War of the Dragoncrown Character Roster

Riddle78

Riddle78

Four Thousand Club
Much of the info can be found here: >LINK<


Read the info in full,and make sure you can remember the important bits! If you have questions,refer to that thread first! I have no patience for questions that can be answered with RTFM!


Also,this RP takes place in a time of war. Violence will happen,and it will happen in extreme volumes. Your characters will get injured,maybe even killed under certain extreme circumstances. However,this RP will also feature epic moments in equal measure. Sorta hard to not have epic moments if you're riding Dragons and Wyverns to war.


Major Settlements





-Bale,the Royal Seat of Lordos: This castle contains a bustling metropolis,built into a mountain overlooking a harbor on Lordos' northern coast,with fields as far as the eye can see in every direction. The castle is noted to be the most heavily defended fortress in the kingdom,with a huge garrison,and trebuchets,ballistae and skyguards set up along the walls and towers in excessive volume. The city,within the castle's walls,is built on the hill leading up to the mountain of the inner castle and keep,meaning invaders will have an uphill battle at all times.


-Brina Hawk,the Traitorous Seat: The seat of Grant the Brother,a massive city consisting of much of Lordos' metalworks and industry,with homes for the workers,situated against the Barrier Mountains to the South of the kingdom. Grant has since carved a fortress from the mountains behind the city,and erected a massive wall,riddled with hidden passageways and traps around the city,with a garrison and defenses comparable to Bale. With mountains to the South and West,and dense marshland to the East,the only viable approach for Adrian's loyalist forces is the North,which is heavily trapped and defended,and even still,this region is fraught with peril,as it draws close to the marshes and volatile Mount Calamity.


-Hearth,the Fortress-Village: This small village is built above the pass between Grant's territory to the South and Adrian's territory to the North. With woods to the North and South,and mountains to the East and West,it serves as the only real route between the regions on the Western side of the kingdom,and the most direct route between Bale and Brina Hawk,and therefore has quickyl become the frontline of the war,due to the settlement's strategic significance. Adrian's forces hold the town,and have hastily fortified it,but they're constantly assaulted.


-Skybird Trill,the City of Wealth: A sprawling city,serving is the commercial center of Lordos,and is a single day's ride from Brina Hawk. First stop for foreign trade caravans,it serves as the front door to the kingdom. With marshes and mountains to the East,and the pass to the neighboring kingdom of Sieghalten,the only approach is to the North,where there are two roads; one leading to Hearth,the other through the Calamity Mountain Range.


-Belen's Gap,the Indomitable Village: Belen's Gap is a small town in Lordos' Eastern reaches,on the cliffs overlooking the Boundless Sea. With no fortifications,Belen's Gap would seem to be a very appealing target for Grant's forces,as the settlement is surrounded by fields or the Boundless Sea. However,time and again,the unassuming village has stood against assault after assault,due to astounding tactics and heavy use of Plains Drakes,otherwise used as beasts of labor and burden for the settlement. Belen's Gap is able to control the road to Bale,thanks to the commander of the defending forces and the Plains Drakes.


-Hellena Prison,the City of Chains: Controlled by Grant's forces,Hellena is what the name implies: Hell in a prison. Hellena can be best described as a "Reverse castle",with a mighty fortress surrounding the one side of the settlement facing land. Built where the Barrier Mountains meets the Boundless Sea,the prisoners within have nowhere to go,as the mountains are patrolled by kill teams,and the plunge to the sea below is lethal. This is where Grant sends all PoW's and criminals,to be used as labor for the war,or suicide troops.


There are countless other settlements throughout Lordos,these are simply the major ones.


Lordos is a geographical oddity: The only coast viable for launching from is the Northern coast,while the Eastern coast is dominated by treacherous cliffs,making port development unattractive,and mountains to the South,with ocean immediately behind,also making ports uninviting,and a dense mountain range to the West with a single pass leading to a neighboring kingdom. The center of the Lordos is dominated by a large mountain range,with Mount Calamity,a volcano,near the Southwest end of the range,with marshland to the south of the range,and dense forest all around. The mountains are riddled with caves,as well,which are home to the savage Orcs.


Orcs are a species of humanoids who live in the caves of Lordos. They are intelligent,as evidenced by their weapons and armour,and their apparent trade of Basilisk husbandry. They strike at the surrounding countryside,and cannot be reasoned with,for the most part. All attempts to rout them from the mountains resulted in calamitous failures. Orcs average eight feet tall,and are covered in a layer of shaggy brown and blond fur. They speak an unknown language,and appear to worship the Dragons.


We will be a band of unaffiliated sellswords,attempting to remain neutral in the conflict up until this point. Who we side with is up to you. And in times of war,no one stays neutral forever.


Now,for the character skeleton!


Name: Given name,and a sobriquet. The sobriquet is a name given to you for your greatest or most memorable accomplishment (see Nord names from The Elder Scrolls),or,if you haven't earned one yet,have their sobriquet as "of <Town of birth>"


Gender: Male or female?


Age: Minimum age of 20. And remember,with age comes experience. No 20 year old veterans!


Mount: It can be something as mundane as a horse or an ass,or you can have a Drake. Drakes are very diverse,and evolve to suit their environment. Desert Drakes spit sand to sandblast flesh from bone,Marsh Drakes can spit septic fluids,and Plains Drakes are big and tough. There are other species,so go for it!


Appearance: Use spoilers to hide your appearance! This reduces visual clutter on the page! Images of any sort will work,as will descriptions. If you use a description,make sure others can construct a detailed mental image from it! If you're a Firemind,make sure your mutations are relative to the magic you primarily wield,and how long you were practicing magic. No fire mages who were practicing for fifty years and only have a higher body temperature to show for it!


Weapon of Choice: One or two weapons,which will be on your person. This can also include magic.


Skills: Why are you part of this mercenary group? Why would they take you with them,and not Joe Average?


Gear: Anything that isn't your weapon(s) of choice. Include weapons,armour,tools,and other things that can be handy.


Background: From childhood to joining the mercenary company to now. At least two paragraphs,please. That much is sinfully simple,considering that it's a character background.
 
Name: Von The Seeker


Gender: Male


Age: 26


Mount: (Draccus Ceratomorpha) Rhino Drake

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A rare species of Drake native to the Forested Climes of Almaz they trade off a weaponized breath attack in exchange for other evolutionary advances. These creatures are stubborn beasts that prowl the underbrush, they are an omnivorous subspecies of Draccus and have a particular taste for sweet berries. Due to their fortified stomachs they are capable of digesting even poisonous plants or animal without any adverse affects, they have even been known to take arbitrary bites out of trees to vent their anger with no problems. Their tough scales help them defend against aerial predators brazen enough to attack them while their razor sharp horn helps them to to fend off their attackers. Their small beady eyes are short sighted so they have to rely on an acute sense of smell and six hearing pits that give them sonar like abilities. Viil is half the size of a rhinoceros but is rather hardy for his young age.


Appearance:


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Weapon of Choice: War Pick (As seen above)


Skills:


-Medical Knowledge:


In the field of battle or on the road anything can happen, accidents, battle wounds and the like are a factor of life for anyone soldier or not. Von is equipped with expert knowledge of Medical techniques, from bandaging a wound to Removing an arrow. His knowledge of medicinal herbs and the like further increases his value by adding the ability to tend to the sick and the diseased.


-Cavalier:


His battle experience comprises mainly of his combat training while mounted in the saddle of his steed Viil. There are few who can match his charge or maneuverability. In combination with his War Pick he is afforded a weapon with reach, agility and possible range as a thrown weapon.


-Rudimentary Combat Expertise:


While he is not quite so experienced as a soldier he has garnered enough tutelage from other warriors to know how to hold his weapon, how to block someone else's attacks and how to lodge his weapon in the enemy's heart. He has spent some time on the battlefield and knows well enough how final and brutal war can be, he is not about to run from a battle out of fear or inexperience.


-Contacts:


In Von's line of work he has come to know many a name and many a person since the two are not always the same. From nobles and politicians to slavers and slaves. If you've not heard of them, he probably has. As the old saying goes; 'it's not what you know but who you know'. Let's just say he has a few strings he can pull, strings that other people may not even know of.


-Intelligence:


Von is no dunce, no he is cunning, intuitive and calculating, he is a purveyor of knowledge and so is a rather adept historian and strategist, he is a resourceful man, his mind quick and agile.


Drake Care:


Von's time with his uncle in Bale has taught him the intricacies of caring for drakes, from their varying diets and the different types of illnesses and diseases they can suffer from.


Gear:


-Leather Armor (Excluding Helmet)


-A pair of hunting knives.


-10 hidden Throwing knives


-10 gold


-Rations (3 days)


-Camping Gear.


-Writing Equipment.


Background:


Born 26 years ago to a farmer and his wife, they lived in a small village of no note. As a child his parents wished for him a simple life, an honest life, one in which he wouldn't have to resort to living like a rabid dog feeding off the detritus of society, off hard fought scraps that would simply dull the hunger rather than nourish him in any way. The life they wished for him was one where at the end of an honest days work in the fields he would come home to a happy family and eat good food. A life where he had a wife and children that would love him like the stars love the night sky. And for sometime that's almost exactly what Von grew up in. He had good simple friends that would follow him into thick and thin despite the trouble he lead them into. He chased a girl with rosy cheeks, an ample bosom and a pair of plump breasts who smiled at him, danced with him and teased him wantonly.


Von had always been smart, smarter than anyone would give him credit for. His curiosity was often a subject of talk between the other villagers, while he and his friends remembered their escapades in fondness the others remembered them with some bitterness. The girl he had chased when he was younger had left without warning, she and her father vanished in the night, the rumors were sure to follow and they did. But Von ignored those rumors for ones of a different kind, the village children had purportedly found a Drake nest, one with a single egg and guarded by its mother. Von couldn't assuage his curiosity and via some recon techniques he'd learned from his former girlfriend he manage to track down the general area of the nest.


The forest was dense but the Drake tracks were as strident as the sun at its zenith, the tracks were like giant holes in the ground. He managed to trace the Drake's movements into the very center of the forest, it wasn't common to see drakes so close to the capital let alone a drake egg which were rare by themselves. Von had always dreamed of having a pet drake, he had seen knights and nobles parade through the village once, the rode their drakes up and down the main road in order to show off their status and prestige. Ever since then Von had dreamed of one day having his own drake steed. Eventually he managed to find the nest and there it was, the thing of dreams; a drake egg. There was no sign of it's mother anywhere so in a fit of youthful exuberance he took up the egg and made his way back to the village where he planned to brag to anyone who would give him the time of day.


Things didn't turn out quite as he had planned it to. When Von arrived at the village he found it in ruins, the Smithy was on fire and the Inn had a giant hole where once the door was bolted. People ran to and fro in panic, some were trying to manage the fire before it began spreading, other's grabbed saws, pitchforks, torches and hoes. In no time there was a mob swarming through the village after a rampaging mother Drake. Her angry roars were extinguished when a small contingent of soldiers sent from a nearby fortress arrived. They dealt with the beast in no time. Scared Von ran home to his parents, he had hoped they would know what to do but they were stumped. He had stolen a Drake egg, things looked bad, if the villagers found out he had the egg then they might send Von to court where he would be tried and sentenced to the mines. It didn't matter how long he was sentenced, people didn't come back from the mines.


With no other apparent choice, Von's parents decided to send him to his uncle in Bale; the capital city. His uncle was a Drake trainer, he often sent letters detailing the trials of caring for and training large scaled beasts of war. His goodbyes were swift and hushed, there was no need for any big fuss and Von was eager to learn how to train his future drake.


After his long journey Von arrived in Bale a little under 3 months, by then Viil had hatched and demanded all of Von's attention. It was a miracle they had managed to make their way to his uncle's house in Bale at all. There were many soldiers on the road, sometimes they were worse than the brigands who prowled the roads. He spent many a day hungry, sacrificing his meals in order to feed his growing Drake. At one point he had to teal Viil back from a small troop of bandits. But now he was safe and sound in his uncle's home, trying to explain why Von had turned up on his uncle's doorstep with naught but the rag on his back and a dog sized drake gnawing on a bone in the middle of the street. Suffice it to say Von and Viil were taken in and taught how to care for one another as a Rider and his Drake.


Caring for a boy and his drake is far too much for any uncle to handle on his own, being unmarried there was no one to help him out, so Von had to get a job. Initially he had expected to simply work for his uncle, he did well enough with the other drakes but his uncle didn't make enough to maintain his business and pay someone else, he already had an apprentice before Von had arrived and it wouldn't be fair to lay the man off just so he can train his nephew in things his apprentice already knew. Very few people in Bale will hire peasant, it was just Von's luck he managed to stumble into the News Agency, they were looking for trustworthy couriers and Von needed the money.


Years spent working with the News Agency and their more clandestine associates has sent Von around the country side gathering as much information as he can on various targets and subjects. An incident near his old village saw him and Viil in battle fighting to protect the village he once fled out of fear. That fight gained him an invitation into a group of mercenaries fighting for their beliefs amongst a war between titans who hold little regard for those beneath their foot falls.
 
I, Don Valence, Architect of the Epic, Lady of Majesty, place here a reservation notice for the creation of a magnificent being! Await my transcendence into this beautiful world!
 
Weapon of Choice:


Sword and Shield, matches her armor in pic.


Skills:


Smithing: Anora is the Black Smith's daughter. She of course, was never destined to be a smith like her father but, she learned the trade very quickly and easily and has a talent for it.


Combat: Anora, is very skilled with her sword and shield. Her Uncle was a knight in the capitol under the late King and as a child he would visit as often as possible and taught the rambunctious Anora all the fundamentals to using the weapons properly and the rest she did herself after relentless training alone until her technique was perfected.


Gear:

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Armor: Anora smithed herself from fine steel that she saved up the money to purchase for years. It took her nearly a year to smith her custom plates to the beauty they are now and she's very proud of her work. Often she has comments on it and has also been requested to smith similar pieces by noble men but has declined so far from lack of time to do the job.






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money pouch: a little leather bag her mother made for her that is meant to hold her coins, at the moment she only has a few pieces of gold and a shiny rock in it.


journal/quill and Ink: Anora is a very observant female and enjoys writing down anything and everything new she learns.

Background:

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Anora the Spoken received her name at a young age. It was apparent pretty soon after she began to walk and help her father around his forge that she would reveal quite the knack for it. Anora is an educated young woman, whenever she wasn't getting her studies from her mother or the little church in Hearth, she was learning everything about Smithing from her Father, Balk, the Smith of Hearth. Also, whenever those weren't going on, every few weekends her uncle who was a knight under the late king, would travel into the village and teach her how to use her sword and shield. Unfortunately, shortly after Adrian took the throne, her uncle was killed during one of the battles over land.


His death was a huge tragedy for Anora's family so in his name she kept at her training and smithed her own armor, determined to join Adrian's guild and fight for the rightful King. As soon as his army moved into occupy Hearth, Anora was one of the first people in line to sign up to take the oath and fight under Adrian's name and of course, she wouldn't take no for an answer.


There was quite a bit of faff on the subject of the Black Smith's daughter joining the Royal Army. Mostly, it came from her parents, in their eyes she should marry a knight or guild member and birth him children with the hope that she would have grown out of sword playing and tinkering around with her father's smithing equipment by then, not becoming the guild member. Little did their words carry with Anora though, because when she sets her mind to something you can bet she'll do it and she did! She proved to the guild men that her talent with her weapons and smithing is something they need and they agreed. She's only been apart of the guild occupying Heath for about a year and has only been apart of the scrimmages to keep Hearth when it comes to battles so far and, even in that she hasn't been allowed to be involved too much, mostly they like to keep her in her father's forge where she helps him make a lot of the guilds weapons or repairs of weapons and armor. She isn't too upset with where she is, she's very good at smithing and loves the trade but, she is absolutely determined to make herself more apart of the war as a useful asset with more than just her smithing ability. She wants to travel with the Guild and fight alongside the other's in the name of the king, not just make sure they don't take Hearth.
 
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Name: Riven the Protector


Gender: Female


Age: 30


Mount: Lava Drake

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Appearance:

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Weapon of Choice: Battle Axe: The battle Axe she wields is called the Decapitator. The Decapitator is a two handed battle axe that lands a deadly blow to her opponent.

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Her second choice for a weapon is a long knife that is made of pur stelll. It Is a medium sized blade that she uses for close combat if her axe can't get the job done.

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Skills:


Acrobatics: Riven being small and flexible from birth she has been able to do things with her limbs that most can not. Most would call this Contortion . Riven being able to ben or dislocate any part of her body without her feeling pain. Of course she can move anything back into place, thanks to her mother who is also Contortion. She has efficient jumping, climbing, dodging as well with escaping small places or hiding in them.


Athletics:Riven is fast moving . She can cover two football fields within 20 to 30 minutes without getting tired. Not only is she fast on land but also in water. Despite her short legs , her long hands give her the drive she needs to push forward. She can climb much faster than the average female, only because she spent her time mainly climbing. Being the nosey girl that she is she became good at, only to exceed later on in her life.


Blade: Riven has good hands with weapons such as swords, knives, daggers and etc. However because she is more of a hand to hand , close combat type she decided to use a medium sized sword. She wields this one knife in her right hand, copying the movement of her father who had taught her at a young age. She is swift with this blade and has only failed twice to make a clean cut.


Blunt: Riven has gained lots of strength due to the continuous amounts of training she had to do, not adding the things she had to pick up around the house. Unlike her father she did not have a wide tall body, with muscles ripping through his shirts. Even so she is able to wield an axe but with two hands. Riven is not as swift with the blade she holds but despite the lack of speed she has with it she can make clean shots.


Block: Rive does not carry shields much for she finds them to slow her down. Instead she wears a heavy armor on her upper body and lower body leaving her midsection bare. The armor she wears is thick and layered by more metal. With this she can cover someone by using the armor as a shield. This to her is most effective because the armor covers her neck from any behind attack. When an enemy would aim down toward someone she would be able to evaluate where it would land then quickly shield that area with her armor.


Hand to Hand: Riven is good with weapons yes but she is also good with hand to hand combat. She uses two styles of fighting. One is specifically offense while the other is both a defense and offense. This she learned from her fathers friend who specialized in sparring and brawls. At first she would spar with him then when she was good enough she would have a bout with her father.


Mercantile: Riven was taught to bargain by her mother. Negotiating from food to clothing. Swords to life. Their was a point in her life where she had negotiated a young girls life for some lessons on fighting and a nice hearty meal.


Household: Most people wouldn't find this much of a skill but Riven counts it as one. Cleaning, cooking, washing and nurturing. She is able to cook a good meal for any kind even the picky ones. She can clean anything ,even stains that have been there for years. She is a good healer, stitching up wounds and cleaning them.


Gear:


-Thread and needle


-money pouch


-Metal armor (top half/bottom half)


-Cloth


-A necklace from her father


-Ties( for hair purposes)


Background: 30 years ago in a home that had only two rooms , a small kitchen and a main room that could barely fit five people , a child was born. Taking on the appearance of her mother but the stubbornness of her father was a girl they had named Riven. At first the mother wanted her to be Clice but her father wanted her to be Raven. So as a compromise they took the I out of Clice and replaced the A from Raven to make Riven. Both were pleased and the girl giggled in acceptance to the name, as if she even had a choice. The first 6 years of her life was marvelous. She had made a couple friends, had a crush on the towns boy and went on small hunts with her father. However on her 7th birthday her father told her a secret that he had kept in. He was expecting a boy more than a girl. A man to carry on the family name, someone he could hunt with, talking about woman and run amuck. Riven was not as saddened as he thought but more encouraged. Reaching for her fathers hand as she gave him a sincere look. Telling him"I'll be the boy you've always wanted...just in a female body. So please do not be discouraged." The father was surprised, the mother disapproving and the town boy finding a new love that was far more prettier and lady like than her. At the time though she did not care, all she wanted was to please her father.


On her 9th birthday her father came to her in the dead of night and woke her from her slumber. Smiling as he held up a small blade, a starter one for children like herself. Quickly getting out of bed and slipping on the clothes which was nothing but pale brown pants and a tan shirt. No need for a bra for she hadn't grown to need one yet. She had quickly ate her breakfast then followed her father outback. He had a few trees marked , a few rocks by the well they had and an axe which was leaning up against the house. He had pointed to himself and told her he would teach her all he knew. He was popular in the town and towns after that town. "Harp the Strong." You could tell to by his body. Tall and wide, muscles that made his shirt tear. She found him to be her idol and her hero. Her father started her off with lesson one, how to hold the blade. This did not take her long for she had her mothers ability. Learning things quickly so she wouldn't trouble anyone. Her father was most pleased and was able to move on to making a direct hit, guarding yourself. training was hard and lasted until the sunrise every day. He said you get more things done at night then in the day. Lifting the rocks and taking it around the town then back toward him. If she had dropped it she would have had to do it again.


She had no complaints thought and moved through the day with little yawns and short naps. Her mother teaching her womanly things. Sewing , cooking, cleaning. She had even taught her acrobatics. Being that Riven was double jointed and more flexible than most. She was able to bend in abnormal ways, dislocate her limbs and fit in to small places. She was good at helping out others around town when they needed something mended. She would be called for help when men that were wounded needed to be healed. Gaining a small title like her mother. "Karin the Healer." People found her to be a protector, always sticking up for the children who were being picked on by the town drunks. Riven found her style to be weak until she saw how useful she was to the people. Others looking up toward her. So Riven made a goal to be both, Strong and a protector. So now she had other things to do when she wasn't with her mother or father. As years went on she continued to train more. The rocks continued to pile up and the continuous strikes to the tree made them look deformed. Still she could not pick up the axe that lied against the house, her father giving her a faint smile to not worry her. Instead since she was now 18 she was able to have a pet. A man who sold many items had came in to town and was carrying something rare with him. A Draken egg.


With enough money she was able to buy her own yet she was unable to care for it. Her father gave it to a friend to watch over it. Giving Riven permission to go see it when both trainings were done. She had no objections to this which please him greatly. Talking back was a sign of ignorance he thought. You should know when to accept something then just fighting back. Silence can be your greatest weapon. Riven kept that in mind, going to see her Drake which she had called Zen. More years had went on, her minding growing as she consumed the wisdom her father and mother both had to offer. Growing in size and taking a full appearance of her mother but also looked like a warrior well a fighter in the towns eyes. She began to learn how to fight using nothing but her body. Hands, head, feat and other limbs. She was even able to wrap her legs around her teacher. Her Drake that was now able to live in the house was outback watching. Eyeing the man to see if he would harm her. However her age was catching up to her and her mother found it displeasing to still be living in the house. She wanted her to go out and live somewhere else, marry to a fine man and get a good job. Her father protested and said she needed more training, the hunts they were one were only small trials. She needed something bigger. Their argument lasted for what she thought were aged but was only a few years.


On her 28th birthday she was given armor that suited her taste along with her mother and fathers. She carried the knife but left the axe. She never tired picking it up again, she didn't want to see his frown. The father was pleased and motioned her on. Her mother waved by along with the friend of her fathers. The drake followed close behind as they disappeared into the forest. It was only a few hours that they were gone but that was all someone needed to destroy the town, or at least some of it. Both Riven and her father running when the say the flames flicker and spark. They climbed up toward the sky, dancing amongst the homes. People gathered in the center of the town and men surrounding them with weapons. One pulling on the hair of an old woman who looked as if she was in her 40's. It took Riven no longer than five seconds to see that it was her mother. She reached out but was pulled back behind a house that was already burned down. She was told to stay clam and think, rushing into battle was dumb. He told her to go get the axe and hurry back. He would charge in from their left and take out the ones holding the elders hostage. Riven nodded her head running back but not before doubling back to see a man with a smile. She squinted but when she blinked he had vanished.


Remembering the task at hand she had ran back to her home. The front of her house was burned down and some clothes seemed to have been dragged out of the home. Zen behind her as he sniffed the clothing then Riven herself. Pushing away at his nose she jogged to the back and found the axe. Sighing she counted to three and lifted it with both hands. The axe coming up off the ground and on to her shoulder. It was much lighter than the last time she had tried. She smiled as she jogged back toward the center, moving through the burnt homes and hiding in the forest when one would emerge form a home. With quick foot steps she made it to the side where the children were being held. she took in a deep breath , stepped forward the swung the axe horizontally. The blade jamming into the mans side as he screamed out. He had fallen but not before she took the axe out of his side. The kids bawling as some ran over to her to hug her legs. Most called her mommy while others just screamed. She patted their heads and gave them a smile before putting her finger over her lips to hush them. She had work that needed to be done. She left their side and joined her father in chopping down the infiltrators one by one.


Soon after the job was done and she was on the floor sewing up a knife wound on an elder man. She tried her best not to shake and to stay focused. Her father was hugging and loving over his wife and the children had stopped their crying. The man she saw from before had crouched down beside her and smiled. It took only a few to clean up the stich wound and to walk away with the man to talk. he commented her on her fighting and her bravery for defending the town. Helping the kids first and making sure they were ok. He accepted her strength and had gotten an invitation into a group of mercenaries fighting. She didn't have to join though but she did anyways. Her father approved but not so much her mother. Worried about her , she told her to stay safe. with their last words she took off with her belongings and Zen.
 
Name: Haywood the Victor (of Hellena)


Gender: Male


Age: 32


Mount: Nothing in particular, Haywood will ride on whatever happens to be left unattended when he finds himself in need of a mount.

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Haywood is of remarkably average appearance, with brown hair that hangs to his shoulders, tied back from his face in a practical manner though still somewhat wild, dark eyes that begged a man to challenge him, and standing at just beneath six feet, with an athletic physique.


Weapon of Choice: A simple longsword, and his ace in the hole so to speak, a four inch stiletto named Ellen stashed in his belt.


Skills: While his name means little, Haywood earned his title with quite a bit of blood, little, if any of it his. A name is just that, a name, but Haywood earned his title by being exactly what it calls him, the victor. Countless scrapes and scraps, but he always wins, it's unavoidable.





-Boiled leather and chainmail armour consisting of an hauberk, and thick-shinned boots, virtually leather greaves. The last of his armour is a pair of thick steel shackles with broken chains which he proudly wears as bracers.


-A hefty pouch of gold coins, as well as a compartment sewn onto the inside of his hauberk over his heart which holds no less than fifteen coins at any time.


-A roadpack with bedroll, a month's trail rations, tinderbox, oversized waterskin, needle and gut, whetstone, and a small wooden bowl.


-The hip pouch depicted above contains a small, rare stone from the barrier mountains which seems attracted to most metals, a few wine bottle corks, and a flask, usually filled with strong spirits.





Chapter One: Childhood Imprisonment


Haywood was born in Hellena, though atypically, he is completely fine with letting the world know it. While he was born in the prison-fortress, as with all of the other children born within its walls, he was sent away to Skybird Trill, though some were sent to Brina Hawk.


Childhood in a rich city was tough, at least for anyone that wasn't born there. Every day, every chore, every task for the wealthy family he stayed with was a reminder of where he'd been born, what his parents were, what he was. This continued on until the public execution on his twelfth birthday, though of course no one celebrated it, and Haywood had just chosen the day for himself seeing as everyone else had one.


That one man's death was the signal for a string of deaths to follow.


Everyone dies, some people simply deserve it. The words had echoed in Haywood's thoughts the entire night, they were the words of his patron, the man that had taken him into his home, allowed him to eat the food his servants made, and allowed him to change his chamberpots for the past eight years. The man that had chosen to take in a prisoner's child simply to take advantage of free labor, and to give his own boys a punching bag that would never be allowed to swing back. When the sun began to rise, and the house's servants began their routine, silently so as not to wake the masters, Haywood repeated those words, he chanted them like a mantra as he set about his bloody business, as he took special care to remind everyone of where he was born, of what was expected of him, of what he was.


That birthday Haywood had gotten quite a celebration, full of vibrant reds and plenty of screams, he even had his very own pastry, or at least he was caked with the gore of his favourite people in the wide, wide world, the people that had told him what he was, and the people that had reminded him every day until he truly realized it. The older boys that lived here had been payed special attention, obviously if they enjoyed boxing so much, they shouldn't have cried for so long, they shouldn't have minded the broken teeth and concussions that came along with it, they shouldn't have let themselves bleed.


When the house servants fled from the house screaming for the guards, Haywood never bothered to even attempt stopping them, he didn't care, what would they do, lop his head off as had been done yesterday? A quick death and an eternity in the rich folks' nightmares? He could live with that, so to speak. Or there was the alternative, being sent back to Hellena, though he was sure that life there would be much kinder to him, after all, it was where he was from, it was where he belonged.


Half a dozen guards burst through the entryway some time later, nearly an hour it had taken for the servants to collect themselves, and the guards to arrive, or perhaps the other servants had cared for their masters as much as he had? The scene before them was something of nightmares, the rich man lay dead mere feet from the door, brains spilling onto the floor from a savage injury to his head, excrement spattered all around him, and a trail of it leading back to the stairs, a dented steel chamberpot tossed aside, forgotten. While a short trail of blood leading to a larger pool where the man had obviously crawled to in a vain attempt at escape would have been expected, the blood was written with, several times, across the walls, the floor, and even once at the top of the grand staircase. Everyone dies, some people simply deserve it.


The rest of the house revealed a similar scene, the man's wife lay dead in her bed, killed in her sleep, left for him to find upon awakening, her blood writing the same message twice in the room, once on the bedspread, once on the back of the door. The other bedroom was arguably worse, though it could also have been argued that it was better. The house's two sons had been tied to the legs of their four-poster beds, and beaten to death, faces looking less like humans, and more like black pudding, or the ground meat used in the sausages that the pair were so fond of. At the far end of the room was a younger boy, not even old enough for his voice to crack, though his mind obviously had, writing on the wall the same phrase in the pair's blood, his hands a broken, bloody mess, obviously having destroyed his own hands pummeling the other two. The boy was humming a joyous tune, his eyes manically wide, hair strewn wildly about, he was drenched with gore, from head to toe, as though he had bathed in the stuff.


After taking in the murderer, four of the guards handed in their resignations, five of them required council, and the sixth committed suicide that eve. The squad's faith in humanity had been truly, and violently shattered.


While many voted on executing the child, the motion was vetoed as to preserve the peace in the city, they had held an execution the day before, and killing a child was always a difficult matter to attend to. Rather than killing the boy, they sent him away, locking him into a wooden casket for the trip, with virtually no room to move. The casket was then lain in the back of a wagon, and sent off to Hellena, he was finally going home.


Chapter Two: Youth-hood Freedom


Four years had passed since Haywood's arrival back in his place of birth, it was truly his home now, a man that you hated, you killed, the guards could do little to intervene in time, or perhaps they just didn't care what happened. Weekly inspections were performed on their cells, and while he'd never gotten to meet his parents, he supposed it didn't really matter, he'd found his family, the criminals, the scum, the thieves, rapists and murderers, they were his people. The past years had been quite productive, after his hands had been healed by a golden-hearted firemind, he'd taken a relative fondness to the woman, partly because her appearance repelled those with weak stomachs, and partly because of her particular sense of justice and humour. The reason the rotting woman had healed Haywood wasn't simply because he was a child, no, she had healed him once he'd shared the story of his imprisonment. Her name was Ellen, a beautiful name for a hideous visage, she seemed the perfect definition of a diamond in the rough.


Nearly a year the two had spent together, at least on their free time and shared labour. It was probably about ten months after his homecoming that Ellen was conscripted for the latest Death Brigade, obviously a firemind would help bring them victory, wouldn't she? The idea was appalling to her, and rather than dying for someone else's war, she healed the captain to death, sprouted pumpkin sized tumors from his brain in moments, exploding the entire thing in a gory mess, it was perhaps the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, though the act, as all spellcasting does for fireminds, progressed her to the unavoidable end, degrading herself from corpse in appearance, to corpse in reality. While he never thought about the fact at the time, nor does he think about it now, this single act was what separated the pair, despite how similar he'd felt them to be, he'd never be willing to die, not for his war, nor for anyone else's.


After Ellen's death, while he'd like to say that he was grief-stricken, it would be a lie. Haywood had actually hurried to the pair of bodies, though not to aid the woman who had healed his hands, no he'd done it to lift the guard captain's boot-knife, to get himself a real weapon. That knife had perhaps been the closest companion in Haywood's life, in his own twisted way, this simple blade had been his form of grief, he'd named it in honour of Ellen, and just as she'd healed him, and most certainly saved his life with the combination of her presence, and her abilities, she now injured many, and ended the lives of anyone foolish enough to think him an easy target.


The two months after Ellen's death, simply the remainder of his first year in Hellena, Haywood had murdered more than he cared to count, over a dozen guards, and at least twice as many prisoners. In fact, he killed so often, that he started to have fun with it, as well as abuse the ability to read and write that he'd been given in his childhood, twisting it into a murderous abomination of its original intent. Each time that he killed after that year, Haywood left a single trait, written in the victim's blood, of a person he chose seemingly at random, one at a time until they were investigated. If the person wasn't executed or sent away, he killed them too, leaving a simple message, Too slow. After a few months playing this little game, people, for it wasn't only prisoners, began to commit suicide rather than endure the mental torture of watching people die around them when they were convinced that they were the new target, no one knew who was doing the killing.


The twentieth person that Haywood chose was himself, simply to throw any possible investigations through a loop. Months went by before the guards interrogated him, asking what he may know of the killer, what he may have done to anger anyone, more than thirty lives had ended describing him, and he never even pretended to hide anything from them, Haywood simply told them that he'd been doing the killing. At first, they'd laughed, the three grown men locked into a tiny room with the young teen, nearly fourteen years of age, but when his expression remained completely serene, the trio quieted. Hands drifted toward swords, but before anything could be done, four inches of steel flashed from beneath his rags, slashed a throat, pierced an eye, and he pounced across the table at the third, acting before a single sword had rasped clear of its sheath. Young fingers clasped onto the man's throat, but not to squeeze the life from him, grip made strong from a year hauling buckets of stone up on ropes, of swinging a pick at stone, and of sticking men like pigs punched two thumbs through his throat, making the only man without a hole in his airway the one that had died instantly of chronic knife-in-brain.


It was impossible, a mere boy had butchered all of these people, hardened killers and trained soldiers, rapists and smugglers, he'd killed not just people like his first, he'd killed the very best. The third guard scrabbled at the boy, one hand over his entire face, trying to push back, but he simply bore down harder, tearing two gaping holes from the man's neck, gushing blood so dark it was practically black, pooling on the floor already from all three grown men, this boy was not someone to be trifled with or laughed at.


After a brief time admiring his handiwork, Haywood retrieved his knife, wrenching it free with a gurgle and small spray of blood, bone, and brain. After wiping the blade off on the guard's tabard, the boy turned back to the door, stashing his blade again. On the other side of this heavy oaken door, there were a pair of guards, spears at the ready and broadswords at their hips. The one to his left would react badly, not the way he wanted at all, that one needed to die, but the other could live for now. Thankfully, the way that the door swung worked with Haywood, he'd be able to get behind the fourth guard he intended to kill without passing the door, and the sword was conveniently on his right hip, it was like they wanted him to do this, they begged him, everyone dies, some people simply deserve it. Hurriedly opening the door, Haywood slammed it into one guard, more as an obstacle than to harm him, and drew the other's blade while he looked toward the door that had just swung open. Flinching as he brought the spear down, the guard had his own sword driven up beneath his breastplate, piercing through his intestines, and cutting at his spine, severing nerves, and paralyzing him from the waist down, a happy accident really. As the man collapsed, he dropped the spear he'd tried to bring to bear, and clutched at his guts in a desperate attempt to keep them inside him.


Turning back to the door just as it swung closed, Haywood presented his wrists to the still-capable guard and said in what was probably the most hauntingly innocent voice the man had ever heard,


"I've been bad, haven't I?"


The next day was Haywood's first scheduled execution, exactly one year after Ellen's death. That night saw an unprecedented change in security, the boy's cell was guarded by four armed men at all times, spears at the ready, already threaded between the bars so that any sudden movement would see the boy skewered at least twice over. That was probably the soundest sleep Haywood had ever had at that point in his life.


Come the morning, shifts had changed twice, and the third change was to bring him to his demise, hands still shackled. The wooden platform, centered in Hellena's main yard had seen very little use over the past year, as all of the deaths had been happening elsewhere. Today though, a young boy of only about thirteen years was to be killed on that stage, before liars, killers, and thieves, what a befitting audience.


When the boy and his guards arrived on the stage, the executioner climbed the stairs on the opposite side, unrolling a piece of parchment with the listed crimes of this young boy, it hung past his waist, something Haywood took pride in.


It took over an hour for the hooded executioner to read off all of the names of people he'd killed, funny, he hadn't thought that the guards would care much for the names of prisoners.


Hands still shackled behind him, as the guard had thought it much more prudent to do last night, one of his entourage planted a boot on his back, forcing him to kneel at the block, looking up to all of the criminals before him, and to the executioner on his left, now brandishing the impressive greatsword brought out by what must have been a squire to the richer guards. Wait, that meant that this hooded man was important, the only people important enough for a squire here were the warden and his captains, this couldn't have gone any better.


When the important sword-bearing man drew the six feet of steel back, raising it to his head, Haywood moved, not the desperate struggling of a boy about to die, but with purpose. Time seemed to slow as he drew the stiletto once more, as he had a thousand times before, using it to slash the tendon in back of the guard's ankle, and roll off of the block. While the crippled man reeled, Haywood had already gotten free, dodged death, and was beginning to rise to his feet.


The crowd shouted in disbelief, some bellowed praise, some screamed in terror, and only a rare few remained quiet to watch, to calmly observe the entire situation, or perhaps they were just paralyzed in shock, how was he to know?


Everything seemed to move through syrup as Haywood jumped, pulling knees to his chest, and bringing his hands before him again, rushing into the guard that had kept him pinned just moments ago, driving the blade through his heart whilst he hopped about on one foot. How foolish to wear dress uniforms to an execution, didn't they know that people die during executions?


Backpedaling, the boy kept away from the four remaining men still intent on taking his head, leaping from the stage into the crowd, into the dirt. Quickly, so as not to be cut to pieces themselves, the crowd dispersed, giving space for what would soon become a fight to remember. As guards followed, the crowd formed a sort of arena of their own, quickly beginning to take bets, this sort of entertainment was rare in Hellena.


The executioner came forward first, trying another great vertical swing, as though to cleave his target in half, which he very well could have had it connected. Haywood continued to retreat backward, extending his arms toward the blade, which passed through his chains as though unimpeded. In response, Haywood threw his own blade, mostly as a distraction to close the distance, but Ellen served him well again, striking the man in his neck, even below the hood, though the blow was certainly not fatal. The follow-up on the other hand, was fatal. Closing the gap between the two, Haywood struck at the man's jaw with one hand, again, more as a distraction than to deal any significant damage, and with his other hand, the boy gripped his knife again, and drew it savagely across the man's neck, tearing it open to a gush of crimson which spattered from Haywood's collar, all the way down to the dirt, soaking him through. Two down, and three to go.


As the next came forward, Haywood prepared himself, just to see him catapulted from his feet, slamming hard into the ground on the back of his head, he'd been clotheslined by a man in the crowd, likely someone protecting his bet, which elicited plenty of cursing among the crowd.


Seeing the violent response, and knowing full well what this boy was capable of, the two remaining guards fled like whipped dogs, he'd won the day, and become the stuff of legends.


Haywood pulled the sack from his would-be killer's head, revealing the man beneath, the warden's son, still alive, still spurting blood from his grievous injury, still gurgling like a babe, staring up at the boy that killed him.


He'd said it then, the words that had shaped him so much, a casual comment from a rich lord, a dead man.


"Everyone dies, some people simply deserve it," and rather than even let the dying man see the sky in his final moments, Haywood kicked dirt into his face, blinding him of the sky's beauty, he didn't deserve to see it, all he deserved was his death, the boy had already proved it.


The three years following that day played out much the same, murder-games until his confession, and attempted execution, always it failed, they couldn't throw him from the cliffs, they couldn't behead him, they couldn't hang him, this mere boy always managed to stay three steps ahead. Now, four years after Haywood's arrival, the warden has given up on a formal execution, the boy is finally of age to join the death brigades, and so he would go.


Chapter Three: Life in Death


It was a beautiful day, sunny, clear skies, with the smell of death hanging in the air like a thick blanket, the sounds of combat oppressing the ears, what a perfect day.


Hearth's walls weren't far away, the death brigade doing what they did best, running at walls and dying, it seemed terribly similar to where they'd just come from, but now they had weapons behind them as well.


The undertakers in back shouted "Forward!"


Of course there wasn't a soul that wanted to do that, already there were so many dead, and no significant progress had been made.


The death brigade was slowly whittled down all afternoon, hewn with arrows and bolts, and the rare spear for those that retreated. Everyone knew what the death brigades were really for, cutting off the excess, getting rid of prisoners so that they didn't go over-budget, and of course, probing for weaknesses in their enemies while they were at it, quite economic of them.


Early evening, just as the skies began to tint with orange, the prison army, or what was left of it, retreated, not a single inmate among them. Upon their enemy's retreat, the people of Hearth came out to investigate, to strip the dead of their valuables, to finish off the wounded, and to take captive any alive enough to answer questions.


Four dozen men left the walls with spears in hand, four dozen men came back, though one lay dead in the mud, how peculiar.


Haywood, always proving himself one step ahead, had faked his death, hidden beneath another body, and waited out the battle, without proper weapons, there was no way that they would win the day.


Now, taking the place of one soldier, pretending to be a native of Hearth, the four dozen scavengers reported to their officer, and were dismissed for the evening. The security here was so lax it nearly made Haywood laugh aloud, though he managed to suppress it long enough to strip himself of the uniform, and begin concocting a sure route home, one that wouldn't see him killed.


A room at the inn only cost the convict a single life, a drunkard so foolish he'd drowned himself in a puddle with only the slightest of encouragement. The bed was nothing special by ordinary standards, though to a back accustomed to sleeping on wood or stone made it seem like a veritable cloud by comparison.


Haywood left the inn come the following morning, feeling on top of the world, and leaving the remains of his newly acquired coinpurse on the bar as he passed. Money was only weight on the road, and he felt that the innkeep had very much earned a little extra, especially if he were found out in the future, harboring a fugitive could have a pretty hefty fine he'd heard.


A visit to Skybird Trill, Haywood's boyhood home seemed in order, Hearth wasn't controlled by his favourite royal prick, and crime there may get him an execution, but certainly not a trip home. Outside of the shabby little inn, Haywood debated with himself over which of the burden-beasts he should borrow, and quickly settled on a horse, while plains-drakes may possess formidable strength, they weren't exactly known for their sure-footedness.


A week on the road was actually quite relaxing, little accompanied Haywood besides the horse, his thoughts, and the wind. The couple of times he was stopped by highwaymen were certainly his favourite parts of the trip, though they were all too brief.


There were no revelations on this journey, no hermits to set Haywood on the right path, this wasn't a storybook, this was the real world, and he did as he pleased, when it so suited him.


Only about four years had passed, but it felt like it had been an eternity, so much had happened between then and now, so much wonderful bloodshed, so many times his life hung in the balance, it was exhilarating, though nothing nearly the same as the first time, four years ago, four lives snuffed out.


Haywood barely realized that he'd reached the gates as he was so busy reminiscing, a foolish grin on his face.


A voice atop the wall startled Haywood from his reverie, they weren't saying anything in particular about him, it was merely a couple of guards bickering, probably an officer and his trainee.


Being a trade city, Trill's gates were almost always open, and today was no exception, a couple of guards lazily maintained their posts, chatting with one another, completely ignoring the lone rider, though he was coming in not far behind a caravan, probably seemed like a straggler, not someone to worry about, how very wrong they were.


What happened that day isn't talked about anymore, there was a horrific slaughter, far worse than anything ever seen in the history of Skybird Trill, the person responsible for such a heinous act turned themselves in, no remorse on his face, only a terrible grin.


Haywood was not only on a high from his acts of violence themselves, but also on the fact that he could so easily dupe the world. He, a dead man, had traveled halfway across the country, killed a few dozen innocents and a few more not so innocent along the way, and was now making his way back home, where everyone was finally releasing the breath they'd been holding. Finally they were rid of the murderous psychopath, finally they could relax, could celebrate, but they were sorely mistaken.


This wasn't the only time that Haywood would "die" and nor would it be the last, always the twisted young man returned, and killed more, killed guards for their rations, prisoners because he didn't like the face they were born with, visitors simply because it was Tuesday. Haywood truly knew that he was alive, because he could kill others, he didn't care what would happen after, for now, he was content.


A full eight years after his internment at Hellena, the warden surrendered the futile attempt to bring Haywood to an end, instead, he attempted to harness the murderous vortex of energy that he was, with war brewing, plenty of people wanted men dead, and were willing to pay handsomely for it. While the prison system needed more money, Haywood needed new sport, his stomping grounds had become exactly that, he was growing bored. While criminals were strong individually, they were also cowards, men and women that preferred to die in a dark hole in weeks rather than a beautiful field immediately. Brave folk, upstanding people, the sort that bring good into this world, they were the greatest kills, the ones that refused to flee, that chose to stand and fight.


The warden promised him these people, and given names and destinations, Haywood went about killing them, whilst clients payed the warden for his services.
 



  • Name: Miryenn the Guardian


    Gender: Male


    Age: Twenty-seven years


    Personality: Miryenn is a man of many quirks; he is compassionate, witty, and incredibly loyal to those who have gained his respect and admiration, whether it be by great deeds or simply buying him a good drink. While often considered a charmer, he would never harm a woman or child, even if his life depended on it. As a person who follows his chivalrous beliefs, he considers integrity to be an important aspect of a mercenary. While many of his morals and values were imposed upon him by his father, he still takes them to heart because they are his ideals. A hopeful man, he one day dreams of a Lordos without war or suffering, but until that day, he will continue to struggle onward for the 'common good'.


 
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@Haley While much of the character checks out,there are a few things.


-Your sobriquet. Speaking one's mind is expected in the setting. You'd only receive such a sobriquet if you literally had something to say about everything. You'd pretty much need to be able to talk someone to death. Or into committing suicide.


-It's Hearth,not Heath. I think you missed the R in the info.


-What sort of sword and shield do you use? There are many different kinds. If you need help with this,I can point you in the right direction.


@Goddess I have a multitude of issues with your application.


-The volcano drake. What can it do? How big is it? Does it have a name? Any natural features like plates and claws? I'd like information on the creature before I accept it.


-The armour... Personally,I find such armour to be suicidal,for a plethora of tactical reasons. However,it would work in the setting considering that every man has his price,and the smiths would agree to make it with a high enough commission. However,they will be the focus of attention wherever they go,due to how atypical the armour is.


@heartsteal22 is APPROVED!





@Don Valence I have some issues. Primarily with information that I didn't release,primarily because I didn't expect anyone to be a mage. The mutations are a very powerful deterrent.


-Enchanting works by throwing magic at an object until it retains it. Any magic put into an object cannot be released under any circumstances: It stays within the object to enhance it's properties as per the magic stored. This,unfortunately,makes the primary functions of both of your weapons impossible. A solution would be simply using them as channeling media for your spells,or firing crossbow bolts made of magic.


-As a Firemind,I expect some mutations,with obviousness relevant to how often and for how long they've practiced their art. Light Fireminds tend to glow more and more intensely until they become a beam of light; an orphaned source of light.


-This setting doesn't have surnames. The culture revolves around how one defines themselves,not whose blood they share.
 
Name: Esmeralda the Silencer


Gender: Female


Age: Twenty-nine


Mount: Volcano/Fire drake; These are hard to tame but once they have acknowledge you as their master, they will forever be loyal. They have a high heat resistance and are amazing climbers. Please do ignore the wings in the pic ^^.

firedrake_lrg.jpg

Appearance:
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Weapon of Choice: The two short swords as shown above + A bow and a set of arrows [x46] with deadly drake-spit poison.


Skills

  • Firemind of Flame; Esmeralda carries the curse of a firemind, which most deem useful in missions yet none has seen her wield a simple flick of a flame.
  • Stealth; A common ability but taken to a whole different level as Esmeralda will go unnoticed for weeks even if she stood in front of the very person she is to observe. This is due to the fact that Esmeralda has not only a small aura/presence but also because she tends to melt into the crowd with various outfits prepared. A small aiding kit of make-up at hand. [Well the make-up of that time.]
  • Knowledge of Poison and Herbs; Esmeralda has gathered a good amount of knowledge about herbs which can both heal and poison those that consume or come into contact with them. This is mainly to know what would be most effective to carry with her, and for her to determine what poison she would find fit for her mission at the time.
  • Quick Feet; Esme has trained herself in both speed and agility. Her body is now able to do almost all sorts of things as long as it isn´t a position where the limb may be broken/strained. Her speed is both an advantage and a disadvantage as she tends to wear lighter armor.
  • Tailor: A mundane skill she has picked up to magnify her stealth abilities by making her own clothing which is fit for the situation/mission.
  • Strategic Mind; As much as Esmeralda loves the action, it´s not rare to see her in a meeting; talking about what to do next. She has a talent for being able to persuade people to see things her way and understand her way of thinking. She tries to grasp the situation and work out at least more then ten outcomes before she takes action, having a solution for every one of the problems.
  • Observing; Esmeralda has sharp ears and eyes as she tries to always find out a persons routines - due to her time in Testimali. -


Gear:


x10 Make-up kits


x25 throwing knives


x4 pouches of medical herbs


x1 pouch of poisonous herbs


x2 pouches of uncooked meat


x2 pouches of coins [Or whatever currency this world has]


x42 different sorts of fabric


x3 Sewing kits


And one large bag to carry it all. - Usually carried by Izralia


  • Esmeralda was born into a rather large family with fifteen older siblings and three younger ones. Obviously her birth would not be of significance in other peoples eyes but since she was the second daughter of the family, she gained a lot of pressure from her father and his ideas of what a woman should and could do. The young Esme never really noticed this during her first years as a child but as she grew older, she had come to hate frilly dresses and playing tea-time. She wanted to join her younger and older brothers in the backyard, get herself dirty with mud and play war with them. Yet her father wanted her to be like her older sister, the second born Eliza, which had gotten married when she was fourteen with a nobleman from the outskirts of Brina Hawk.


    Esmeralda can still remember all the beatings she had to endure every time she went out to play war or tag, all the scoldings and her mother which always waved it off with her hand; telling her that it wasn´t worth it and just to follow her father´s wishes. When she looks back, perhaps it was then her stealth ability truly started to show as she crept in and out of the house, explored the outside world to come back to her boring house in the boring village of hers.


    One day during her tenth year of birth, Esme would regret coming back as her family was almost annihilated; only her older sister and two of her brothers alive. Apparently her sister had been caught cheating with some slave and as a punishment, she had to chose who are to survive and who are to die. She was allowed three choices. Esmeralda didn´t understand how her sister let her parents go so easily but later on came to know that her parents begged her to let them fall as a sacrifice.


    Beyond herself, her brother Arthur - the oldest and James the youngest were to live but James fell ill and died shortly after the death of their family. Esmeralda came to live in the nobleman's house with her sister. She did not enjoy her time there, staying with the devil which had executed those she loved neither did she find him to be kind. Seasons came and went, Esme turned twelve and matured but sadly, she and her sister weren't the only ones to know as the nobleman found her new self attractive.


    It still haunts her how he´d come at night and enjoy her while she cried tears of pain.
 
Sorry I've been so late with my app Ive just been having a lot of school work lately but I will finish my app today or tomorrow (hopefully I am not procrastinating)
 
Name: Sylvian The Swift


Gender: Male


Age: 22


Mount: Often called a Bullet Drake, this beast is small but fast. Adapting to the hostile environments of then north they abandoned any combat oriented breath and possess great dexterity and are quick to handle. Featuring an extremely hard front beak and razor sharp talons this dragon bullets towards its target as the name implies and waits for its prey to die from the wounds. With sheer speed this Drake creates a pressure bubble around itself, effectively protecting it rider from being ripped apart on impact with another dragon. This particular drake has large, strong, rear legs and long front arms to use its claws better. The wings are exceptionally strong and can carry up to four times its weight and still manage flight, however, slowly. The scales on its underbelly are white in color while the top has a reddish-brown tint. The Beak is large and harder than metal while possessing a color very similar to marble. It's back and belly are both scaled but neither hard enough to protect from a well placed strike


Appearance: Sylvian is a small man, brown haired blue eyes and stand 5 foot 6. He's strong enough to stay alive in a melee but is never considered overwhelming. Rarely donning armor heavier than some leather reinforced with metal he stays agile.


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Weapon of Choice: Proficient with dual wielding small weapons and prefers a pair up of two short swords


Skills:


-Alchemy, can create helpful potions and useful explosives from plants and minerals. Does not know how to make poisons although he can counteract them effectively


-Stealth, can pass unnoticed if not expected and can run without making much noise


-Deft Hands, easily takes what he can reach without alerting the owner


-Acrobatics, can scale small walls without a hold and can clear obstructions without losing speed


-Endurance, can jog until starvation takes him and can out-sprint most anyone his size


Gear:


-Leather armor, provides less protection but greatly reduces noise and increased comfort


-Small leather bag and several pouches for alchemical resources


-A general purpose knife


-5 gold


-Crowbar and a bag of caltrops


-Ground pad


-2L Waterskin


-Field Guide to Common Medicinal Herbs


Background:


Sylvian has never belonged to any of the kingdoms. Always travelling from town to town with his brother, Gaeuss. They wou ld spend their days walking between villages and their nights in the bars. They'd steal whatever they could get their hands on just to afford the next days' food. The brothers found themselves often fighting for their own lives after being caught stealing or occasionally; the rigged gamble gone awry. The pair developed great prowess in defending themselves against large, angry, assailants and made a great deal of coin in weighted brawls.


Never feeling like he truly belonged anywhere he quickly snatched up at the opportunity to join with the promising band of mercenaries. Being with them for just under a year he saw many great adventures, far greater than he could have dreamed but he would never forget the one that claimed his brother. They were sacking a small fort that was being used to hold weapons over night until they could finish their journey the next day. The plan was crafted perfectly and everything was accounted for, but no one was prepared to expect the unexpected. None of the mercs expected those "weapons" to be a dragon, let alone for it to be accompanied by a fire mage. The expedition took three of their own lives before the band could escape. The memory was still burned into his being, watching the mountain wyvern devour his only true friend. First catching his arm in its mighty jaws, the fangs sank deep into his skin and shredded muscle as it threw Gaeuss into the air and ripped him right back into the earth, ending him in one fluid blow. This was the start of his hatred for the fire breathing wyverns and his everlasting distrust for those possessing magic. A rather boring history nonetheless, Sylvian would always be focused on the present and often found himself forgetting his own history.

 

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Name: Logan Broken Blades


Gender: Male


Age: 22


Mount: A bay stallion called Sariona


Appearance: Logan is three hands higher than two spans, and is just under a head taller than most, his most outstanding features are his piercing grey eyes, and his light brown hair, his shoulders are not wide as to be an imposing soldier, but wide enough to force him up a coat size, he has a knife scar on his right ribs, from a fight he got in, his hair is a little less than shoulder length and is usually drawn back with a cord around his forehead and temples, he is more muscularly built than most men his age, primarily in the biceps and chest, and he seems to have an omnipresent smile, almost cocky looking, almost.


Weapon of Choice: Logan has hand and a half sword, as well as a dual handed saber.


Skills: Logan was the apprentice of a swords master of a town of no consequence, for three years, he is not a master, but is a good fighter, he also is fair with a bow and good with his fists or a sling.


Gear: He carries a red dress coat from his teacher, a pair of black walking boots, and a shirt of ringmail, other than the two swords, he keeps his father's old war bow, and a blackthorn club, he also keeps a quill, an inkwell and a leather-bound journal.


Background: Logan was born on a small farm, his parents were very poor and the soil was infertile, but Logan learned to hunt and keep pelts and antlers in good condition so he could help make ends meet. He always thought his small town was removed from the world, and nothing could ever happen to it.


Logan had been taught by his father a bit of swordsmanship, and always wanted to wield the sword that hung above the door for the King, he would try his skill against trees and stumps, but he was best with his bow. Being able to kill a deer from 60 yards, while putting a hole in it less than a finger width.


In town Logan met a man, he was the blacksmith, but with the King's ailment, the man revealed he was Ulfberht, a master swordsman, and sword smith. He took Logan in as a fluke, Logan was trying to find a customer for his pelts and Ulfberht loved the certain tawny color the buckskin took, so he bought a lot. He went to fetch a purse of gold for Logan, and when he returned, he saw two of his students with swords drawn at the young man, who calmly held only a blackthorn club, the fight ensued, and Logan ended up using a sword, and subsequently shattered the two others' blades. After which Ulfberht dismissed the two and had Logan train five times a week, building swords and training him.


After three years, Logan was training alone when he heard horses approaching, there was a loud fracas and when he ran out into the street he saw twenty of the kings men, their enlistment papers all run out, causing grief upon the villagers, Ulfberht and Logan were caught in the middle of defending two women. Logan took a knife jab to the ribs, but otherwise walked away unscathed, Ulfberht was not so lucky, as he died, he bade Logan to take his blade, wracked with pain the old Swordsmaster sheathed his blade in himself, and died.


Logan went to Bale, then to Brina Hawk, and after seeing there was no real reason to join either faction and with morals not to be a road agent, he went to join up with a crew he heard of.
 
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