, generally lying to himself, casting an illusion over his eyes. He had tried to forget her childhood, that was simply a byproduct of his imagination. She was, after all, a boy trapped in the wrong body or so he thought. A very turbulent and confusing 2 years of her life.
- When he reached the age of fifteen he had garnered the interest of a certain Leonhart noble. One by the name, Guillame Fante. Now how did Fran grab the attention of Guillame? It was simple really, the noble was bored and had heard of the Vinoviloc child who had the misfortune of being given to a less than savory family, the House Treumps. Guillame decided to pay the Treumps a visit, to see just what this child was capable of. He himself challenged and bested Fran in single combat, although the fight itself was a close one. That satisfied his curiosity on Fran's skill and potential, that was something she had in abundance, stifled only by a miscalculation.
  
  He was, however, curious of what else Fran could accomplish and specifically asked him to listen, scurry, to become ears in the walls. That Guillame would return in a fortnight to ask Fran questions. Fran wouldn't exactly care about Guillame's wishes were it not for one thing that he said which piqued her interest. Her questions would be answered and the truth of her potential would be shown to her. A cryptic promise but finding her true potential prompted him to do what was asked.
  
  For a week, he did nothing but scurry and listen, act and deceive. He listened and remembered for Guillame would be back to ask her questions about what he heard. True enough, Guillame was back again after a week. Most of his questions pertained to the Treumps. Questions she answered to best of his ability, they were a collection of what's, who's, and where's. Some had answers, others did not. Guillame left and early the next day came back for her and brought her to a place where she could better hone herself. As she left the Treumps' manor premises, he could only wonder why there were unfamiliar armed men in the manor courtyard.
  
  Guillame went to work spending a year with his family to try and undo the damage to Fran's thought process. She was a capable fighter and better yet, a great listener with an impressive memory. He wouldn't simply let her mind fester with the damage the Treumps had caused. Not when she could be of use to the La Oreille. A year hadn't been enough to completely undo the damage but it had been enough to partially convince her about who she is and what she is.
  
  Guillame seeked to utilize her unique circumstance too and used that to help pitch his idea to the La Oreille. She would be part of La Oreille but not recognized by all members until much later. No, she would be Guillame's eyes and ears, until such time he deemed her worthy to be presented to the Grandmaster as well as lobby for her official membership into this secretive order.
  
  A year and few exposed houses later, Fran had become part of La Oreille. The only non-nobility to serve and the only one with a unique range not exhibited by the existing members. Where they had their pride, she had none. If they needed her to pose as a serving girl in one of the houses she could do that. If they needed her to pose as stable boy for another house, she could do that. And she would do it without complaint.
  
  Despite being part of La Oreille, Fran had pledged her service to house Fante for a long while yet. House Fante in return further refined her martial skill as well as more domestic skills. Guillame Fante himself taught her how to read and write. It was a necessary skill if one were to be completely useful to La Oreille. What had Guillame gained in this investment? A higher standing and more prestige to his house's name. His counsel was taken more into consideration than it had before.
- Fran had served house Fante faithfully since she was 16. When she had turned 17 and before she was made a member of La Oreille she had also distinguished herself in aiding a Fante Guard unit stave off a small Foresworn incursion into Fante holdings that had somehow slipped by the Vinoviloc. This further cemented her standing in house Fante, and yet she was still alone save for the company of Guillame and a few others of house Fante. They were scared of her, of how, in sole skirmish she was in, she was less than human and more of a revenant of Glaeslin, dancing between strikes, slipping blade through flesh and bone with nary a second thought nor glance. It just proved to Guillame that the Stenhardt daughter was a formidable and lucrative investment.
  
  Though it had inconvenienced Guilliame when he had presented his and Fran's case to the La Oreille council and approved her membership. Despite her servitude to house Fante there would be odd times that the La Oreille require her elsewhere, she would be gone weeks or even months at a time. It was a miscalculation on his part, showing his ace to rest of the table. But that did not change the fact that he saw her as more than just a resource. She became a sort of daughter in his eyes as he watched her grow in his house's care.
  
  As the Black War drew to a close, Fran would be torn away from her home. The La Oreille had moved to surrender her services to Sayne De Challant. She would no longer be part of house Fante but rather a part of the De Challant household. The Grandmaster was absolute in his order. There would be no disguise for her, no false identity. She was to be herself, Francesca Stenhardt. Of course, discrimination knew no bounds and before she could meet the man in question she had decided to spare herself and take up the guise of a squire instead. It would only be later that Sayne would know of her true nature after he would erode her will and break her as House Treumps did before him.
  
  Her reason for being assigned to House de Challant was two-fold. The first was that she was a blatant offering to the De Challants to curry more favor with them for reasons Fran could not care less about. The other was to assess Sayne de Challant and feed information back to La Oreille. She maybe their house's steward but she was still part of La Oreille and it was her duty to investigate this one who had authority over all Leonhart holdings.
  
  When Sayne de Challant had been sent to aid in this 'pilgrimage' the La Oreille moved to secure her position as his escort or at least one of them. With clout from the Grandmaster it was easy enough to arrange.
You'd think some as malleable as Fran would have a fixed persona. Well she does, despite the masks she had to wear in service to House Fante then later on to La Oreille. Certain mannerisms and traits and viewpoints still stay static with her.

Despite....'resocialization' efforts by house Treumps, house de Challant and, probably Glaeslin himself, Sayne de Challant, the Stenhardt family motto still reigns supreme in her mind. That the reward is only equal to the effort one would put in. Which makes her despise her current master, Sayne de Challant. She'd been with him for a time and yet she could never fathom how this frivolous coward could be given authority of not just a small part of Leonhart holdings but all of it. Of course she wouldn't be vocal about it.

Which leads us to another trait. She's a habitual liar, she would never be honest to anyone except really close people. This is to help others hear what they want to hear. To stop her from jeopardizing anything. Case and point, she'd never speak out against Sayne, doing so would jeopardize her reasons for being assigned to him as well as damage the La Oreille reputation in the King's eyes.

As was stated before, she has an impeccable memory. It isn't total recall but she does still remember the face and name of that one stable boy who insulted her that one time ago. This is what makes her an asset to La Oreille. It also allows her to hold grudges longer and makes it harder to escape and move on from bitter memories or devastating events.

She is a fast learner if and only if it is required of her or piques her interest. That was how she had managed to learn how to read and write during her time in La Oreille. She had also managed to pick up techniques with the sword as well as methods of using said sword in tandem with a shield or another, smaller weapon offhand.

Fran is almost always unhappy with her lot in life as it is now and only tries to rationalize it away. Even if she is a tool, now almost exclusively Glaeslin Sayne's tool, she's still a young woman who has her own dreams and desires. All of which she tries to suppress most of the time.

*BACK FROM THE DEAD! Also did I do it right? Took me long enough to resurrect her.*

Wes · Apr 13, 2015

Aiyen Niximorys

Aiyen Niximorys, a male drake hatched 247 winters past, belonging to an unknown ice brood.

Adopted home of La Pré de l'Alouette, a small village in Leonharte, located along the river between Couer d'Or and the Palvi Parish.

Cool and collected on the outside, worried and overly cautious on the inside. The last ten years have softened him considerably, but he will never lose the constant tension wrought from the Dead Lands. He's still learning human expressions and figuring out how to relax, but he has worked out how to laugh - just not quietly. He enjoys working hard and seeing laughter, and trying to create smiles where they're lacking, but quietly and unseen if he can. Tends to be a bit impulsive about decisions unless reminded that there is plenty of time to think, something he is still far from used to. Above all else he possesses a desire to protect, not just those around him but primarily the tenuous peace between dragons and humans, and he will go to any lengths necessary for that goal - even if it means breaking his other oaths or betraying his own kin.
It was a suitably frozen night that Niximorys shattered his shell and struggled through the many layers of ice and snow to the surface. What greeted him there was the same bleak landscape that would he would come to know as his home over the next two centuries: the Dead Lands. He knew very little on that first night, but what knowledge he had gained while in incubation was more than enough. He had been born with the same desperation within which he had been conceived, with a need to live and survive not unlike the ever-present gnawing of the deepest winter. No sire was there to greet him, nor a brood to celebrate his arrival. He was alone.

Years crept past in that harsh wasteland, and those long years turned to even longer decades. Niximorys was forced to scavenge what little could be found at first, surviving on the barest scraps of meat left on long-dead carcasses, too often finding only old bones crunching in his jaws. He never thought about what it was that sustained him; too many of his kind came to this place to die, surrendering themselves to a place that was never meant to host life. Most of those simply became meals for the creatures that had made the Dead Lands their home, including him. But even dragons could not dwell in such a place without making sacrifices, and so sacrifices were made.

It didn't take long for his body to change, adapting rapidly to the struggles that came with every new day. Aesthetics were tertiary to surviving and being able to fight - one hardly went a single day without having to kill over a bit of food or shelter. Niximorys only caught his reflection once, on the surface of a frozen lake. What stared back was completely foreign to him; it didn't look like a dragon, at least none that he had eaten. He supposed it was what those who had adapted to the Dead Lands appeared to be: hulking monstrosities, with scars and pieces missing here and there. Scales that went beyond protecting, fused together in areas where flexibility was not completely necessary to provide a better shield against attacks. But none of that mattered. All importance lay in surviving, although to what purpose was still lost on him - until twelve years ago.

Niximorys was prowling what he had come to call the Borderlands, the space between the endless desert and the endless winter. He came across a young drake that was struggling to remain upright and walking, her shining green scales stained with dust and blood from undoubtedly blistered skin beneath. In a flash she fell and became . . . different, turning into a creature that he had never seen before. It was tiny in comparison, made from pinkish flesh that would offer her no protection in these lands - or any other, for that matter. He approached cautiously nonetheless, eyes trained on the animal while his senses stayed alert for any rivals approaching; he hadn't survived over two hundred years by being reckless.

"There is . . . peace," he heard her say, words slurred and sounding odd coming from that fragile mouth. Only through ancestral knowledge did he understand, but at the same time he did not. "We . . . It is . . . safe." She looked up at him, unafraid - he sensed none of it from her. The expression on that soft face was foreign to him, but she sounded . . . joyous. Her eyes closed, and she spoke no more, but that look never fled from her features. Niximorys looked back from where she had come, seeing the heat haze on the far horizon. Was there really such a thing as 'safe'? This one surely was of his kind; he could smell it. But what was it that she had become before succumbing to the final sleep? What 'peace' was there? He froze her new body and took it back to the tundra, burying it deep in the ice so that she would not be disturbed by its inhabitants. He hadn't felt it right to eat her, even beside the fact that she would have hardly amounted to much. It would have been wrong, though he didn't know why.

That female's words pulled at him for days, weeks, and finally a month passed before he made the decision to leave. Many more weeks of preparation followed, scouting the Borderlands and the terrain beyond, hunting day and night to gorge himself for what would undoubtedly be a hard journey. No dragon made it to the Dead Lands without experiencing starvation first, and most died soon after coming. But Niximorys would not die. He refused to succumb to that fate. He would leave the frozen lands and seek after this idea of 'peace' and 'safe,' whatever they truly meant. Leaving behind this half-life would not be counted among his regrets later.

The desert was as vast and empty as the Dead Lands, but it was also hot - so relentlessly hot, and without a hint of shelter to be found. But Niximorys did as he always had: adapted to survive. Days were spent burrowed under the scorching sands, sleeping in the terrible warmth beneath as he waited for nightfall to travel. It was not the same comfortable chill that he had known all of his life, but it was cool enough. Days passed in this way, stretching into weeks. Prey was scarce here, but every once and a while a hawk or cluster of sparrows met their end by his fangs. It hardly curbed the grip of hunger, but he had come to embrace that as a part of himself; it was an old friend as welcome as the ice in which he had been born. After two weeks, mountains began to rise in the distance.

The first day in that milder climate was the most wondrous Niximorys had ever experienced. He was considerably weak from traversing the desert, but not so much so that he could not hunt, and the abundance of prey here was incredible. Warm-blooded animals leapt about without a care in the world, ready to be swept up and devoured. It was difficult not to overindulge, but such things could not be done if one wanted to keep his wits. He continued flying westward over the mountains, beginning to see more of those odd pinkish bipeds that had built great structures that stretched towards the heavens. They were set apart from the animals in their ability to work together, and their intelligence had apparently allowed them to thrive. Only a handful of times did Niximorys see another of his kind, but only glimpses. The female drake had spoken of peace and safety, but where was it to be found? Where were the nests on this side of the world?

Not long after passing one of those large conglomerations of structures, Niximorys found himself ambushed. A large group of those creatures came across him in a lakeside glade, resting after a long day's flight. They should have been easy to kill for their size and weak flesh, but his frozen breath was banished by some unseen force, and his claws were made useless by unseen barriers. Cold dark spikes pierced his softer underbelly, and several even broke through his hardened scales. It seemed absurd, but these little beings were fierce fighters, and capable of bringing him down. A considerable effort brought him back to the safety of the skies, but not for long. His already tattered wings had been punctured, and some leagues later he crash landed into the woodlands, wondering to himself if this was how his struggle ended, at the hands of these violent creatures in a land that was said to be safe.

He awoke to strange place, inside of something that was not a cave or burrow. The walls were close and seemed to be made of trees. One of the pink creatures was there, watching him and smelling . . . cautious, but not afraid. He did not intend harm. The man tried speaking, but his words were not ones that Niximorys recognized. It didn't matter - there were too many injuries to move freely in this confined space, and much blood had been lost. It was then that he realized that his wounds had been treated and covered to staunch the flow. This creature - of the very same kind that had injured him - had helped him.

Over the following weeks Niximorys learned much. The humans - that was what they were called - spoke a very simple language that seemed to have been derived from his draconic. This man and his brood - a family, they called themselves - mended the wounds that had been inflicted by their kin, and apologized on their behalf. There was no consensus of thought or action among humans, all instead living and developing separate from one another. But in the last three years they had all agreed to peace with dragons, and the two sides would stop hunting one another. Niximorys knew nothing of the wars that the man spoke of, but he did understand something: there were bad humans in the world just as there were unsavory dragons, but overall this land was safer than the one he had left behind. And more importantly: this was a safe place.

Manipulating his form to that of a human was a difficult trick, but he knew it was possible from the wind drake, and Niximorys was no stranger to adaptation. He chose the form of his caretaker's offspring, a fledgling of fair skin and appearance. Over time the man brought him out from the shelter in his human shape to meet others who resided nearby, all of whom were kind and accepting even knowing that he was not one of them. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes would not change, nor would his hair color differently than his once-silvery scales. But it mattered not to these people. They allowed him to stay, to live, and to be at peace. For the first time in his life, Niximorys found a warmth permeating the cold inside, a completely foreign but entirely welcome sensation. It was like being born again, and so that was how he decided to treat it. He stayed in the tiny village of La Pré de l'Alouette for ten years, long since inspired by the humans there to adopt a life of pacifism. His strength in magic and body were used only for the betterment and protection of those around him, and he never returned to his draconic form. It was too harsh for the villagers, he knew, however much they had accepted him, and it was too much an unpleasant reminder of days long past.

News spread down river from Couer d'Or of an attack by a fire drake that had thrown the lands into a frenzy, calling for the destruction of dragons once and for all. Instead, however, the humans agreed to a joint pilgrimage to salvage the peace between the two races, inviting draconic ambassadors to walk beside priests from the northern lands. Niximorys had since learned of Mount Heofon, where many of the remnants of his kin resided, and he decided to journey there in order to ask for permission to become an ambassador. If there was any dragon who had a vested interest in maintaining this fragile peace, it was he, and he had a duty to protect his human brood that had taken him under wing. He would travel to the mountain and ask to be sent - demand it if he had to. The fate of this land's peace hinged on the success of the pilgrimage, and he could not trust it to anyone that lacked dedication to its complete realization.
Niximorys is not what his kind would consider beautiful - not even among his greater brood. His physical traits were developed as a direct result of the environment in which he was forced to thrive, and as such they were bred for utility and practicality over appeal. His broad, scarred horns crook down rather than back, a necessity for fighting over what scraps of food could be found on the barren tundra; the tip from his right is missing. Silvery scales that should have shone brilliantly in the midwinter sunlight have long since dulled and stiffened, aiding his ability to hide in plain sight and take a hit when scrapping with other dragons. His spine is ridged with alabaster spikes, some broken but all jagged, leading to a barbed flail of a tail that is used as often in skirmishes as it is to stabilize during flight. Wings of tattered sinew arc from a frequently hunched back, ending in vicious spikes that would have anyone thinking twice before taking a buffet directly. His claws are massive and strong, sporting a myriad of scars all the way to each thick, wicked talon. The completed picture inspires that which was most useful to him: fear. Standing at a staggering six meters at the shoulder - with a wingspan reaching well over twice that - he epitomizes what it means to intimidate. Frightening your enemies is always preferable to nursing wounds after killing them.

Where there is change, however, there is opportunity. Niximorys' human form has what his draconic form does not: smooth features, soft hair, and a modest height of just over one hundred eighty centimeters. His eyes are a blue as hard as the land he grew up in, but turned softer of late. Where his scales had become dulled, his human hair retained the original shine as a tousle of silver tresses that caught the light at every opportunity. Blue, white, and black silks are his preference, though usually of simple cut, and he has a tendency to wear light armor for a feeling of insecurity without some level of protection.
Frozen Breath: Breathes a veritable blizzard rather than fire, though he is only able to do so while in dragon form. In human form, his breath is just always frosted.

Master of Cold: Can rapidly lower the temperature in a limited area around himself - more energy is spent depending on the affected area.

Aegis of Winter: Able to manipulate the hardness and shape of his ice, used most often to craft shields and barriers.

Survival Instincts: Generally knows the best place to find vital resources in a given area. Enhanced sense of smell, excellent vision during the day and even better at night, though his hearing lags behind as the result of a few too many hits to the skull.

Toughness: Incredibly durable even in human form, with bones thickened from two centuries of constant microfracturing and hardened scales capable of stopping the strongest steel. Even a direct blow from a powerful drake's horns would be hard pressed to penetrate to flesh.

Tasty Treats: In learning to use his abilities as a pacifist, he took to inventing various chilled confections, for which he carries a small pouch of ingredients.

Ire · May 11, 2015

Silas Vetaari

Yes, I am the serpent who lit the town of Gallace aflame; I am the serpent that put the realm on the brink of war; and I will be the serpent that changes the world as we know it.

Silas

• Element: Fire • Name: Silas Vetaari • Gender: Male • Age: 163 •

Silas’s human spectrum peaks at the height of six feet and three inches, donning a fair amount of muscle to coincide with his scaly, gray-blue flesh. While this may be true, Silas’s draconic skin tone and horns are only visible in his transient form, which takes concentration to uphold. If Silas must rest his mind after an exhausting event, his skin tone will become more tanned, and his horns will sink into his skull. However, as a dragon, his eyes always remain a bright orangish-yellow.
Raised in the Dead Lands beyond the Charred Mountains, Silas does not remember much about his past. He remembers the lack of food, the starvation, and how he was forced into eating the corpses of his parents to survive. His memory only became prominent after he flew over the Charred Mountains in search of food.
Silas, unlike any dragon he has ever come into contact with, can breathe flame in his human form. While this is a giant advantage when facing mortals, it has its downside. While in human form, like all dragons, he is as mortal as any man, and as such, is injured by the breathing of fire. While, due to his draconic individuality, the flame cannot be lethal, it does provide him with heavy doses of agony, sometimes for days to come.
Most of Silas's true values have been hidden behind a stone-hard barrier of his inner self. He clouds most of his true emotions with his violence, and as such, has three layers of his emotional mind. The first layer is that which adores killing, torture, rudeness, bluntness, arrogance, pride, selfishness, and animosity. His second layer consists of his more lustful nature, which includes his sarcasm, his manipulation, his charm, his abusive nature (though not ending in the death of his victim), and his wit. His third and final layer lies the most vulnerable areas of his emotional core, for this is where his loneliness and lack of love reside.

As such, due to his first layer, Silas's most dominant trait is his unpredictable killing tendencies. This is when his mind is clouded by his inner demons and finds easy prey wherever they may be. Deep within the man, however, lie emotions that are only revealed through an unparalleled bond with him. Within his very core is a human desire to feel loved and cared for, though heavy tiers of emotional shields mostly prevent these from being spilled out onto those he meets.

Regarding his own personal code, Silas sees himself as a somewhat honorable person. He has adopted some of the ideals of the ForeSworn, and as such, is not a compulsive liar, nor will he falsely give his word. He will never flee from a fight, and considers lying a considerable offense. Silas will not kill a child, and he will not force himself upon a woman. On a darker note though, he will abuse any woman or child that severely disappoints him or attempts to physically harm him, and will not hesitate to kill a woman if need be.
After the death of his parents, Silas traveled to the Charred Mountains. He found several small clans there, and all guided him and directed him to Mt. Heofen―the largest home for all dragons. During his time in the Charred Mountains, he came into contact with the ForeSworn. While he had little connection with them in his first meetings, and only watched them from afar, he would later realize he was heavily interested in their cultural ways, more so than he would be concerning the people of the three territories.

Silas did not stay in the Charred Mountains for too long, and quickly found himself focused on his destination―Mt. Heofen. When he finally arrived, however, he was truly dismayed. Unbeknownst to him, he discovered that his parents had been exiled from the mountain when he had been an infant, and thereafter both of them and their spawn could never be able to return. Silas, of course, was that particular spawn, and as such, had been branded from birth. This brand was a formation of three diamonds all positioned at a particular point on his left shoulder. The brand was no bigger than three inches altogether, and Silas had always thought it to be a birthmark.

Thrown away from the only hope he thought he had for survival, Silas was forced back to the Charred Mountains by those dragons who had called Mt. Heofen home. With his stomach empty and his mind craving some source of food, Silas found his way back to the people he had been so interested in before his journey to Mt. Heofen―the ForeSworn.

Appearing in his transient human form, Silas walked into the ForeSworn’s camps, ready to be killed or accepted. Instead, neither was forced upon him. Their leader decided to imprison him. While Silas was not approving of this whatsoever, he found a silver lining throughout the entirety of the ordeal; Silas was fed three meals a day, and even though he was either discriminated against, feared, or respected by the ForeSworn, Silas was given the chance to study their culture thoroughly.

As time passed, he picked up on their ideals of honor and battle, and he began to judge them for who they actually were―warriors. Vice-versely, the ForeSworn began to accept Silas into their society and what had started as imprisonment became companionship. He was their brother-in-arms, learning many battle techniques from them that would aid him later while performing in his human form.

When the Black War came, Silas was used sparingly. The ForeSworn would scout villages before sacking them, and when it was confirmed that Silas could perform an attack without one survivor remaining to tell the tale of a dragon being controlled by the ForeSworn, he was sent out. Silas destroyed multiple villages, but as practiced, none would ever tell the legend of Silas and the infernos he raised in the border towns.

Even though a bond developed between Silas and the ForeSworn, as a dragon he was being tired of being used by those who were lesser than him. He wanted to be amongst dragons once again, and to do that, he needed an opportunity to show his true colors. Such an opportunity was not laid at his feet until the ForeSworn decided to attack Gallace Academy.

With dragons being present at the academy, Silas knew the time had come for his allegiance with the ForeSworn to crumble. The ForeSworn infiltrated the town outside Gallace Academy, and as they stalked the streets, he soared through the skies and burned the settlement to the ground, killing ForeSworn and many others locked within the streets.

After the deed was done, Silas immediately returned to Mt. Heofen to plead his case, hoping he would be accepted back into their draconic society. But, with a town aflame, none saw the act for what it was truly meant to be. The Three Rulers saw the scorching of the town as an act of war, and as such, wanted to lay blame upon the serpents of the lands. Knowing the repercussions of supporting Silas, the clan of Mt. Heofen, and the tribes of the Charred Mountains, disowned him.

Feeling heavy remorse for his action after the result it caused, Silas found himself with nowhere to go. The ForeSworn hated him for killing their own, the dragons would not be associated with him, and the Three Rulers all wanted his head on a spike. Or so he thought. Captured by Leonharte troops after the destruction of the town outside Gallace Academy, Silas was given an ultimatum by King Leonharte: die or serve under him.

And so Silas took up servitude under the king of Leonharte, and has been imprisoned by him until this day.

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