Wiki Category: Human Characters - Active

My birthname matters little anymore—people who know me simply call me Haze. I was born into an unimportant May’Kar family. My family had little money for food so as soon as I was old enough I was apprenticed out to anyone who would have me.
My first master was a torch-maker. I spent two years coated in pitch before running away. My next master owned a livery, but in finding me ill suited for the animals he sold my services to Alfedro the locksmith.
Being Alfedro’s apprentice amounted to being a slave. He fed me well enough and the lodging was better than my previous accommodations of tar and straw but no bed or bread could make up for Alfedro’s cruelty. I scrubbed and cooked and cleaned and farmed but only rarely was tasked with oiling a mechanism or grinding a new key.
Alfedro had few books and all of them dedicated to his trade. I was a poor reader but I studied the drawings and diagrams of the locks at every opportunity patiently waiting the day I would escape his yoke. The day came when Afeldro was called by a wealthy nobleman to install a new safe. Alfedro was so flustered by the late arrival of the movers that he forgot to lock me in. I left with everything I could carry and a spare set of master keys—pausing only to grind a key to the safe Alfedro was now installing. That day I whisked away into the slums never to look back.
I made quite a splash in the thieves’ guild and was able to keep a roof and bread by selling spare keys and information on where they could be used. I bought my time and saved up to put together my own crew—though I had sold many of my stolen keys I had always kept one special key for myself: the nobleman’s safe key. This prize was mine. I gave no regard to the method of our robbery—we simply barged in during the night and stormed to our prize.
The silver and gems amounted to quite the hoard—with more than enough spare to buy a cart and a few horses swift enough to get us to the border lands of Aldoria. Only a day’s travel from the border we began to have trouble with the wagon—trust being in short supply I divvied up our spoils and under cover of darkness I left on foot alone towards Aldoria. After two days of marching I bribed a group of Road Wardens for a donkey and made my way to a ship and to Mardrun.

Character: Knud Saavesen Aaker

Player: Nathan Lloyd

Knud had ten years when his small fishing village was raided. He and his elder brother of five years were on their way back home when they saw the smoke. They both knew it would be bad when they got to shore, and each were holding the two weapons available in their small boat, a sharp knife to clean the fish and a long hook to help pull in nets. They were separated in the chaos of the raid, but both knew their way home. His brother, being more developed by his comparatively advanced years, was already hunched over the
bloodied corpse of his mother, sobbing, when Knud finished his sprint. When he finally looked up and saw Knud through his sorrow, that sorrow turned to fear and then that fear turned to rage. Knud was still in shock when his older brother ran screaming into the chaos, hook extended from one hand and his knife readied in the other. He doesn’t remember how long he wailed over his dead mother before he realized where his brother had gone. What stands out in his mind even to this day was the chill that ran down his spine when his own rage took him into the fray. He wasn’t as strong as the men fighting with shields and axes, but Knud was quick to duck through the melee, hooking the occasional shield so that his clansman’s axe could land true.

Through the screams and the bloodshed, he eventually found his brother enthralled in combat. At his side was a large viking who treated him all the respect due a fellow warrior. Throughout the melee, the large man blocked or countered dozens of blows that would have otherwise split Knud’s brother in two.

As the battle turned for the worse, the large man tried to get Knud’s brother to see reason and retreat, but he continued to get more and more reckless in his maneuvers, and eventually even the seasoned veteran could not save the boy. With an axe to the chest, Knud’s brother fell, and Knud was left orphaned. The large viking grabbed Knud by the waist and retreated while Knud sobbed.

That was the last Knud saw of his home. The viking introduced himself as Ivar, and Knud asked if he could stay on with Ivar’s crew. It has been ten more seasons since this story began, and Knud does not see it ending anytime soon.

Player: Matt Voiku
Character: Kalt d’Thidranki
Race: Human
Class: Rogue

——–

“So, We are recounting the history of man are We?”
“The history of A man, to be more precise…”
“And why are We detailing this man’s past?”
“Everyone has a past…a story to them…”
“So they do. And We will ignore the fact that you neglected to answer my question; for now”

“The night which it all ultimately began was no different from any other. He was…”
“Who is he. He has a name, We know he must have a name…”
“Ah, yes, His name…The man’s name was Kalt. Kalt d’Thidranki, and he had been moving from city to town to settlement for as long and he could remember taking what he needed or wanted as he pleased.”
“So he was a thief?”
“Among other things, yes. And this title is quite relevant to his story. It all began due to Kalt’s larcenous habits. On this night he was walking with a pair of well armed men…”
“That’s not it. We saw this part, he was running and they were chasing”
“Oh yes, you are quite right. He was running from the town guard after a mugging a man in the street for his coin purse. Now normally, Kalt would have familiarized himself more with a new town before committing any acts of burglary, but this mark was too easy to pass up, and his greed got the better of him you see.”
“So Kalt was running through unfamiliar streets with guards closing in on him. Kalt is at this point incredibly aware of his impending incarceration, but he continues running and turns a corner where he sees a caravan wagon with a man standing by it.
“But all of this is not the interesting part. What We found intriguing is what happening next. When the guards turned the corner and saw they man at the caravan wagon, and they asked him which way the thief went. The guards again asked if he had seen a man running by here, and which way he went. The wagon man…”
“Again you leave out names!”
“Ah yes, the wagon man is called Ivar”
“Each time the guards asked Ivar which way Kalt had gone Ivar told them he had no idea what they were talking about.”
“After Ivar denied any knowledge of Kalt’s whereabouts, Kalt heard two swords being drawn, then the sound of two swords clattering to the dirt, then the sound of two men in armor collapsing.”
“Kalt started to move out the other side of the wagon, but he stopped and looked around at the scene with Ivar. Curiosity getting the better of him this time you see. And looking at what had befallen Ivar, his ears certainly had not deceived him. Two others stood over the unconscious guards.”
“Ivar then turned to Kalt and said, “I could use a man like you”

“And they rest, as they say, is history. Kalt has been traveling with Ivar from that day onward”

Aoleon Vance grew up with family in Aldoria. His father
was a traveling Tutor from Vandregon, and had fallen for
Aoleon’s mother, who played lute at an inn he
frequented. The two of them started a family, though when he
stopped traveling, his income suffered. Though, their
affection for each other was so strong, that not even
poverty could dampen their spirits. They managed to build a
house, and raised a fine son, the dangers of the outside
world a distant fear from inside their warm little
family.

Though Aoleon never new riches, he knew
happiness, learned manners and all manners of things as he
grew. It was fortune in the form of a candle fire, burning
their home, that saved them from the first wave of undead.
They saved what little food and possessions they could from
the fire, and made their way away, spirits dampened, but
brim with hope. They were safely a week’s travel closer
to the coast when the rubble of their home was overrun by
the undead plague.

It was fortune that saved them, and it was
fortune that tore them apart. A simple mugger: a man,
nothing more, armed with a simple dagger, looking for
silver, and desperate enough to spill blood for it. Aoleon
Vance managed to escape the man with nothing more than the
clothes on his back and his mother’s lute. He managed to
make way onto a boat heading to the new continent before
things got insurmountably violent.

On the voyage and for a time after, he traded
lessons and stories for food. Though he was not trained in
any craft, he apprenticed to several shopkeepers, learning
not only the value of a coin, but also how to tell how badly
somebody might want something, or what they’d be willing
to pay for it. Buying from some and selling to others (as
well as a bit of scribe work), he made what he considered a
fortune: he was rarely hungry, and had grown in strength and
knowledge enough to explore his interests.

He owns two scrolls, each inscribed with one of
two words: Faedrun and Mardrun. In the fear that the great
libraries of Faedrun have been destroyed, he plans to
compile as much information about Faedrun’s history, the
colonists who escaped, and their families as he can; in the
other scroll, he hopes to write what he learns about
Mardrun’s history, their inhabitants, and the problems
that plague this land. He has recently made the decision to
forgo his last name, knowing it won’t open any political
doors for him, he hopes at least that it won’t burn
bridges before he even has a chance to cross them.

To achieve these goals, he has begun traveling.
For the past almost three months, he has traveled with the
Brotherhood of Last Winter, sharing meals and stories.
Though they treat him friendly enough, he still considers
himself an outsider, merely a traveling companion. He’s
excited to get a chance to explore the fascinating new
continent, and though he has no idea what’s in store for
him, he knows that he can do good in the world.

Played by: Derek Jackson
Name: Shank
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Race: Human
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Occupation: Shaman
Known Skills: cleric & warrior training
Birthplace: A tribal village in the woods near the Aldorian border.
Appearance: piercings facial hair
Notable Traits: lose cannon, piercings, short/broad, ferocious, womanizer and lover of mead
Bio: I was born in a village nestled deep into the forest. I was named Shank, Son of Baldor the High Shaman (Or as you would call it “Cleric”) of the Shadow Claw Tribe. My oldest memories are of a great journey across the sea, however faint imagery of beautiful forests and hordes of undead haunt me. Are these my memories or merely visions of the past? I was too young to know how my people could pay their way to the new world. My people set up a small farming village near the settlement of New Aldoria. My training began as soon as I was strong enough to swing a stick, much like the others of my age in the tribe my childhood was spent training with axe, sword and spear. When not fighting we were silently stalking the forest for any creature worth killing and devouring. However, as son of the High Shaman I could not play as the other youths. Any spare time was spent meditating, in a self-induced trance learning the secrets of the forest and of the physical and spiritual planes.

After eighteen winters the youths of our tribe are sent out as a party, they must spend several moons alone in the wilderness. Forging their own existence in the wild before proving themselves and returning to the village as men. With the blood of the Shaman I was afforded no such luxury, for I must endure the most harrowing of passages. Leaving the village alone, with nothing but my axe, and the skins on my back, I was to venture into the forest and not return until a union with one’s spirit guide. This occurs when you are confronted by a beast, and you must engage in mortal combat and once the beast has died and passed to the Spirit World you may then return to the village with the beast’s spirit guiding you. Initially, I had envy for my brothers, for they returned only after a few moons, confronted by the Fox and the Stag. I however, had to stalk the woods all winter awaiting my encounter, meditation and preparing myself for this great duel. It was a cold and dreary day almost a year after I left home when I met my fate. It was an unusually hard winter and food had been scarce, I was stalking a large deer when through either sheer luck or my hunting experience from my year living off the land I landed an arrow through both of it’s lungs. As I began to dress my quarry, I realized that I was not alone in this hunt. Through the blinding snow, the dusk reflected several sets of eyes from the nearby tree line. As the icy winds chilled my bones and the dense white snow pelted my body, one figure stepped from the shadows. It was then I realized what exactly what I was facing. My time had come, as the leader of what I now realized to be a pack of wolves approached me. He stepped, slowly, deliberately towards me, even in the falling darkness his black coat still shone, his shoulders as broad as my own and his fangs as sharp as my axe. Yet as he approached, he did not growl, his ears were erect and he showed no malice. He ceased his approach within 15 feet of me, and as his final foot fell we became locked in a stare, almost as if holding a conversation with our spirits. He then laid his head back as he let out a bloodcurdling howl, and it was with that our duel began.

I awoke some time later, the night must had passed as it was now well into the morning, my body tattered and beaten. I strain to roll my head to the side. Did he retreat? Had I died in glorious battle and pass over to awaken in the other realm? As I finally mustered the strength my eyes fell upon the frozen corpse of my adversary. His body as mangled as my own, but for the exception of the shattered remnants of my axe head lodged in his skull. I passed in and out of consciousness to awaken the next dawn. I had regained enough strength to hobble over to the nearest Oak, which was my favorite tree to meditate beneath. As I fell into the trance I once again met the wolf, but not my adversary as before. Now, he was my ally, my guide. We conversed for many hours as I harvested his knowledge, however it was coming time to return to the village.

I longed for the celebration of my return, to feast once again in the great hall in the company of my family and tribe. But most of all, I longed for the warm embrace, of Suiteki of whom I was to marry after completion of my journey. She had regularly snuck out to embrace me on the beds of the sacred river, however days had passed after my combat with the great beast and to gaze into her green eyes was my only true wish. The spirit agreed to guide me back to what I had known as home, but I was warned not to expect any welcoming or familiar faces. Proudly, I navigated through the forest, crossing streams and climbing bluffs. I finally came within sight of my home, however there was not the sound of drums or smoke of fires as I had anticipated. The nearer that drew the stronger the stench of death haunted my nostrils. As my tribesmen, my brethren lay slain and mangled across the land. I could not tell if any were still alive, if they were they no longer were in the village. I had seen this kind of carnage once before in my life, and the elders had been highly disturbed by that incident. A high council was held and it was found that Mordok had been the assailant. Frantically I searched, for the one who would have been my salvation, had she lived I would not have been driven into the self-destructive actions I was about to pursue. I found the remains of my beloved Suiteki, mangled beneath the remains of what had been our hut. Her hands still clutching the necklace I had given her before I left, that was imbued with protective energies. From what I could tell she had at least died quickly; the spirits had done their job, as she had not suffered nearly the fate of my tribesmen that had fell.

At that moment I was filled with a blood craving rage, the wolf and I were now one. I let out the same howl the wolf had given before our battle. It was the howl of war. Grabbing every weapon I could reasonably carry I began on a new mission. To stalk and slay Mordok, in the same fashion they had slain my tribesmen and my sweet Suiteki. Until none of the retched beasts remained. It had not been more than a day since this slaughter had occurred, I hunted swiftly and it would not be long before I cornered my quarry to whatever violent end may come. To my surprise I had caught up to my quarry unusually close to where the Elders had spoken of a settlement, the Mordok had intentions of slaughtering whatever group of people that lived there. I had only saw one of them, likely scouting ahead for a much larger raiding party. I knew they were not to be trifled with but I had nothing to hold me to this world. I was ready to pass on to the spirit world and rejoin my kin, and my love from the concealment of the brush I threw my axe, crippling the knee of the Mordok, and with that the requiem had begun and I raised my sword charging in a glorious blood rage. The battle was blow for blow, I growled and screamed the chants of war as our blood stained the white snow around us and the echoes of this great fight rattled through the forest. Crippled and bleeding out I finally landed a great blow, severing his arm as I narrowly dodged a swing that would have surely beheaded me. Yet he charged, attempting to bludgeon me to death with the one remaining fist, as I deflected with my offhand my bone shattered and he sunk his teeth into my flesh. My sword dropped from the impact, I was left to slowly bash his skull in with my fist, all whilst his teeth were ravaging my other arm. I awoke in an unfamiliar bed next to a warm fire; with two green hooded and armor clad men standing over me. They must have found me dying and rescued me. Denying me my wish to pass over, nonetheless this was an honorable act. Little did I know that they would become my new tribe, however my Suiteki would never be replaced.

Relationships: Puckerman, Tobias, The Rangers

Played by: Kevin Novy
Name: Elijah Cole
Gender: male
Age: 27
Race: human
Hair: brown
Eyes: green
Occupation: woodsmen hunter trapper
Known Skills:
Birthplace: a Vandregon city
Appearance: medium build green clothes
Notable Traits: well hair covers some of my face
Bio: It was a dark and stormy night when they came. The undead. We didn’t know what to make of them. They would not be brought down by any normal means and the more they advanced, the more dead that would lie in their wake. This is a sad story, the story of my beginning.
The Cole family were a simple lot that lived on the outskirts of a small Vandregon city. When I was a boy my father would take me out into the woods to hunt. He trained me on how to use a bow and the importance of using traps to catch our game. When we had caught a good haul, we would head back to the cottage where my mother would skin the animals and bring them into the city to sell the pelts. Growing up in Vandregon society was difficult for me. My skills with the bow would often put my path before a recruiter but I was never interested in that sort of life. I loved the woods and the freedom it would provide. I had no other siblings so I had to do most the work around the house which was no problem for me since I valued all my parents teachings. I was very content with life up until my father came face to face with a Penitent. Though my fathers skills with a bow were great, he was crippled from his right shoulder all the way down his leg. This is the point in which I changed, from a learning young boy to a hunter with a responsibility to feed and protect the family.
The last time I saw my family was when I was 15. I was hunting in the nearby forest when I heard the groaning. The sun had just set and a storm was rolling in. The first drops of rain had just reached my forehead when I could see the shape of a shadowy figure staggering in the distance. At first I thought it was a lost townsfolk whom had gotten injured by an animal. The closer it came, the louder it got, with its unnatural sounds and slow crunching movements. My instincts told me that this was no normal man. As it came into the clearing I could see its face. I, to this day, can not get the sight of the man’s rotting flesh hanging from his bones out of my mind. I panicked and took a shot which was clean through the jugular. Before I could even come to the realization that I had just killed someone, the thing simply kept coming. I took off at full speed when the rain came down hard. I reached my cottage within a few hours and my only thoughts were on saving my family. I took off into the house to find it empty, however the back door was wide open. I reached it just in time for a flash of lightning to come down. What I saw was my worst nightmare. My mother and father were lying in the garden surrounded by those creatures. I could only just make them out but it was clear they were dead. Then the creatures turned on me. So then my legs kicked in and I was moving. I couldn’t tell where I was going but I just kept going. I still don’t know why I didn’t die that day.
I found myself at the coast after several encounters with the undead still in shock and disbelief. That’s were I learned the magnitude of the situation. The undead had taken my country and that Vandregon was barely holding out. With no reason to stay and no will to fight I fled the country on the next ship out, never looking back. I arrived in a place called Newhope and I couldn’t even recall how long the journey had been. Was it days, weeks, months, maybe even years? It didn’t matter anymore, did it? My life would never be the same. I tried to live with people in town and start up new roots within the city but after three years, the longing for the forest became to great. I left the city to live in the nearby woods were I built my own cabin and started my life anew once again. For two years my life somewhat returned to what it used to be. I hunted, I skinned and I even set up a small stall to sell my skins in the city.
It was a bright winter day when I saw her. She was a beautiful young woman who needed to purchase something warmer for the season. Maybe it was the long red hair or maybe it was the emerald green eyes but I fell for her. She was also interested in me so within a few weeks we had gotten to know each other very well. Within the year we were married. For the first time in my new life I was happy. We lived in my cabin with peace and tranquility. It was 5 years later that we had a son. He was now my world and I cherished every day that we had together. Soon my mind turned to thoughts of how it would be to train my son much like my father had taught me. When he turned 2 years old we were overjoyed when he took his first steps and I knew that I had found my purpose in life. It was by my wife’s side and with my son. Of course this is not a happy story.
I was waiting for my wife to return from selling pelts in the city. I can still see my wife walking down our dirt road smiling at me with a armful of flowers she had randomly picked or bought, I never got the chance to find out. When I saw the arrow extend out of my wife’s chest my mind went blank. She stood there for a moment and then collapsed on the ground. It wasn’t long before I was took a arrow to the right shoulder and my arm went completely limp. I felt no pain. I felt nothing as I looked down at the arrow. The Mordok was coming out from behind its cover and started to notch another arrow. I fell back into the house and I looked down to see my son standing there. It was only a for a second that we stood there when I finally acted. I grabbed him and ran. As fast as I could I fled into the woods but they followed, four in total. I knew I couldn’t outrun them so I set my son down and drew my sword. The closest Mordok must not have expected me to do this cause my blade ran straight through his chest. But It was a short lived victory cause the other 3 came in right behind him and with several blows, I stumbled to the ground. I don’t quite know what happened next but once again my legs must have kicked in cause I came to in a small cave with a man standing over me.
He asked me my name and all I could say was where is my son. The Ulven in the corner of the cave told me he saw a group of Mordok flee the area with a small human child. He told me his name is Tobias and the man that just brought me back from the brink is Puckerman. I noticed they were both wearing green and looked to be wearing a matching uniform in some sense. Tobias must have seen the questions on my face because he next told me I was in the presence of the Rangers: a group of woodsman and scouts whom have banded together for the sake of honoring Tobias’ father. I told them I was in their debt and that I would join them as long as they would some how or someday help me recover my son. They agreed but the chance of his survival was low. That didn’t matter to me. I had all the hope I needed. I will find my son one day and until then I will train with the rangers and become stronger. I will succeed or die trying.
Relationships: Rangers.
Rumors:

Weylan was raised far from other people, secluded in the mountains of Faedrun. His father was the last known warrior of an old, now mostly forgotten, order of warrior mages known as the Order of the Emerald Shield.
Roughly 60 years ago, the Emerald Shield was disgraced and hunted down. No one was sure of what caused this. Some theories say that the penitent saw them as a threat and chose to eliminate it; others say it was another group following the same line of thought. Yet more believed that the Emerald Shield’s leadership had become corrupt. The end result was the same: the Emerald Shield was accused of perpetrating foul and dangerous magic against the rest of mankind and its members hunted down.
One member of the group, however, survived and lived the rest of his life in hiding, where he started a family. When the warrior mage’s son, Weylan, began to mature, he recognized his own magical talent in the boy and saw him as a way to carry on the Emerald Shield and his own proud lineage. He trained Weylan in the ways of the Emerald Shield and told him all about their history.
Some years later, his parents fell to the undead plague that had by this time conquered much of Faedrun. Weylan buried the only family he’d ever had and moved on to have his own adventures. As he crossed Faedrun, he took his revenge on the undead—all the while hiding is loyalty to the long lost Emerald Shield. Eventually, he wound up in Vandregon-held territory and boarded a ship for the new continent. On the long journey, he struck up conversation with a human girl, Nighen, and began traveling with her once they landed on Mardrun. From there, the two met up with Ryla and Tylon and began the Mardrun Trading Consortium.

Affiliations: The Order of the Emerald Shield

Many, many years ago, a bloody feud between two mage orders took place in secret. No one can recall why it took place or which side started it, but all those involved claim it was for knowledge and power over all the world. The orders clashed with such ferocity that it shook the foundations of reality. Both sides found themselves using immensely dangerous spells and creating powerful artifacts and weapons to use on each other. However, eventually this hidden war became too much for many of those involved; too much was lost and no ground given. Skilled mages of both sides of this conflict banded together, sick of the depths their once proud leaders had sunken to. They demanded an end to this pointless feud, so they formed an order of their own to bring an end to this bloody battle.
Their order, the Order of the Emerald Shield, dedicated itself to keeping peace among those gifted in the art of magic and those who were not. For years they kept mages with foul intents from gaining power and protected those without power from the maddened whims of magic users.
When the undead plague broke out in Faedrun, the Emerald Shield did all they could to face this new threat head on. They focused primarily on trying to find a reason why it was starting so they may put an end to it. However, due to unknown events—such as corruption in their ranks or the forces of the undead’s followers, the penitent—the Order of the Emerald Shield fell into disgrace and its memory lost to time.

Although that is the accepted history of the Emerald Shield, there is also a legend told in the darkness, in whispered voices. This is that story:

Many years ago, before the “Golden Age of Peace” that everyone speaks of, there was a time when the Syndar and humans were at war with each other. Massive armies from each kingdom faced each other on battlefields where the earth ran red with blood from both sides. Arrows rained down like water, and the sound of sword and shield could be heard for miles from the battlefield. Magic would enchant many weapons and light up the battlefield in rings of fire. Lightning would often be seen during war regardless of what the weather was. Magic was used as a more brutal and uncontrolled weapon then. When the force of men could not break the lines, mages on both fronts would summon forth beasts without name from the ground. Creatures whose roar chilled even the bravest warrior’s heart, footsteps that shook the very ground, and eyes glowing brighter than any gem or torch ever seen on land, air, or sea. Both kingdoms were laid to ruin. No army ever truly won—despite what some scholars preach. The losses on both sides were too many to count. Bodies lay as far as the eye could see in every direction. Such careless waste of life sickened both kingdoms beyond words.
After one of the bloodiest battles yet, both kingdoms lay barren and battered—after a century of war and no end in sight. The Kings on both sides were weary of war, but tireless in their efforts to make the other surrender. Yet, in this tense silence, no army was rallied; no calls to war were sound. The two kingdoms lay in a quiet stand off for many years with none left to fight their war for them.
Meanwhile, in the Wild Mountains of the north, the Kings each sent an envoy in secret to meet. Sickened with war and knowing that the world would not survive with another war of that scale, they formed a secret alliance. They were still hesitant of each other, and wanted to make sure that any vow or pact would be truly honored by both sides, but were unsure how to make it so. The legend tells that people saw a great green beast flying overhead to the wild mountains in the north and feared it was an omen of more war to come. Yet no war came. The beast arrived at the camp of the alliance, surprised to see the enemies united in a common goal. For 5 days, the beast listened to the agreement and bound the pact, insuring the members that it would last for many generations to come.
When the beast bound the pact, he breathed a great white hot fire onto a pyre of wood, lighting it instantly. The beast then removed one of its emerald scales and placed it on the fire. Each member of the alliance placed their hand onto the glowing scale and watched in awe as brilliant light wrapped up their arm and throughout their body, binding them to the pact. Looking down, each member saw a fresh symbol on the forearm. They repeated the oath that the beast spoke in the old tongue, the only truly sacred source of power left untouched by both races out of respect or fear of the Gods of Old. The beast told them to pass along the stories of the fate the world nearly suffered to their children. Should the Pact survive, they would bring children once every 5 years to the scale and place them before it. If the scale glowed, the child would be taken by the order to begin their new life.
Several months later, the alliance set out to each kingdom with the news of the pact and what must happen for the world to survive. After several attempts, the Kings of each land agreed to an alliance with one another.
Years later, word had spread through the land of warriors from the great northern mountain with the power to summon the creatures of old. The “Order of the Emerald Shield” was the name that came to be known throughout the land. People told tales of the day the Giant Dragon of a world long forgotten had returned to aid man and syndar. The tales say that farmers remember seeing the sun reflect off the great beast whose skin glistened like the brightest emeralds. Some claim to remember the multitude of beings that were controlled by either side during the wars. The Emerald Shield remained secluded in their mountain home as each kingdom rebuilt itself and began to once again prosper. They feared that if they remained in any kingdom too long that jealousy and suspicion would build and war may begin again.
Many generations passed since that day in the mountain. The politics within each kingdom had begun to influence laws that were set down long ago. The truce that was struck over a hundred years before was being questioned by both sides. Talk of betrayal and war began to surface as the first encounters with the undead had been seen. Each side blamed the other and fear began to trickle down through the townsfolk as it often did. The kings sent messages to the mountain for aid. Even with the Emerald Shield’s aid, the undead were difficult to drive back and defeat. Sometime during the battles, a lich cast a powerful ritual of an old and dark magic on the Emerald Shield. This curse corrupted the Emerald Shield’s magic so their spells didn’t work how they should and harmed the caster just as often as the intended target. The dead mages rose again as undead and turned on their former allies. The Emerald Shield numbers diminished quickly, but not all hope was lost.
As mage after mage fell to the curse, the mighty winged beast appeared once again. The lich and the beast battled, and as claw rent bone, magic twisted together until the hideous, twisted power that was the lich disappeared in a beam of incredible light. When the light dimmed, the beast emerged with several grievous wounds and took flight without a word to the Emerald Shield. The people of the mountain tell of the beast returning to the peak and collapsing with a crash that shook the earth. Within moments the body of the beast began to glow and vaporize into white embers, leaving only the skull with an eye of emerald in its place.

Played by:Brandon Bollig

Name: Bob Ironfield

Gender: Male

Age:43

Race: human

Hair: Brown (Thinning)

Eyes: Brown

Occupation: Librarian turned warrior

Known Skills: Reading, Shield skills

Birthplace: The May’Kar capital in Faedrun

Appearance: Tall large man with glasses

Notable Traits: book in hand

I was born into the May’Kar dominion. My whole life I spent behind a book learning history and literature. I liked learning new things and had a thirst for knowledge so I never complained, though my parents pressured me to practice their religion. I never found the great faith that they had. I still followed and practiced our religion but my place was with the books and life was simpler that way. But as history tells us all, the undead roamed the land unchecked. At the age of 25 the May’Kar betrayal on Faedrun began. I was studying in the library at the Aldorian capital when word of the betrayal of my fellow May’Kar reached me. It was when my companions and I were placed in the cells of a deep Aldorian dungeon because they associated us with the May’kar who joined the ranks of the Penitent. My fellow companions and I lost hope and fell into despair.

The years passed and darkness began to consume me and my path to become a warrior had begun. Everyday I worked my body to be ready for the chance to flee. That day came when the guard that had held me in this cell for 18 years swung the door open and told us to flee. The sun burned my eyes as I reached the outside, but to my surprise my freedom came at a price. The arrows that rained from the sky took the life of the man that freed me. As I look around more bodies than I care to remember lay across the ground and the smell of the undead filled the air. The last of the survivors were gathering to mount a last defense. A woman in full plate commanded the survivors, her words still live with me today. “Brothers stand with me now! Follow me into the mouth of hell, let us crush the dead, show the monsters at our door that we still draw breath and until the last of us fall we will show them the strength, the strength of the living!” I was moved by her words, I grabbed a large red tower shield with golden wings and a boss in the center that was at my feet and ran to the wall. The waves of warriors outside crushed against us, her words gave me strength, but no matter how hard we fought death was upon us. The gates were breached and we pushed back to a final defence but we wouldn’t last the night. 25 of the warriors and myself remained, barricaded inside a armory near the center of the city. We looked out through the windows at the city burning. The night brought no comfort, the woman who lead the warriors tried to rally them into a final push- to try to make an escape but they had lost all hope. She begged them to fight to run to survive but words didn’t reach them. My first day of freedom in 18 years had been nothing but hell if I didn’t get to live. To pass this all that time I had spent in a cell was for nothing. I turned to her, “How do we live?”. Her voice that was filled with fear and sorrow now rose with confidence ”How good are you at swimming? If we can go from roof top to roof top we can make it to the river and drift down the stream and escape this hell.” We stacked the boxes high enough to get to the rafters and then she smashed through the roof with her axe. The sky cried as the city under it burned. We moved closer to the river going from roof to roof, trying to avoid being seen. There were hundreds of them their numbers would surround us in seconds if we were found. We finally made it to the river and made our escape. From then on I traveled with her, we found a boat and we made it across the sea to the new world. When we landed, we joined the crows guard but a new war had just begun.

Relationships: crows guard and the Rangers of Crows Landing

Played by: Ashlee Nelson
Name: Kathena
Gender: Female
Age: 16
Race: Human
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Hazel
Occupation: Ranger
Known Skills: None
Birthplace: I don’t remember, but it was very far from here.
Appearance: Short with brown hair and hazel eyes
Notable Traits: I’m short, feisty, and adorable

When I was a little girl, my family and I came over on a big boat. I was about 4 at the time, so I don’t remember much. Honestly, I only remember people being sick all the time. It could have been either from the swaying of the boat or the food that didn’t always seem to taste quite right—either way, there was a lot of sickness. After we got off the boat, we found a place to settle down and made a town with some of the other families we met on the boat.
For the first few years after that, every day was hard work getting chores and other things done in order for the village we created to run smoothly. Soon, though, we began to thrive. There was a good mixture of healers and warriors in our village along with some magi and others with different skills needed for a village to survive. Some of the adults with more desirable or necessary skills taught the children their trades so their skills and knowledge could be passed on for generations to come. Every child was required to learn at least one trade. Since my mother and father were both teachers of their trades, I wanted to follow in their footsteps. Mother taught me how to heal people until I was old enough to train with my father and brothers. Once I was old enough, Father made me practice swordplay every day, even when I didn’t want to. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy practicing my swordsmanship; it was just that Father was a strict teacher. Once I started sword training, I wasn’t allowed to practice healing at all—unless my father and brothers went out hunting. This, unfortunately, didn’t happen as often as I would have liked because the teachers in the village didn’t go out on hunting parties as often as the other adults in the village. Their skills as teachers were too valuable to risk them getting harmed on hunting trips. My training continued in the same way for many years, until eventually I was required to go on hunting parties along with the others.
When I was 15, I was out with a hunting party, but Father and my brothers stayed behind. We were a long way away from the village when we looked to the sky to figure out how much daylight we had left. There was smoke in the sky. After a quick check against the sun and what faint stars we could see, we realized the smoke was coming from the direction of our village. As one, we started to run. As we neared the village, we could hear people screaming and see the flickering light of flames licking the sky. When the hunting party and I finally arrive, nothing was left. The houses were burned to ruins, the villagers were dead, and as we stood there looking at all of the destruction, ashes from the sky fell down and coated everything in a thick layer of gray.
The eight of us that were left mourned for the rest of the day. The days that followed we stayed long enough to gather anything salvageable, say our goodbyes, and bury our dead. We set out together to find a new home. Eventually, some of us drifted off in search of revenge against the ones who destroyed our village and our lives. Others stayed in settlements we found along the way. I have given up trying to find those who destroyed my village. Instead, I’m fighting so no one will ever go through the pain I went through.

Relationships: None
Rumors: None

Name: Artorias Fallen-Cry
Played By: Allan Derge
Age: 37
Race: Human
Class: Cleric

Bio:

Artorias Fallen-Cry is the oldest of his brothers, although the second, Dimitri, is only a few months behind him. From a young age, Fallen-Cry children are taught to refer to themselves as “Lapsis Ordinis”, an ancient translation of their present name, as an indication of their rank and bloodline, a title reserved for use among the brothers themselves.

The Fallen-Cry family lived in the kingdom of Vandregon of the old continent. Artorias did not want to devote his entire life to the military so instead he became a priest and was well liked by most of the people. Told as a child of the knowledge and wisdom of the Mahsai, Artorias managed to convince his parents to allow him to study in the May’Kar Dominion, bringing Dimitri with him. For two years he trained in the divine discipline of magic, his ambition tempered by his training, his patience fueled by his youth. It wasn’t till the Undead started to attack the May’kar that Artorias took to combat, drawing a sword and donning a shield. Despite being a Priest for most of his young adult life Artorias learned to be a average fighter. Many including Artorias saw him as a holy warrior. His brother Dimitri even took to calling him a “Templar”, referring to an order of highly skilled holy warriors told in the Fallen-Cry Family’s religion. He grew to be a capable fighter, though his ambitions grew in other areas: he took up blacksmithing to help him pass the time and started having thoughts of breaking away from the May’Kar to start a group for him and his family.

When the May’Kar experienced a mass conversion to the Penitent faith, Artorias and Dimitri were able to escape the city with their lives, though the betrayal would remain with the eldest Fallen-Cry brother as a source of constant distrust. Wandering with his brother through Vandregon territory for a year, Artorias finally made his way home, eventually allowing himself to relax and settle down in his old homeland. For five years, he contributed what he could to the war effort, healing those who were in need, or repairing their armor for a small fee. All was well for these years, until the war reached his doorstep. The Penitent and Undead had ravaged the nearby countryside, and their now-swollen ranks eventually forced the Fallen-Cry from their home, pushing them ever deeper into Vandregon lands.

This would continue for five years, allowing the Fallen-Cry to settle down just long enough to feel hope before pressing them again, and before long, the future for the family looked bleak. One day, however, a courier arrived for Artorias, informing him of a new continent across the sea, free of the undead plague. Practically emptying the family coffers and his own savings from blacksmithing, Artorias secured a ship for his family to cross to this new land.

Artorias and his brothers attempted to protect their family on this journey, and nearly failed at their task. Losing more than half of their numbers by the time they reached the boats, Artorias had fallen in a deep depression. Feeling that he had failed at what he stood for, Artorias vowed to never let the same thing happen again, swearing an oath to remain vigilant at the shores of Mardrun, protecting this new home from the scourge of undeath.

He is technically the Head of the Fallen-Cry Family. Although no one disputed his claim to the title, he prefers to involve his brothers on all decisions regarding the Family. He struggles to accept the loss of his family and his homeland, intent on safeguarding whatever remains that he can call his own, although this, at times, clouds his judgement. Artorias holds himself to a high standard, often struggling with inner demons. He is a diplomat at heart, preferring to use reason to solve misunderstandings, but does not shy away from his training as a warrior and understands that in a brutal world, there are times when violence is the only voice that will be heard.