Wiki Category: Human Characters - Deceased

Name: Vazra
Played by: Drake Nelson
Gender: Male
Age:?
Race: Formless Identity. (Human?)

How did this begin?

I think back to the last moments of my life, my opponent is mighty, I cannot win. As it strangles the life out of me I resort to my trump card.
“Scatter with me into everything!”

…and then I am lost, vanished into the Mana stream where I have languished ever since. Realizing I was trapped, I quickly erected a series of barriers to shield my essence against those that would unknowingly drain me for their spells. As the years drag by I have abandoned all hope of rescue, I have simply resigned myself to endure the never ending onslaught of time, a prisoner devoid of form, identity and even a physical presence.

This never ending everything,

I am omnipresent, scattered across the vastness of the Mana steam. Every instant I endure the collective perception of innumerable lives, yet retain no more than few fleeting moments. It is a mercy, my fragile mortal mind would burst in an instant if exposed to even a moment of omniscience. I have placed wards to resist even those fleeting moments I might otherwise retain. Sometimes even then, under the overwhelming strain; an experience evades my barriers and sticks with me. Each haunts me, for every memory; a salmon struggling upstream, the pained screams of a wounded soldier, the grief of a Mother whose child was born still, steals away the place of one of my own and pushes me further into madness.

It has been so long, my life in this place has long since exceeded the life that came before. I have outlived the expectancy of a human, and it is terrifying, for now it has become clear that even the freedom of death lies beyond the reaches of time. I feel so very old, I feel so very trapped.

The years pass like this. Perhaps there was life before all of this came to pass, but it has been so long I can scarcely remember. Nothing but fragments remain of who I was, and I can’t shake the feeling even those pieces are wrong too. I have even forgotten the choices I made to find myself here, that feeling eats away at what little is still left of me. What a cruel fate, to suffer with no memory of the cause. What did I trade this for? Perhaps if I could only know why I might be able to make peace with this.

I now long for death, any escape from this eternal madness. The barriers I first established to protect myself now shackle me to this existence, and I am powerless to undo them. I can only wish they shatter, so that I might interact with the physical world one last time as I am drawn into a spell and consumed.

I surrender my mental wards, I surrender to madness. I am no longer anybody, I simply experience. I have accepted my fate. I will simply be content to observe without purpose. I see now that I have always been free, from this moment on I will revel in this fate. There is so much to feel and yet never know.

And then one day, it came to an end.

In a blast I emerge, immediately assaulted by an onslaught of physical sensation that I had grown unaccustomed to. Every touch is overwhelming, every sight is blinding, every sound deafening. The world screams and swirls around me, the simple forest appears as a maelstrom to me.

Strangers approach, I do not trust them, but they are kind and calm and I am a stranger to this reality. As I regain my bearings, a terrible reality sinks in, I have reemerged into a new world, lifetimes after my disappearance on Faedrun. I can remember nothing but the screams of those left behind. Loved ones I was helpless to save, but whose names I cannot even remember. The guilt tears me apart and I sink into existential terror.

I watch them die, over and over. Time passes.

My sight is plagued by hallucinations both profound and insane. Between conflicting layers of reality, great truths of the world dance alongside warped, alien and bizarre thoughts. Amongst them lurks the dark remnants of a storm that has clawed its way into my heart. Fragment memories of innumerable lives haunt me and I am powerless to discern which are my own.

Despite this agony, I have found new purpose in this world they call “Mardrun”. Perhaps I will never regain the clarity of a mortal man, but I have become something far greater. In time, I will use my power to make everything right again. After all, I am Vazra; the greatest mage to ever live.

Character: Ivar
Player: Joe Pierce
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Origin: Richtcrag

Bio:
Born to Helga And Braun Wolfspliter. Life with them was short, and ended tragically. During a Late night raid victims lost to slaughter in this cold night of resolution. This village had been fighting off the undead hoards productively for years . Many proud and famous warriors sprung from the loins of this settlement carving their way, writing their stories of valor and glory in pools of enemies blood. But not this night . This night there would be no stories to tell , no glory to behold. This night, there is only darkness, an end of this village.

As the screams of the first victims alerted the others, Helga took her son and hid him in the food storage locker. Sleeping softly nestled in a basket of bread loaves and honey rolls, Too young to understand what was happening around him. As the undead slashed stabbed ,and then chewed their way from one end of the village to the other, till all were processed into an unrecognizable version of their former selves. When the dawn broke and light shined in Var ran from his hiding place.

The next few years where not much more than a blur for Var. Work small jobs earning coin and always moving, running. In his fleeing he found himself on this new continent. He still worked and moved restlessly but with less fear in his movements. Working for a few weeks at a time instead of days. Even staying a few months in places. But still always packing up and leaving when that restless feeling would rear it’s head. It was on one such of these moves, when Var was 25, that it happened. His party was raided.

Var’s group had stumbled near enough to a Mordok settlement where the occupants were none too pleased. The group had been either killed or ran off, only Var remained. He had been slashed, beaten, battered, and bruised within an inch of his life but the Mordok seemed to have a use for him in this state. A commanding figure walked forth and looked at Var. It seemed to bark some guttural orders to those around and they dragged Var into a wooden cage and locked him inside.
Var passed out soon after.

Var has no real account of how long they kept him locked up. They kept him in a weakened state. They barely fed and watered him. It seemed it was only enough that he wouldn’t die. Many would come and stab at him or scream at him. Once in a while the same commanding figure would come to look at him. It would seem to mumble to itself and cast some bones then shake its head and leave. It appeared to be a shaman. One of these visits the shaman seemed excited by the casting and there was a large uproar with the others.

After however long of living in wretched filth, for only the gods know, the Mordok seemed to have their use for Var. He was weak, his head spun, but he knew this could not be good for him. In their hasty preparations they had finally left Var without a guard. He worked as hard and fast as his sickened body would allow. He finally got the lashings free and slipped out of the cage that held him for so long. He ran away from the camp as fast as his feet would carry him. He was a good distance away when he heard their shouts of rage. He knew they would catch him and quickly. He came to a small stream and tried to wade through but it was much deeper than he expected. He started trying to swim but was easily swept away.

Var barely held on to his thought. He was fading fast. He drifted for what felt like days but was in reality only an hour. He felt something lift him out of the water and he slipped into an unconscious state. He awoke in what appeared to be a long house surrounded by people. It had been so long since he had seen any one else. He was shocked he did not know what to do. The eldest male stepped forward “What is your name?” He asked. It had been so long, Var had lost so much of himself there. He could not speak. His throat hurt. The man saw that it was a struggle for Var and said “I Brom” pointing at himself. Var was able to force out “I Var.”
“Ivar it is.” Said Brom with a smile.

In his new home , now Ivar, had relearned how to be human. How to talk and how to write how to hunt and how to farm. All the skills he had lost in captivity. Finding his place in this tribal warrior community, his ferocity got him far amongst his peers. The simple fact of the matter is his old family on the happiest holiday of the year was rougher than this races worst day ever. This gave him an edge in the warrior department. All the time trying to fit in , trying to be the best warrior , hunter, provider. But it was only a matter of time before Ivar’s restless nature grab hold again and he moved on from his temporary home.

PLAYED BY: Ryan Jopp
CHARACTER NAME: Aimerick Bordeaux
GENDER: Male
CLASS: Rogue
AGE: 30
RACE: Human
HAIR: Brown
EYES: Brown
OCCUPATION: Professional Mercenary (Member of the Gallant Feathers)
KNOWN SKILLS: Armor, shield, instructor, crossbow, spear
BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria
APPEARANCE: Average human but adorned in shiny plate and red/gold colors of the Gallant Feathers
NOTABLE TRAITS: Terrible accent commonly referred to as “Dirty Aldorian” which is a byproduct of the extreme mix of cultures in the bustling economical centers of Aldoria.
RELATIONSHIPS: None.

UPDATE: After being captured by mordok, tortured, wounded, and corrupted, Aimerick was in very bad shape. He pledged to the Stormjarl/New Aldorian contract enemy, not wanting to be left behind when the Gallant Feathers went to fight. Corruption continued to wrack his body and fester his wounds, making death imminent. The last patrol in during the second month, Aimerick refused to stay back at camp or with the supply wagons and ended up succumbing to wounds taken to the battle. His body was burned on a pyre alongside other fallen warriors of the campaign.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Aimerick was born to a normal family. His mother was involved in some of the affairs of nobility but mainly as an assistant to many different business contracts. His father was a professional mercenary, a member of the Iochlaocra. What began as a romantic evening of swooning and courting between a lady and an intriguing mercenary quickly turned into a broken family of raising a child amidst growing gambling debt and drinking problems. Needless to say, Aimerick’s parents had no love for each other.

Growing up in the bustling districts of Aldoria saw all sorts of adventures… and trouble… for Aimerick. He commonly ran with the wrong crowd and ended up working off many petty childhood crimes or debts of service. His mother grew cold and was busy working, so their bond never really took hold. Although she loved him, he was a constant burden on someone trying to make a living. His father, on the other hand, would return after being away for many months on some sort of contract. He loved to play with his son and to Aimerick, he was a legendary hero in a funny hat. This further drove a wedge between Aimerick and his mother; she worked hard to provide for him and his attention was fixated on his father, the sporadic times he visited before disappearing to the nearby casinos, taverns, and brothels.

As Aimerick grew older, he took random jobs to help around the house and began to live a rather normal life. On his 15th birthday, he received a letter. His father had been killed on a contract. Two nobles squabbling over some property hired opposing mercenaries to fight it out, resulting in the death of Aimerick’s father. There was no grand explanation, no epic battle to detail his final moments, just a note about taking an arrow through the throat and a small severance package of silver coin for his service.

This is when the war with the undead became real. They marched on Aldoria, tearing across the land, and the kingdom was about to be lost during “The Fall”. Aimerick’s mother bought him passage on a boat but was forced to remain behind. He still does not know if she survived or not… if she made it on another boat… but with no word for years, it does not look hopeful.

Upon arriving in Newhope, Aimerick took up random small jobs and eventually took up mercenary work. It tugged at the experience he gained from his rough life in the streets of Aldoria, threatening to engulf him in crime and petty fights. It wasn’t until the Gallant Feathers mercenary unit made a visit to Newhope that Aimerick found his true calling. He fondly remembered the days of his father, the prestige of being in a real and professional mercenary unit. He volunteered and eventually joined, becoming a member of the Gallant Feathers mercenaries.

Character Bio Name: Vincent Fallen-Cry
Played By: Nik Knight
Age: 35
Race: Human
Skills:
Bio:
Vincent Fallen-Cry is the youngest of the Fallen-Cry brothers. Vincent is also the most introverted among his brothers. Vincent strongly distrusts everyone he comes into contact with, and sometimes feels this same attitude toward his own brothers. Basically shutting himself out from the world, and relying heavily on his own strength, and way of thinking. Vincent often got into conflicts with his brothers over his attitude.
This attitude developed when Vincent and his brothers were moving to the coast. Vincent and his mother had fallen behind, and the coastal town was being raided by Undead and the Penitent. Vincent’s cousin Henry ran back to help them, feeling the pressure of the undead Henry grabbed Vincent, and cut his mothers ankles saying, “She is nothing but dead weight now.” as Henry left her behind. Vincent struggled against Henry as hard as he could lashing Henry in the eye until Dimitri came over to help them. Dimitri saw their mother being devoured by the Undead, and worked quickly to drag Vincent to the boat. Later once they had fled the shores Dimitri went to check on Vincent, when he walked in he saw Vincent over the top of Henry with a bloody knife in his hand, and blood all over the cabin. When Dimitri asked what had happened Vincent simply said, “He was nothing but dead weight now.” in a cold emotionless voice.
Viewing his actions as if they were justified Vincent didn’t expect the ships crew or his family to lock him up in a makeshift cell for the murder of his cousin, Henry. This harsh treatment not only surprised him but furthered his distrust of people. He had, by this point become completely disillusioned in his brother for their unwillingness to believe him. As each day passes Vincent spends the voyage to Mardrun in his cell slowly believing that there is no one he can rely on and begins to push his brother away each time they visit.
Upon arrival to the new land Mardrun Vincent was freed from his makeshift cell by his brother Dimitri. As soon as Vincent set foot on the solid ground he ran for the woods fearing he would be locked up again. Making no attempt to cover his trail Vincent then collapses due to exhaustion…once he awakens he realizes he is not alone as he sits up he sees his brother Dimitri. After a long discussion Vincent goes back with Dimitri to his family and feels forced to follow his brother…but as each day passes Vincent wonders who will betray him next and how will he escape before this happens.

UPDATE:
After years of traveling with his brothers, the seed of distrust he bore began to fade. Vincent slowly started to see that people are not as willing to throw away the lives of others for their own benefit as he thought. His brothers and sometimes others he had no connection to would dive into battle to assist him. Eventually the thing he became after the loss of his mother was no more. One could say he began to feel like his old self. Everything was going great until the day they encountered a rather odd but powerful Mordok. The battle was like none other, the power behind each swing made by this creature was unnatural. Every time Vincent attempted to block an attack it felt as if his bones were going to break. Looking around and seeing his brothers battered and bloodied he knew this fight wasn’t something they would win by any normal means. With this in his mind he smiled once more before looking towards his family one last time and uttering the words “live well brothers.” he then charged towards the Mordok daggers at the ready. The Mordok without hesitation readied his blade before plunging it through Vincent’s chest but little did he know this is right where Vincent wanted him as he pushed further into the blade Vincent took both of his daggers and forced them into the Mordok’s neck and ripped them out. The Mordok died almost instantly where Vincent fell to his knees and looked to the sky. In a broken whisper and a smile “I’m coming home mother.” he fell backwards just to be caught by Dimitri but it was already too late… the light had already left Vincent’s eyes but yet his smile remained. He was at peace.

Played by: Arron Singkofer
Name: Bolin “The Bear”
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Race: Human
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Occupation: Warrior
Known Skills: Dual wielding.
Birthplace: Don’t ask Bolin, Bolin didn’t give birth to himself.
Appearance: Tall, Large build.
Notable Traits: None
Bio: (As told by Bolin) Bolin does not really remember much of his life from before the boat ride over. Bolin stayed at newhope until Bolin’s fifteenth name day then Bolin set out for adventure. For three years Bolin joined up with whoever was man enough to be on an adventure with Bolin. It was some good old times but Bolin can’t jump from one place to another forever. Bolin found home in the ranks of the brave men and women of the rangers. They saved Bolin when all seemed lost, Bolin’s group had been picked off by mordok while they where escorting a caravan threw some dark woods. Bolin had 3 comrades protecting the caravan, one of them was Bolin’s grandfather but he was wounded and ill. They were making a last stand when they arrived, our combined forces where able to drive them off. Bolin was so impressed with their skill so Bolin asked to join them, their leader was okay with it, as long as Bolin did not slow them down or get them killed. After bolin and comrades finished defending the caravan, Bolin’s grandfather passed away. During the fight Bolin’s grandfather was poisoned by a Mordok weapon, one of the rangers knew of an antidote but with the injuries and illness it did not look like Bolin’s grandfather would have made it. During Bolin’s travels with the rangers, there was an incident with a group of bandits inside of a tavern. Bolin managed to injure two, and killing a third. Oh boy that was a fun kill. Bolin may have smashed his face in with a mounted bear’s head. Maybe that’s why Tobias calls Bolin the bear. Maybe it’s because Bolin eats so much fish. Who knows. Bolin does not.
Relationships: Fellow Rangers

Played by: Winter Edwardson
Name: Captain Mordecai “Mad Morty” Blackwaters
Gender: Male
Age: Forgotten
Race: Human, to the best of his knowledge
Hair: On top of his head
Eyes: At least one of them
Occupation: Captain of the Blue Ruby
Birthplace: Somewhere. His mother might remember – you should ask her.
Appearance:
Notable Traits: Always wears an eyepatch, tends to be somewhat . . . eccentric, has an intense and pathological hatred of rodents.
Bio:
NOTE: This is taken directly from the Captain’s Log of Mad Morty. It is considered somewhat suspect, except in several court cases related to the good captain’s activities.

I am known on the High Seas as Mordecai “Mad Morty” Blackwaters. I am Captain of the fearsome Blue Ruby and her crew. She’s not the prettiest ship, or the fastest, but she should have sunk a few times by now and still sails on. We were feared by merchant vessels and battle ships alike, for we took no prisoners and gave no quarter. Our plans never went astray, and we always ended up on top.

I remember a few months back, we were docked in the village of Oarsmeet; once a quaint little fishing village, now a wretched hive of scum and villainy. We fit right in. As we were docked, though, a group of rival pirates from that damned Graybeard’s ship, stowed away in our hull, hiding in crates and barrels until we shoved off. When we were all asleep, they burst out, slaughtered my crew to a man, signalled their ship not far from us, then boarded and pillaged what was left of our rightfully stolen booty. I myself was dragged from my bed, tied to their anchor, and dropped overboard as I saw them burn my precious ship to cinders.

When the Ruby made port the next week, we once again unloaded our cargo onto any fence willing to pay us. This time, however, we made sure to check the hull before returning to the Great Blue Mistress of Fate.
Then there were the bloody Syndar. Oh, the stories I could tell of those flighty little bastards! Alas, those are different stories for a different time. Right now, we’re talking about me. We were back in Oarsmeet after another successful raid, our hull packed to bursting with the pelts of many a young squirrel, prepared to sell the furs. An Aldorian war ship appeared on the horizon, heading straight for the dock. “Well that’s not good,” my first mate remarked. “At least it’s just a ship. It’s not like they brought an army or something!” My knife found his heart and he fell to the floor, but I was too late. I heard the distant thunder, felt the ground shake under thousands of boots.

“Now,” I shouted to my crew, standing on the dead man’s chest, “anyone else feel like tempting fate?” I ran outside, expecting to look over the hill and see lines of Aldorian soldiers, Green and Blue flags flapping in the wind. What I saw through my telescope was much more unnerving: Lines of men and women in peasant clothes, holding makeshift weapons and shields, a black line down every cheek. Throughout the mass were disgusting creatures. Once living men, now their flesh had been rotten, showing the bones beneath. Jaws and fingers were missing, and they trudged forward with eerie determination. I looked back to the sea, for once hoping to see the Aldorian navy closing in. But all that had approached was a small dinghy with six figures on it. The main war ship turned at sailed away.

When the dinghy ran aground, I saw a young woman in leather armour start calling orders to the sailors who had joined her on the shore. They rounded up all the villagers they could find, barricading them in the town hall. Next, they set about finding all of able body, and arming them with swords and shields. Finally, the woman went around the village, finding the owners of any ships in the harbour. They meant to abandon the town and evacuate all of the residents. Naturally, I decided not to speak up.

As the locals began filing out of the town hall and towards the docks, one of the sailors gave a shout. “The Penitent are attacking! Prepare yourselves!” The villagers ran to the ships as any who resolved to stand and fight advanced toward the oncoming army. The woman started calling out commands to the men, and launching arrows across the field. I decided that perhaps it was time to do some good for a change, so I ordered my men to join me as we stood with the other villagers against the foe.

Swords and spears were drawn and clashed against the Penitent shields. We killed many men in the fight, but alas, my crew was simply overwhelmed by the sheer number of the enemy. Every soldier and fighter who stood to delay the attack was cut down, slaughtered to a man. Ships were shoving off from the dock, but most were too late. Of the twelve anchored near the village, only 5 made it clear of the dock, and two more of those were burnt down by flaming arrows. Even my precious Blue Ruby was not spared, a massive man with a bigger axe chopping his way through her hull until she sank. I was run through as I watched my love slip below the surface of the water, a single tear falling from my right eye . . . no, wait, I had the patch on the right eye that day, so it was my left eye. Yes, from my left eye.

The next morning when I awoke aboard the Blue Ruby, we were well on our way to the new continent, a place called Mardrun. Lieutenant Cash, as she called herself, was taking control quite nicely. A little TOO nicely for my taste. This was my ship, after all.

Relationships: Captain of the Aldorian Pirates

Rumors: Mad Morty is probably not the most stable individual.