Wiki Category: Human Characters - Active

PLAYED BY: Cerise Pipson 

CHARACTER NAME: Lysandra Zealranger 

GENDER: Female 

PRONOUN(S): she/her 

CLASS: Cleric 

AGE: 30 years 

RACE: Human 

HAIR: Blonde 

EYES: Blue 

OCCUPATION: An ordained Sister of the Order of Arnath 

KNOWN SKILLS: Archery, first aid, basic divine magic 

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria 

APPEARANCE: 5’5” chick wearing red and black with a bow and a sword

NOTABLE TRAITS: nothing out of the ordinary 

RELATIONSHIPS: fellow members of the order 

RUMORS: none…for now 

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Born in Aldoria in the year 245, Lysandra was like many a surrendered child of the war against the undead. Her parents, who were members of an Aldorian based chapter of the Order of Arnath, were sent on a mission to defend a monastery from the undead when she was just 5 years old. With her parents gone and unlikely to come back to raise her, she was given into the care of the Order as many people of generations before her had been. Upon being transferred to the care of the Order of Arnath’s Fist, she was brought to the fledgling fortress of Starkhaven. She grew up to work as a tenant of the city; learning and laboring as all colonists to the new world had to in order to survive. Though she lived her life in

the care of the Order, she had not yet considered becoming a cleric of the Fist. Her youth as a ward of the Order left her with conflicted emotions about what service in a martial order means and who ends up paying the price. 

Her mind slowly began changing as a new divergence on the path of Arnath was revealed. The Order of Arnath’s Light, with their more progressive views, had a much more attractive temperament than the Fist and their rigid military focus. The catalyst that was to completely change her mind came from the civil conflict within Starkhaven. She was not on either side, but rather, was one of the citizens who survived the strife caused by the Order itself. Having seen the chaos firsthand and feeling helpless to stop it, she made the difficult decision that she would stand before she ever felt helpless again. She could not stand to see another tragic mistake caused by narrow-mindedness and fear. This realization cast a harsh light on her own thinking, showing her that fear and narrow-mindedness had kept her from recognizing the true merit of service above self because her parents had abandoned her for a similar cause at such a young age. Lysandra joined the Light shortly before the formation of the Arnathian March and the dissolution of the chapter system on Mardrun. She has since spent the better part of the last decade training to earn her place as an Eagle. Her zeal and perseverance through her struggle to find her way along Arnath’s path earned her the surname Zealranger. Her hard work and dedication to this new direction the Order has taken is paying off and she now looks to add her efforts in the service of a greater good. 

PLAYED BY: Elias Lambert

CHARACTER NAME: Talmore Kard

GENDER: male

PRONOUN(S): he/him

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 17

RACE: human

HAIR: brown

EYES: hazel

OCCUPATION: Blade of Sol Specialist

KNOWN SKILLS: Combat, tactics and strategy, dabbles with hunting

BIRTHPLACE: near the docks of newhope

APPEARANCE: an armored and scruffy looking teen, carries a very recognizable shield

NOTABLE TRAITS: fought as a young kid in the Gladiator arenas of Newhope.

RELATIONSHIPS: The Blades of Sol member

RUMORS: why was he a gladiator, and if so why did he stop performing

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
If you care to ask, my life was and is a case for serious speculation of the sanity of myself and the people around me. Pull up a chair, and a beer, and I’ll tell you my tale.

It all began 17 years ago when a small boy was born on the docks of Newhope. I’ve always loved to explore. As a lad, I would run down the docks of my home and greet the fisherman that returned with the daily catch. I remember quite vividly my boyhood daydreams of one day exploring beyond the edges of the maps and seeing what I might find there. But with age came the reality I couldn’t simply sail off into the horizon leaving my family and friends behind. I would have to settle for barely scraping by on money from working at my father’s smithy. I was just 15 when I saw my first show at the great gladiatorial arena of Newhope. By the end of the first fight, I knew this was the profession I truly wished to pursue. Later that day, I tracked down the proprietor and host of the arena, a surly old Syndar by the name of Yvan Ixil. At first he was not eager to hire a teenager to fight in his arena, but after a few pints of ale he agreed under one condition; he would decide the fights I was to partake in. And so it was, I would get out of bed, run to the arena, and train. I learned to fight with swords, axes, spears, shields, and many more. I would take breaks only to eat and sleep.

I remember it was a sunny day in May when Yvan interrupted me during axe training. “You’re ready lad,” he said “tonight’s fight is very relaxed. There will be few spectators, and you will use the sword and shield as your weapons. The fighter you will be facing is Cillan Vox. He is known for underhanded tricks, so watch for those”.

When the time came, I walked through the training area and into the main fighting ground of the arena. Vox stood still on the other side of the arena, spear and net clutched in his hand. Without warning, he rushed forward. I met him in the center of the arena floor. He opened by throwing his net on my sword arm. I tried to shake it loose, but it seemed to be sticking to me in some way. I didn’t feel any pain until I looked at my arm. There were small metal barbs built into the net, and the more I struggled, the more it would cut. I took his follow up blow on the shield and tried to swing my sword at him. White hot pain stabbed through my arm, so I let it go limp at my side. I was driven back across the sand by a flurry of thrusts from his spear.

As I was being driven back, I devised a plan. Not the most sound plan, but it would do. As he thrust out again instead of blocking, I threw my shoulder against the shield and slammed it into the spear. It tumbled from his grip onto the ground, he immediately dropped to the ground to pick it up. Just as he righted himself, I slammed my shield into his head as hard as I could. Vox fell to the ground, unconscious. The scarce crowd cheered rather quietly for the arena, but for me, it seemed louder than any other sound I had ever heard. When I looked down, I saw the net drenched in blood. When I made it back to the training area, Yvan tended to my wounds, removing the net as well as cleaning and stitching my wounds. As he did, he prayed to Solar, the god of the sun, to preserve me.

After that, I fought almost every night at that arena. I became quite proficient in tactics and strategy, and for a year I was happy. Until the war came. I remember the day that a squad of armed soldiers arrived at the arena  and began to train us as real soldiers.

Yvan knew I was not prepared for war, so one day he smuggled me a pouch of coins and a spare sword and shield, then he sent me on my way. I don’t hold it against him, but nevertheless those months of unemployment were among my hardest. My father had retired from the forge at almost the perfect time, so there was no job for me to fall back on. I did odd jobs around town for a while, but that began to bore me, and the pay was too inconsistent to live off of. Soon after my sixth rejection from a potential job opportunity, I realized if I wanted to find work that wasn’t mining or smithing I would need to seek it northward. So I packed my meager possessions and put every scrap of money I had into provisions, then I departed as promptly as I could. It wasn’t long until I crossed into Nightriver territory, stopping at towns looking for work on occasion. When none were found, I would continue on. I continued my trek and soon found myself on the border to Goldenfield, moved through Goldenfield and Spiritclaw, mostly staying on the shoreline until I crossed the border of Aylin’s Reach.

The first town I ran across, I had entered in need of provisions and supplies. I sat down at the bar, waved the bartender over, and asked if they knew of any work for a former gladiator of Newhope.

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorily “Not presently, but north of here is a place called Lumiria. The Night Owl tavern, in its basement, was an arena of sorts. If it’s fighting you like, that’s the place for you.”

I thanked the man and left the tavern. Finally, a new arena. A place to hone my skills to perfection. I almost ran the whole way to Lumiria. When I arrived five days later, I made it straight for the Night Owl tavern. I approached the innkeeper and asked about the arena.

“It’s less of an arena” he said, “and more of a… private combat club.” He then pointed me to the stairs.

The basement smelt of liquor and sweat. A crowd covering the walls stood on their raised benches, leaning towards the fenced off area in the pit of the basement. Within the fences were a pair of combatants, engaged in a fistfight.

“Not really what I was expecting, but good enough” I whispered to myself.

One of the contestants collapsed after a particularly sharp right hook to the jaw.

“Any of ya’ brave enough to be my next victim?” the victor shouted.

“I will” I shouted over the crowd.

“A boy?” He laughed, “well come on down here then.”

I walked calmly to my opponent, he threw a jab at my head that I ducked under. I took the opportunity to maneuver under his guard and punch him in the side of the head, making sure that one of my knuckles slammed into his temple. Needless to say, he collapsed.

I fought for the next hour. By the end I was sore and tired but felt on top of the world. After the fight I was approached by a man in a blue outfit. “Hey kid, I’m one of the captains with the Blades of Sol. We could always use another fighter, or helping hand, or whatever. If you’re interested, go talk to Elzerith. He’s the golden Celestine Syndar who is usually in the offices, he runs the show.”

So I did. For a few days, I looked around Lumiria for Elzerith. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a man who fit his description giving a speech about the Light of Sol in the town square. After his speech, I intercepted him as he was leaving the marketplace and explained my situation to him.

“Ah, Seymore sent you. This one must inquire if one had a relationship with Solar prior to interaction with Seymore” Elzerith inquired in the strangely roundabout Syndar mannerisms rumors whispered of.

“Yes, my martial trainer back in Newhope was a worshiper of Solar, and many of the healing magicks he performed to restore my health were done in his name.”

Elzerith studied me for a moment, “You are more than welcome to join our group. Should you be willing, we shall teach you more of Sol and his ways, as well as be taught the tenets of the Blades of Sol.”

And so I spent my first few weeks in their company studying Sol. At the end of that small time, I signed my name with their group. Ever since, I have been traveling in their company. I haven’t a clue where my story will go next, but I know that I’ll be ready for it.

PLAYED BY: Winter Edwardson

CHARACTER NAME: Liliana Valeria

GENDER: woman

PRONOUN(S): she/they

CLASS: cleric

AGE: 33

RACE: human

HAIR: dark blonde

EYES: blue

OCCUPATION: escort/ritualist

KNOWN SKILLS: divine magic

BIRTHPLACE: Southern Vandregon

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

“There is truth in pain. Scars set our path. Mercy is not clean, mercy bleeds.”

These were only a few of the lessons taught to me by sister Violeta, the lessons of Saint Corren, the scarred martyr. I spent my youth with her, learning to balance the humors with prayer to heal the sick and wounded. Sister Violeta said I was but a waif when she found me, no parents to speak of.

I reveled in her teachings, finding the truth in pain something delightful. Sister Violeta would tell me that I took to her teachings like a fish to water. I enjoyed the study of wounds and taking them onto myself. Those were the best years, but they couldn’t last. The undead war kept us moving.

We finally had to consider fleeing. We worked and saved the coin we could but there wasn’t enough for both of us. Sister Violeta said she would send me ahead, that she would find her own way, but I could smell the lie she tried to weave. I gave her a parting hug and boarded the ship.

On my journey to the new land I met my friend Tymraetheleon. We became fast friends, Thell and I. We spoke of many things, of magic, of the new world, of what our paths might hold. We decided to travel together upon landing. Some years later she would run a tavern and I could provide religious services.

PLAYER NAME: Kathy Beltran

CHARACTER NAME: Magdelena

GENDER: Female

PRONOUN(S):she/her

CLASS:

AGE: 30ish

RACE: Human

HAIR: Blonde

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Owner/Operator of The Gilded Griffin Tavern and Inn; Companion; Escort

KNOWN SKILLS: Barkeeping, Accounting

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

NOTABLE TRAITS

RELATIONSHIPS: Many. If they have passed through Starkhaven, they likely either had a drink or stayed at her business. If they live there, the chances are much higher.

RUMORS: Many. She encourages them by adding on her own embellishments. Most don’t know what is true and what is not.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY

EARLY LIFE

Magdelena was born into a modest, hardworking family in a small village on Faedrun. From a young age, she showed an exceptional intellect, an uncanny ability to make fast friends who would pour their heart out to her. Like many, her village was caught in a battle in the battles  against the Undead and Penitent. With her family dead and her village burnt to the ground, she became another war orphan.

ON FAEDRUN

Magdelena moved to areas of Faedrun untouched by the war. Destitute, she took up odd jobs as available. This usually meant cleaning or being a serving maid. In the taverns and inns her personality shone through, and she quickly made a modest living that way. However, a young woman with good looks and charm can also make money in other ways. Many people will pay for company, especially with someone like her. So she took up being an Escort as well as a Tavern maid.

Magdalena was doing that when she was discovered by a well known Madam. Seeing her talent wasted, Magdalena was swept off to Southern Vandregon for education in being a Companion to the wealthy and powerful. There her talents flourished. As time went on, she was entrusted with running one of the Madame’s establishments as well, turning it into a thriving social venue for high and low born alike.

LIFE ON MARDRUN

As the war worsened, Magdelena saw the writing on the wall sooner than most. That is what happens when the high and mighty will let slip their worries to you. As such, she packed what supplies and coins she could, and made for the colony of Newhope. She was well enough known that she could get a job in one of the budding taverns. However, much of her support and connections never made the trip over. She was back to the beginning.

Over the years, she managed to slowly save enough silver through her work to be able to afford her own place. Unfortunately, Newhope had grown and was saturated with taverns. However, she learned that the Order colony of Starkhaven had started to grow again after a long decline. Seeing an opportunity, she readied to move there. The Order Civil War briefly paused those plans, but afterwards provided even more opportunity to rebuild. Bidding Newhope farewell, she made the trek to Starkhaven to open her own tavern.

RUNNING THE GILDED GRIFFIN

Magdelena now runs the Gilded Griffin with the care and precision of someone who has built something entirely her own.Though she started small, the tavern and inn situated in a comfortable corner of Starkhaven, has earned a well-deserved reputation for warmth, hospitality, and quiet charm. From early morning until the hearth burns low at night, the Gilded Griffin remains a steady presence in the lives of locals and travelers alike.

The main room is inviting, filled with polished wooden tables, rich red draperies, and the warm scent of bread and stew. Magdelena oversees it all with practiced ease—welcoming guests with a kind smile, smoothing over disputes with a gentle word, and making sure no tankard sits empty for long. Her eye for detail ensures that everything runs smoothly, from the kitchens to the guest rooms upstairs.

Though she hires capable staff, Magdelena is never far from the work. She can often be found tending bar, accounting ledgers open at her elbow, or quietly speaking with regulars who seek her advice. Her presence brings a sense of calm and order to the tavern, and her reputation for fairness and discretion has made the Griffin a favored gathering place for merchants, guards, and travelers from across the region.

The upstairs rooms are modest but clean, with thoughtful touches like fresh linens, sturdy locks, and warm lighting. Guests who stay the night often comment on how peaceful the place feels, as though trouble knows better than to cross its threshold.

While the Griffin is a public house, those with discerning tastes or quiet needs know to inquire subtly about the private rooms and finer services the inn occasionally provides. Magdelena is known not only as a skilled tavern keeper but as a discreet and charming companion to those of influence—offering conversation, counsel, and cultivated company to those who seek it. These services are not advertised, but in Starkhaven, little stays secret for long—only quiet and well-managed. Her reputation for discretion and warmth makes her a favored host among the town’s notables and passing dignitaries alike. Some speak of evenings spent in her company as equal parts relaxing and enlightening, describing her with words usually reserved for old friends or wise confidantes.

Above all, Magdelena runs the Gilded Griffin not simply as a business, but as a refuge. She treats her patrons with genuine care, offering a warm meal, a quiet place to think, and, when needed, a sympathetic ear. She rarely speaks about her past, but there is a sense about her—a quiet strength and worldliness—that hints at a life beyond tavern walls.

CURRENTLY

No one really knows how Magdalena became entangled with the Militia Commander. Some say it is because he used the Gilded Griffin as a meeting place for a Syndar from the Fire Isle. Either way, her skills were noticed and she soon was called on to take a greater role in the affairs of Starkhaven and the Order.

PLAYED BY: Jared Levine

CONTACT INFO: CaelCyndar@gmail.com, FancyCreb on Discord

CHARACTER NAME: Khanomzade Elazaros Ben-Miryanthe Ampeliel

GENDER: Man

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 36, born 238

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Once, the heir to the title and fortune of his mother, a wine baroness, if that could be considered a profession. Now, a wanderer, a dreamer, a lover?

KNOWN SKILLS: Recuperation, passing the time, sampling Mardrun’s delights.

BIRTHPLACE: Keramezion, a province in northwestern Themakis

APPEARANCE: Elazaros has long silky hair kept in a luxurious ponytail, the style appropriate to a man of good stock.

RELATIONSHIPS:

• Khanom Miryanthe Ampeliel – Mother. Miryanthe was once Khanom of Keramezion. When she fled the May’kar Dominion, she took with her as much of her wealth and assets as she could, including seeds for the drought-resistant grapes that their eyalet was known for. In Mardrun her title has been replaced by ‘baroness’, though she still prefers the original version.
• Malachion – Servant. Deceased, killed during honor duel on Elazaros’s behalf.
• Dinora – Servant. Deceased, drowned while attempting to ford the Yurnai.
• Nessaia – Servant. Deceased, crushed by giant boulder.
• Danilos – Servant. Deceased, killed by a Mordok.
• Glorga – Lover? A mysterious and beautiful Mordok woman that Elazaros met during his travels, when she attacked his caravan (see ‘Danilos’). She seemingly spared him, clearly because of their great mutual love and attraction. He is driven by the sole desire to find her once more so that they can be united. He’s pretty sure someone said ‘Glorga’ to her at one point, so that must be her name.
• Imrick Oakenbrow – Employer. Imrick has obviously seen great potential in Elazaros and has hired him to tend bar, something only someone of his great skill and pedigree could do.

RUMORS: Some would describe Elazaros as ‘lazy’, ‘foolhardy’, ‘self-important’ and even ‘destitute’, but clearly those people have never met him, as he is an extremely interesting and humble person.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: The following is a letter, which has miraculously managed to make it to Newhope, having barely managed to survive the journey in one piece.

“Dear Mumsy,

It is I, your beloved eldest son, Elazaros. By the time you are receiving this letter, it will have been one full year since I have left home. I do not know if you have noticed my absence, you are so busy with your work, and I did not want to bother you as I left. I took only the bare essentials- nothing but the clothes on my back, and several additional sets in my luggage, which of course was carried by four of our finest servants (may their souls rest in peace).

The journey has been difficult. It wasn’t at first, but after Malachion was tragically and unavoidably killed defending my honor after a slight cultural misunderstanding that was blown way out of proportion (by the Ulven, I assure you), I was forced to walk, as everyone knows that a palanquin requires four servants to carry it, and three will simply not do. Once I was forced to walk, things got significantly harder. For one, my feet began to hurt!

Ah, but I have gotten ahead of myself. You must be wondering why I have left, and renounced my inheritance to your title. (oh, by the way, I renounce my inheritance to your title. Sorry!) As you may remember, I have always loved board games. On Faedrun, we had such lovely sets gathered from across the continent. I will never forget the kindness you showed me on my eighth birthday, acquiring the very Matraquer board used to bludgeon Margrave Thuriel to death. I still have the tooth that fell out of the bottom of the board when we first played upon it. Right. As I was saying, now that we have been living on Mardrun, surrounded by all these interesting Ulven peoples, I wished to see what sort of games they’ve made for themselves.

Unfortunately, I have seen a great deal of misfortune along the way. After Malachion’s death, I traveled north, and we found ourselves at a great river. I had heard stories of the Clan that lived across it, and so we decided to ford across. Dinora was tasked with the great duty of carrying all of the silver (oh I forgot to mention, I took a teeny amount of silver to keep myself afloat, only a few pounds of coins) across. As we were almost to the opposite shore, we were accosted by brigands! They threatened us with their swords and axes. I bravely ordered a retreat, and the three of us made it safely back to the other shore. I say three, of course, because sweet Dinora was not with us. It appeared that, weighed down by the silver, she had stumbled into a slightly deep part of the river, and had drowned.

After the failed venture north, we decided to travel east, through an area I now understand is called ‘Night River’. I do not know what sort of river flows only during the night, but I’m glad we did not see it, because our footing was treacherous enough! We traveled along the river for a while, so that we would not get lost, but then it ended and we found ourselves in a terribly rocky region. We attempted to climb so that we might be able to better survey the area. It was very hard, so I got uppies from Nessaia and Danilos. After being raised up to what I thought was the perfect platform, the ground beneath me began to shift! I bravely leapt out of the way to safety, but poor Nessaia was completely squished, flatter than the coins that killed dutiful sweet Dinora. I will never forget her final words: “Oh no!”

Eventually, the two of us remaining made our way back down, and then we got very lost. Everything that I have described up until now happened in the first week. The following eleven months were, shall I say, an uneventful slog of the two of us in the woods, surviving through the combination of Danilos’s great experience as a hunter, cook, explorer, and naturalist, as well as my excellent leadership and ability to get a good night’s sleep even in stressful circumstances. I grew a beard! I think I will keep it.

However, soon my fate would be changed forever. In the deep woods, we encountered a group of Ulven, who were very kind and shared good food and good company with us. They were hunters from a nearby village- apparently we have been less than a day’s walk away from civilization for quite some time now! I do not know if Danilos found this quite as entertaining as I did, but I guess with my poet’s soul I just appreciate some good irony.

We began to set back off with them towards their village, but suddenly, it seemed we had more company! Some strange green fellows who spoke in a language I have never heard, and after all that time I spent learning the Ulven tongue! The hunters called them ‘Mordok’ and with them was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her tusks, they glistened. Her muscles, they swelled. Her skin, dewey, green, and scarred, like a cantaloupe. I was so enraptured by her appearance, that I hardly noticed as the others that traveled with her cut down our Ulven friends. And poor Danilos as well, who threw himself in the way of the woman’s blade, which she mistakenly swung at me!

And then, as she drew her sword from the quickly-cooling corpse of Danilos, with whom I have had many great foibles and adventures, we locked eyes. Her beautiful amber eyes bored holes into me, out of love, I assume. Moments took hours, and at the end of them, it was just me and the Mordok. One of the others said ‘Glorga’ to her, which I took to be her name, and the group of them departed. This was terrible! It forced Glorga to leave me, clearly against her will, and it left me with the duty of having to figure out what to do with all my dead friends.

Eventually I managed to find my way to the village, and I informed them of what had happened. They were somewhat rude to me after that, and sent me on my way. I decided to go looking for Glorga, who must be so distraught without me, and got lost again (I won’t bore you with the details but things were much harder without Danilos) and eventually found myself in a city owned by a group called the ‘Storm Yarls’. I have a job now! I charmed my way into a bar while evading some ne’er-do-wells called the ‘Ain Heryar’ (who are weirdly into wolves, might I add) and pretended to serve drinks to people, by putting various ingredients into a glass and pouring alcohol over them, which they seemed to like! One of those people liked me so much, he offered me a job, and that is how I have managed to afford to send you this letter.

Anyway, mumsy, being poor is hard. I have had to write very small letters, as I could only afford this one piece of paper. Could you perhaps send some silver back my way? Even a meager hundred coins or two would serve me quite well, I think. Oh, and speaking of serving, if you have any servants looking to see more of the world, I would be happy to take them off your hands!

Soon I will return to my search for Glorga. Though I know it will pain you so, I will not return home until she and I are together once more.

Hugs and kisses,

Khanomzade Elazaros Ben-Miryanthe Ampeliel AKA Your special baby boy”

PLAYED BY: Jenn Schneiderman

CHARACTER NAME: Imay Namum

GENDER: Female

PRONOUN(S): She/Her

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 35 in July 274

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Brewer/Herbalist in Haven

KNOWN SKILLS: Makes decent potions, her mead needs work

BIRTHPLACE: New Vandregon

APPEARANCE: Pretty Generic Human

RELATIONSHIPS: She knows some folks around Haven, though she isn’t very talkative as she’s mostly found in the kitchen/cellar with her concoctions.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Imay couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been interested in plants. Her most consistent childhood memories were wandering the lanes and sidewalks looking for weeds. No one paid them much mind, they grew in the cracks and crannies, taking in just enough to be able to grow where nothing else seemingly would. Being trodden on and plucked didn’t phase them, they grew back anyway. Timeless.

The rhythm of the seasons moved them. Growing, flowering, sleeping, dying, then growing again. They held properties in each of those seasons, many were harmless, coaxing weeds into soothing a burn or numbing small pains was child’s play. In some months, the properties were less known, less desired, less safe. Though, those were reserved for those that truly destroyed the weeds. They deserved more than to be cast aside, to be squandered and forgotten. Just because they grew in undesirable places didn’t mean they weren’t worthy of life, or respect, or examination. Passersby forgot that they were there in the winter, when they took their annual respite to recompose. To breathe, rest, and plan for the year ahead. To spite those that had tried to stomp them out. They didn’t have to grovel and scrap for space, they could move and live on. If not themselves, then in what they made. In their roots spreading and their windblown seeds. In new creations and compositions. Changing their leaves, balancing their properties, finding new ways to survive and thrive. If they couldn’t stay, they would find their place elsewhere.

Knowing where they lay underneath packed snow gave Imay a sense of comfort as she strode through New Vandregon. Leaving them behind for Haven gave her a small sense of loss she couldn’t quite explain. It didn’t matter. She would set down new roots, she would make new friends.

PLAYED BY: David Lambert

CHARACTER NAME: Torvin “Tor” Inazuma

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): he/him/his

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Don’t ask

RACE: Human

HAIR: Silvery brown

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: A member of the Bardbarians

KNOWN SKILLS: Sailing, Singing, swinging dangerous things

BIRTHPLACE: Small port town in Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Rather disheveled but in a wise and learned way

NOTABLE TRAITS: Has an attuned and practiced sense of humor, remembers the old world, and loves telling stories, especially about his amazing conquests.

RELATIONSHIPS: The Bardbarians, his adopted son.

RUMORS: He has had some pretty crazy adventures with his son.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: My childhood was an uncomplicated matter. I was born and raised in the beautiful trade port of Ciryndor in Aldoria, the greatest of lands. There was much beauty in my youth. I was raised by the sea, the sun on the water, the lapping of the waves, living off the bounty that the sea provided. While harvesting the sea’s bounty my father would create shanties which my mother and sister would weave into enchanting harmonies. These are my oldest memories.

In my youth I was also taught of the deity known as the Sea Hound, the god of the seas. It fascinated me, and I soon learned the language of his form. My devotion to the Sea Hound meant that I was a favorite of the local dogs due to my tenderness, and perhaps the fact that I always carried something to feed them.  One dog in particular, a black behemoth I named Goliath, adopted me and became my inseparable companion.  The majesty of the sea and my love of the Sea Hound resulted in my joining a merchant ship to explore the world at the age of 15. I am convinced that my connection to the fiercely loyal Sea Hound has guided and protected me during my life journey.

As a swabbie I did things such as scrubbing the deck until my hands were raw, hauling on lines, managing the sails, working on the masts and, if needed, rowing until my back felt it was going to break. It was hard and dangerous work, but I loved it. It was a small price to pay for life with the Sea Hound. For the next two years, with Goliath by my side and my dad’s shanties on my lips, I seemed to be a welcome companion to the seasoned sailors who taught me their tips and tricks of the trade. The captain, Silas Sunsail, a devout worshipper of the Sea Hound, took me under his wing and expanded my worship of the Sea Hound by helping me become well versed in the “barking prayers.”

One fateful day the ship’s minstrel, Jareth Truthweaver, asked to speak with me. He said that he’d heard my singing, saw how hardworking I was, and had gotten permission from Captain Sunsail to offer me a position as his apprentice. I eagerly accepted, and he began teaching me that very day. The next 6 months were quite formative for my future, Jareth provided me with song after song until my throat was sore.

However, one day, after a huge storm, the captain called me to his cabin. At first I thought I was in trouble until he told me that Jareth had fallen from the mast into the water and was swept up in the boat’s wake. I was devastated by the death of my friend and mentor. That night, during an ensuing storm, while most of the crew was below deck, I was atop the mast, lost in my grief. I screamed to the heavens, “Why?!?!?” And the heavens responded. I heard the Sea Hound’s gruff, barking voice in my head, as clear as day: “Be not sorrowful that he has joined me beneath the waves. Now you must fulfill your duty. Sing the song of the Sea Hound across the seas.”

The next five years were anything but simple. I carried the song across distant lands, bore witness to a resurrection, leapt from a tower, took more arrows than I care to count, and at one point had an axe lodged in my arm. I bought a ship. I sank a ship. Just your everyday kind of chaos.

Then one day we were sailing south toward the port town of Silver Cove in Vandregon, hugging the coastline, when I saw her on the lighthouse. Something about her held my gaze. She moved with quiet purpose, tending the great lens with practiced hands. The rising sun caught in her hair which, dark as ink, moved like ribbons in the wind. “She’s new,” said my First Mate, catching my stare. “Took over last winter, I heard. Name’s Ioelenia.”

Ioelenia.

The moment I saw her I knew I loved her and that one day we would marry. I boldly told her as much when we met. She thought I was insane, and to an extent I thought I was too. But the more we spent time together we knew we were made for each other. I decided to leave my ship and tend to the lighthouse with her. Occasionally we would visit the taverns in Silver Cove to sing songs of finding one’s forever love. We spent nearly four blissful years together, before war came knocking at my door once again. Word came from my family in Aldoria that Ciryndor was under siege. They warned me not to come, but thinking of my family being in such danger I knew I had to fight.

There was a small fleet departing that day, and Ioelenia reluctantly walked with me to the harbor. I still remember the last time I saw her. She touched my face tenderly and said, “Stay safe and come home soon.”

As we arrived at the harbor in Ciryndor, the sun was just beginning to rise over the familiar silhouette of my hometown–then came the horns of war. The enemy was waiting. They were waiting for us. Twenty ships entered the bay. Two made it out. The galley I was on was severely damaged when the main mast was knocked down by an undead with an axe. I mustered what little strength I had left and blasted the beast into oblivion. Only seven of us (three of whom were seriously injured) made it to a longboat to escape. We rowed like our lives depended on it. At one point I looked back and saw several ships were on fire, while others were being boarded. Watching my fellow sailors being slaughtered. Some thrashed in the water, others floated face-down. It was the saddest thing I’d ever seen.

In the chaos our longboat was somehow able to make it out of the bay and we found sanctuary in a hidden cove a mile up the coast. I did what I could to treat the wounded, but I was exhausted from the previous assault. When we woke the next morning we had lost two men. We continued in the longboat and began following the coast towards home.

We stopped within sight of the docks. What I saw shocked me and will stay with me for the rest of my life. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, boarding ships. In that instant, I understood—this was the end of all we knew. The fate of humanity was dependent on these people’s lives. Our salvation, our freedom. Our last hope.

I made it onto one of the ships to help those that were sick and dying. Many didn’t make it—I count myself lucky to have gotten the berth I did. From the whispers of the passengers, I learned that Vandregon’s Southern Army had held back the Undead scourge from those docks until they fell. I learned that these ships were bound for a new land: Mardrun. I’d heard the name before, the chatter and rumors of tavern tales, but I had no idea what waited across the sea.

The voyage was long and grueling. My sea-worn skills kept me useful—but I could not sing. Of all the hardships we faced, none weighed on me like the uncertainty of Iolenia’s fate. I didn’t know if she’d escaped. I didn’t know if she was even alive. In my grief—for Iolenia, for my family, for all who had been slaughtered—I had lost my voice, my will to sing.

At last, we reached land. Mardrun. A new world. I found work on the docks of Newhope, hauling crates, so that I could watch for my wife among the disembarking survivors. Every new ship arriving stirred fresh hope—and dread. During the day I asked around when I could, pestering sailors and merchants who might recognize her name or beauty. At night I would have nightmares that she wouldn’t recognize me anymore.

Years passed. Life in Newhope left me with no hope. The sea called to me again and I took a job on a northbound cargo vessel, carrying my grief like a song, always playing in the background. Before I left, I returned to the rented room that had been my home, packed my meager belongings, and stepped away from the only stability I’d found since the Fall.

And so began the voyage that would change everything. A week into the journey, a monstrous storm crippled our ship and as I was swept overboard, I prayed that the Sea Hound would welcome me into his watery embrace. I awoke on a beach with the sun in my eyes and sand in my mouth. It was there, among the wreckage of the ship and my heart, that I screamed to the heavens, “Why?!?!?” And the heavens responded once again. I heard the Sea Hound’s gruff, barking voice in my head, as clear as day: “It is not time yet for you to join me beneath the waves. Your sorrow will deepen your song, not with bitterness, but with truth. You must sing again, sing the many songs of the Sea Hound across the land. Go forth with renewed purpose, and your fortune will find you.”

The next three years were anything but profitable. I wandered from town to town, selling whatever I had on me—songs, stories, trinkets, favors. Most places eventually kicked me out. Some didn’t like outsiders. Others didn’t like my devotion to an almost dead religion.

And then came the boy. It was in a dusty little town deep in Nightriver territory. I’d just been tossed out of the tavern for suggesting the ale could be improved with less mud in it. I was nursing a bruised rib and my pride on a bench when he approached. Thin. Sharp-eyed. Probably fifteen, though he carried himself like someone older. Clothes too big for his frame, hands twitching like he was ready to steal something. I asked him what he wanted.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at my staff—the one carved with the Sea Hound’s sigil—and said, “You’re the one who sings weird songs.” I nodded in the affirmative. “They say you talk to dogs.” I smiled and nodded again. He sat beside me. “Teach me.” I blinked and asked, “To talk to dogs?” He answered simply, “To matter.”

That was the first time I truly saw him—not just a street rat or a curious kid, but someone adrift. The same way I had been. The same way so many were in those years. I asked him what his name was. “Drake,” he said. “Drake Carrion.”

And so began the second half of my life. Drake became my apprentice and I began teaching him the craft of song. He would become the son I never had, a reason to keep going. He was a quick study–the best, if you asked him. He was impatient, stubborn, cocky beyond his years. But by the sea hound, he had heart. Where I brooded, he joked. Where I hesitated, he leapt. I sang with a voice that had finally begun to return—not the same voice I once had, but something deeper. Weathered. True. And for the first time in years, I laughed like I meant it.

We traveled the width and breadth of Mardrun, surviving on music and mischief. We had our share of adventures, which, if you ask Drake, I’m sure he’d be happy to brag—ahem, tell you—all about them (like the time we accidentally started a small cult in a mountain village). But we also helped people. Our songs gave hope. Our laughter gave light and brought people together—if only for a night—around fires and mead and old stories. That’s what bards do. That’s what I had forgotten in my grief.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

PLAYED BY: Daniel Sulman

CHARACTER NAME: Brother Gerald

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him/His

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 17 (in 274)

RACE: Human

HAIR: Short, straight, brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Ordained Eagle in the Order of Arnath’s Chapter of the Light.

KNOWN SKILLS: Can fight, in various ways and with various weapons. Can cast divine magic. Pretty intelligent. Is trying his hand at poetry.

BIRTHPLACE: A house in Starkhaven.

APPEARANCE: Around 6 feet tall. Stocky build. Usually wears armor and an Order tabard, and if not, basic clothes and a burgundy hood.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Looks young for his age. Somewhat easy-going, but in a serious situation, drops the light attitude for a no-nonsense one. He is not his father, and will tell you. Believes that his father lost his family’s honor and worth, and now he has to earn it back. You can call him Jerry.

RELATIONSHIPS: Other members of the Order, Lay and otherwise; Brother Carl, a mentor and friend; family: Mother, Father (both deceased); only child; no cousins, aunts, uncles, or other close relations as far as he knows.

RUMORS: Some say that his father was a Griffin of the Order, but when the Lich came to Mardrun, he fled rather than face the threat. They say he was hunted like a dog and hung for cowardice. Jerry doesn’t like to talk about it.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

To the Keeper of the Library at Starkhaven,

You asked for details concerning my life, so here they are.

As far as I know, most of my family has been in the service of Arnath. My mother was a healer, a combat medic, in the Lay Order on Faedrun and then on Mardrun. My father was a Griffin. We lost contact with him around when the Lich came. One of my grandfathers was a captain in the Lay Order, and died in the early years of the war with the Undead. My other grandfather wasn’t in the Order, but my family thinks he was one of the major suppliers of food to it. We don’t know what one of my grandmothers did, but the other was a valiant Lion.

You get the idea.

Now, after all those generations of bravery and commitment to Arnath, comes me. My father was executed (I’ll talk more about that later). As the years went by, especially after my father’s death (which he must have deserved), my mother’s hair grew grayer and she grew weaker. She stayed as active as possible in the Order, vehemently refusing to stop her work. When the fighting between the chapters began, and the Starkhaven keep was taken over, she picked up her spear and joined the fray. She fought for the Fist, believing that strength was the only way we survived. From what I’ve learned, my mothers heart gave out when she was patrolling. Not even the magic of Arnath’s healers could save her. Soon after, a member of the Lay Order militia came by and took me to an orphanage.

So there I was, alone in an orphanage in Starkhaven. It was in the middle of the town, so the Fist and Light’s fighting was never far away. When the fighting finally ended, I was just shy of ten years old. The Chapter of the Light, the winning chapter, was desperate for more members after the losses suffered. I, a child who had just survived a war zone, somehow found myself in front of a Griffin that was testing my magical abilities. To both of our surprises, I was able to cast magic through the power of Arnath. The Griffin mentioned he had known my father, and he hoped I turned out better than him. I thought nothing of it at the time.

Anyways, I joined the Order. I was trained in all sorts of things. Fighting, healing, even cooking. After a few years, I was given to Brother Carl to apprentice under. My father may have known him. Carl was an Eagle, and I inherited a little bias towards the role because of this. Just a few months ago, I was ordained as Brother Gerald Anderson of the Order of Arnath. I chose to become an Eagle.

While Carl was obliged to train me as well as he could in all three roles, he only had experience as a Lion and Eagle, and he had far more in the latter. Due to this, most of my training was in Eagleship.

Now, about my father:

I don’t really like to talk about him. The few memories I have are him, vaguely red with the tabard of a Griffin, cooing at me in my cradle. I remember vividly one time. I saw him staring at the small shrine to Arnath that was in my childhood home. That was the last time I saw him.

When I was older, looking through the Order’s archives, I came upon a few papers detailing Harold Anderson (my cowardly father)’s desertion and execution. Unknown to others, perhaps due to some foul undead magic or a curse of the mind, my father turned on his fellow clerics and then fled, seemingly out of his wits. When he was hunted down, some expected him to be branded or punished in some way… but the judgement handed down by the clerics deciding his fate that day was swift and absolute; they hung him for his actions against the Order. Swift justice was a cornerstone of the Chapter of The Fist, afterall.

Nowadays. I try to stay “in the know,” where things are happening. I keep a journal, writing whatever it is that comes to me. Years ago, soon after I learned how my father died, I wrote down the three aspects of the Path, & how I live them. Here it is:

Duty to the People.

I try to stay just & fair in my life, & keep my word & my honor, & those of Arnath & the Order. I protect those that are weaker than me, & help those that need it.

Duty to Arnath.

I always pray when the time comes. I try to keep to the Path, & honor Arnath in all that I do. After all, I am his Light on this world, & must act accordingly.

Duty to the Order.

In the battle situations that I’ve been in, I always listen to my superiors & respect them. I learn from veterans in the Order, & treat them with the respect they deserve.

(The journal’s over now) I recently learned about Grimward deploying captured civilians into battle. Basil (a commander in the Lay Order) sent news about it. Apparently they threatened to kill the poor soul’s families if they didn’t fight.  It seems to me like that’s just about the worst thing someone could do. I’ve heard through the grapevine that Basil was all for killing them. That’s something I dispute. I know he doesn’t have to follow Arnath, but I’ve been taught most of my life that my duty is to protect those weaker than us. That’s a dilemma there. If I had been there, would I do my Duty to the People, and spare the poor bastards, or my Duty to the Order, and obey my superiors? Ah well, that’s just my thoughts on the matter.

Now before I send off this letter, let me write this: I am not my father. I have honor. I follow the Path. I am of Arnath. I am an Eagle, fighting for Him.  I am, I am, and I am.

.

Signed by my own hand,

Brother Gerald Anderson of the Chapter of the Light

The Tenth of April, of the Year 274

PLAYED BY: Kevin Novy

CHARACTER NAME: Niklaus (Klaus) Devereaux

GENDER: Male

PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 37

RACE: Human

HAIR: Long hair

EYES: Green

OCCUPATION: Spymaster

KNOWN SKILLS: Skilled in arcane

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

APPEARANCE: Tall, dark clothes, long hair, mask over one eye

NOTABLE TRAITS: Nothing of note, blends in.

RELATIONSHIPS: None

RUMORS: He drinks and he knows things.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Klaus felt the rain pour down from the heavens and felt its cool touch run down his face.  How did it come to this he pondered as he held his burnt face.  The rain did little to dull the painful ache that the fire had left  upon him all those years ago.  He stared down at his feet and  rage swelled inside him.  He was so far away from achieving his revenge yet his quarry was so close.  He felt the calm hand of the man on his shoulder.   The man spoke.

” Easy Klaus, easy”

Referring to his white clenched fist.

“Tell me my everything”, he said calmly.”

Klaus tried to calm himself and tell the man what he could.  He was born in Faedrun like most humans were.  In his youth he developed an arcane potential and was sent away to an academy.  He could not recall the name of the academy or the location of his old home.  That part of his life seemed a distant shadow now.  He did remember constantly getting into trouble and often being reprimanded.   But Klaus knew he was different then the rest of the students there.  Klaus spent his time bullying and attacking his fellow students.  It would lead to his eventual expulsion.  He would spend most of his teen years as a grifter, going town to town stealing to survive.   Sometimes killing those who got in the way.  For instance, when the undead arose and forced the denizens off Faedrun, he killed an entire family just to secure space on a boat.  To the detriment of all living species, Klaus would survive his journey and start a new on Mardrun.

The next chapter of his life had him joining a gang of liars and cheats.  A small group of goons called the swamp rats.  They moved from town to town swindling people out of their money but managed to keep themselves small and hidden enough to evade the law.  They went about their business for a good 10 years or so and Klaus came to see the gang as a family.   They looked out for each other and kept each other safe.  Life seemed to be on the up and up for a murdering thief like Klaus, that was until the silver crossing job.

PLAYED BY: Matthew Timmons

CHARACTER NAME: Arthur Tanner

GENDER: Male

PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 36

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Traveler, trader, merchant

KNOWN SKILLS: Useful with a sword, some slight magic

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

APPEARANCE: Tall and plain. No bright colors, fairly drab

NOTABLE TRAITS: Nothing unique or special. He is smart and well spoken, but otherwise nothing.

RELATIONSHIPS: Doesn’t remember his family. Was an only child, but was given to a mage at a young age.

RUMORS: Nothing noteworthy. Quiet guy, keeps to himself.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

“You did it wrong AGAIN!” The instructor yelled as the young boy attempted to push the cup of water off the stool. “BOTH hands, extended! Gods, you’re useless!” A resounding slap echoed across the dimly lit hall. He had been doing this for hours. His hands hurt, as the mana coursed through the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t concentrate. He hadn’t eaten in what felt like days. “Get out of my sight.”

He lay curled up in his little cell. The walls around him acrid with the scent of filth and grime, years of mold and mildew caked throughout the stone slabs that housed the young boy. He spent the night, hungry, belly aching in fits of cramps, as he tried and tried to push the little doll he carried with him over. But, no matter how much he tried, he felt unable to muster the mana or the strength.

“AGAIN!”

*SLAP* The man backhanded the boy once more as the morning rays bounced into the long hall, holding the master mage and his apprentice. The boy could feel his ears ringing with blood, as the pain surged through his head. He hated being hit. He hated being weak. His small frame struggled enough to keep itself alive, let along channel mana into some semblance of a spell. He brought himself to his feet and tried again. The tall tower in which they lived seemed to sway within the heavy winds that collided with the sides of the immense structure. The breeze kicked the curtains within the hall to and fro. Shoving both hands forward, he attempted to send the mana from his soul through his fingertips. But alas, the little cup barely moved.

“BOTH HANDS, BOTH FEET! Hands forward, feet planted! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!?”

*SLAP* He crumpled once again to the floor. This time, he could swear a tooth was loose within his bleeding cheeks. His head panged with bursts of anger and resentment.

“Stop hitting me…” He squeaked, as he brought himself to his feet, rubbing a fresh tear from his eye.

“What did you say to me, you fucking little worm?”

*SLAP* The boy was sent again to the marbled floor, his head colliding with the cleanly polished floor he had buffed barely hours before. As he lifted his body again, he could see the little splats of blood fleck across the carved stone beneath him. He stood, angrily staring at the teacher.

“I said stop hitting me!” He yelled, feeling the blood within him boil. A sense of energy began welling within his core as he began channeling mana, counting to himself silently.

“You impudent little ant, how DARE you!” The man raised his cane high and brought it down with anger upon the boy’s head. But, with a flash of blue light, the weapon bounced off, electricity rippling through the air around the tip of the cane. Seconds later, he felt the force of a thousand winds collide with this torso, as he saw the outstretched hands of the boy and heard the little child explode in an bloodcurddling scream of hatred.

The boy gathered his remaining strength and stood to his feet. The hall was silent, the curtains ripped from the rod that held them above the window, and looking out, he could see the distinct tiny figure of a broken man lying a hundred feet below, in a crumpled heap of shattered bones.

Years later, he wandered the streets. Poor. Destitute. He had no name to call his own, but it meant nothing. His family had long since abandoned him. All he had to his name was a trifling of minor magic and the ability to remain to himself.

UPDATE:

Ras stood near the edge of the great hill that overlooked Shieldhaven, watching the smog-thick tree line and castle-esque walls rustle with activity and preparations for the war. He clutched the dagger in his palm…ornate, fragile, and containing the key to toppling a country. Behind him, the silent chanting from Jaerreth still echoed with whispered strategy, but Ras knew what came next would be his alone.

Jericho had saved him once. From a life of apathy, from a world that watched without acting. They gave him purpose, a cause greater than himself. And now they needed a sacrifice.

To deliver the blade directly to his heart, Ras had to be stalwart. Not sheepish. Not gentle. A discovered body would draw attention away from the covert operatives making the real strike. His death would buy time, suspicion, and confusion. His freedom was the cost.

He walked to the precipice of the rockjagged mountain foothill with no disguise. Eyes closed. A warm hand rested on his shoulder. Soft, reassuring words muttered into his ears about those who would die and those who would suffer.

As he knelt upon the cracked ground and dirt, Ras allowed himself one last breath of crisp, morning air. No regrets, he told himself, as his vision danced with images of what’s to come.

The settlements’ defenses burned from the inside. Mordok and Undead alike emerged from the Great Forest. Faces like his became symbols, omens and drawings of it stenciled on shattered doorways and alleys. No one spoke his name openly. But in the shadows, where whispers sparked turmoil, Arthur…Vincenzo…and countless more names people thought they knew but truly didn’t… no…. RAS AL FARRUK meant annihilation.

And though the walls around him grew cold, juxtaposed by the warm blood that ran down his torso, Ras smiled in the dark. His purpose had outlived his chains.