Wiki Category: Human Characters - Active

PLAYED BY: Elias Lambert

CHARACTER NAME:  Born, Ark Trayes; Chosen Name, Drake Carrion

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him/His

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 14 (As of 273)

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: Bard

KNOWN SKILLS: His archery skills are passable although he is more inexperienced then he’d care to admit, a passable singer, can cook… kinda.

BIRTHPLACE:  Darkport

APPEARANCE:  5’7”, short, straight brown hair that’s often untidy.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Hates Syndar. makes dark, sometimes lurid jokes. Ego can get out of hand.

RELATIONSHIPS: He calls the members of the Bardbarians his friends.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: 

Born into the upper middle class in a house on the edge of Darkport, my father and mother did not want a child. My parents called me Ark, but I hated that name. In my time in the cellar I thought of something better… Drake. Perfect! I faced a life of abuse, neglect, and entrapment in my family home. The one place my parents allowed me to go was to the bakery to buy fresh bread every week. The more money I spent on things in town the longer my parents would lock me in the dark, cramped and dusty coal cellar. That’s how I developed my claustrophobia.

That was my state of existence for the better part of my life until She came.

My savior arrived one fateful night in the form of a burglar. I was in the coal cellar at the time, I heard the screams of my parents above. I immediately started to rationalize, to make up a plausible story for the screams.

Then I felt the heat. The fire spread the smoke threatening to choke me. I ran at the locked door, smashing my shoulder into it. It didn’t give. The fire licked the door, setting the coal infused wood ablaze. The door ignited right as I slammed my arm into it. The door caved in. I ran as fast as I could through the house, I could feel death inches away as I rushed through the door. As I ran I saw a cloaked figure running away. I would learn later that the person who murdered my parents was a petty thief. Her name was Sirayira Arinwen. She’s dead now. I threw open the back door and ran out and didn’t stop, I was awestruck by the fields and valleys laid out before me as I ran by. By the next day I had run so far from home I was astounded by the world I never knew existed. I remember the last thing I did before going to sleep on the side of the road was thinking “ tomorrow is going to be a great day”

When I left home I immediately went to a small town in Clan Nightriver territory where I found a washed-up old adventurer named Tor, who would become the loving father I never had. He was as brave as he was loyal and a great traveling buddy. For a time, we traveled the world. I’m still not ready to reveal what we did or where we went, but I will say this: there is a legend told by the Nightriver Ulven, that two travelers passed through the Great Wolf’s Hackles and escaped a group of 40 Mordok very narrowly. Around the time we got back from our adventures, I met a girl named Astrid in a town in ruins, I’m still not sure which but when I saw her I knew she deserved more. At first she denied my proposal to take her away from this ruin of a town. I remember the second time I tried to convince her I believe my words were “I could give you anything you could wish for and more, a young woman of your beauty should not live in this cartwreck of a town” she responded by agreeing. So we traveled. It was a long road and not an easy one but one night Astrid said she was homesick and having watched me for the duration of the trip she apparently did not feel for me. I was disappointed but I let her go with no trouble. Tor and I continued on.  But great adventures are rarely legal so when the various charges started to stack up I had the bright idea that the best way to escape persecution was to get to sea.

We bought cheap passage on an illegal smuggling vessel. I still remember the first time I saw the sea. It was love at first sight. The boat docked at New Vandregon a month and a half after leaving due to storm complications. The crew were found passed out drunk with cargo missing. Me and Tor had fled with the smuggled goods, which we promptly and stupidly gambled away. In New Vandregon I met Robert Shet at a tavern and our fates were forever changed that day. He intrigued me from the beginning. I approached  Robert and asked if he would like to join me and Tor on a journey to the city of Newhope, and to my joy he accepted. Along the journey to Newhope, I learned many things about my new friend like his talent for the violin and dark and winding past. On the final day of our travels, I asked Robert if he would be interested in joining a group of minstrels that I had been thinking about creating for some time. Looking for an opportunity, he agreed.

Days later in a tavern in Newhope, my companions and I would pick up another member, Rethin Varthrumer, a wayward drummer playing on the streets who agreed to join from the moment we offered food.

I’ve escaped my home, I’ve found a father and I’ve found friends. I am Drake Carrion. I have no limit, I do what I want, when I want, and I will one day be recognized as the greatest individual to walk this earth.

PLAYED BY: Daniel Sulman

CHARACTER NAME: Robert Shet

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/him/his

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: Appears to be in mid-to-late teens. (As of 273)

RACE: Human

HAIR: Light brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION:  Part of a group of bards called “The Bardbarians”.

KNOWN SKILLS: Robert has trained with a sword and shield, and can fight well enough. He is intermediate at the violin.

BIRTHPLACE: Robert was born in the outskirts of Newhope, in the healer’s wagon of the nomad caravan his family lived in.

APPEARANCE: Robert is around 6’0”, with short, straight brown hair and blue eyes. Usually wears simple armor, and when he doesn’t, simple clothes.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Is missing one eye. Slight pyrophobia, as fire has destroyed his life more than once. Honorable, yet jaded and cynical, despite being only in his late teens.

RELATIONSHIPS: Other members of the Bardbarians; Ivar Shattered Spear; Bjorn and Astrid Shattered Spear; villagers of Lowestoft.

RUMORS: He’s missing an eye. Why would a half-blind swordsman join a group of bards?

BIO:

I was born into a group that never stayed in one place for long.

They were the Few That Traveled Together, a group of nomads, and they went around Mardrun (and Faedrun before) trading, exploring, and whatever the hell they wanted. Soon after the flight from Faedrun, I was born.

My mother died birthing me, and my father stopped caring about me once that had come to pass. My uncle raised me, but when a fever took him, I was left with only my fathers ruthless and plentiful beatings. Once, he beat me so badly that I ordered a sword made, and the Few’s blacksmith, a kindly Syndar man, gave it to me free of charge. I trained with it near every day. When I came of age, I chose to apprentice under Fret, the caravan’s bard. At seven-and-seventy, he was the oldest of the group. When my father learned of this, he beat me even more and harder. The only reason I got was that my mother had sung in life, and this fact made him hate all music, apparently enough to beat his only son over it.

One night, when he was red-faced and drunk out of his mind, my father returned  to our wagon to find me playing the violin Fret had gifted me. In his rage, he beat me mercilessly. At the peak of his fury, my father grabbed the knife with which he cut his steak and cut out my eye. I remember the pain, the hellish feeling as the knife slashed over my eyeball. The helplessness I felt had half my vision was stolen in a matter of moments. My father went off to his curtained off part of the cart, and I passed out from the pain. When I woke, Torlan, the healer’s apprentice, saw me lying on the floor of the wagon. He swore and turned. He returned with the Few’s healer, and she fixed me up.

When I was strong enough to leave her wagon, I returned to my wagon to gather my things. As I was preparing to leave, my father stumbled in, drunk to hell and back. He murmured something and passed out. I left the wagon for the last time. From then on, I slept outside, carrying all my possessions. That might be why I was the first warned when everyone and everything I knew was torn away overnight.

I know that the Few had camped somewhere in Grimward territory, far from any major settlement, but a few hours walk from a respectably large town. I couldn’t sleep, and was studying the stars. I heard low voices off to the side, and what sounded like many feet stepping over the grass. Then a scream, and all hell broke loose.

A voice near me called out something. Battle cries echoed through the night. I got to my feet and belted on my sword. I ran to Fret’s wagon as I saw Ulven with crude weapons attacking and burning. Just as I approached his door, a brute broke the window and threw a torch on the ground. Before I could do anything, the wagon erupted in flames. I stabbed the bastard who’d done it and looked around. Torches were being tossed at wagons, and Ulven with pitchforks and shovels were doing the throwing. The flames quickly engulfed the brush, trapping most of the Few in a circle of fire. I knew what I had to do. I ran back to my bedroll and gathered my things. I ran into the countryside, tears streaming down my face, and didn’t stop until the sun pierced the sky.

Soon after dawn, I hit a creek, where I refilled my waterskin. I continued through the wilderness until I ran into a small dirt road. I followed that until I came to a small town. I was ushered into the inn by a plump Ulven woman, who brought out a large bowl of stew. Did I really look that hungry, that she would bring food without my asking for it? As I greedily ate, a strong hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned to see an Ulven man holding an axe.

“These are bad times, son. I won’t have any who wish us ill in my village. Do you fight for us or against us?”

Perplexed, I said, “I fight only for myself.”

The man furrowed his brow. “Bare your teeth.”

I did, and a grin spread across his face. “We haven’t seen humans for years! You’re welcome here in Lowestoft, son. And don’t worry, none of us will try to kill you. We all think it’s good to get more people to help out, even if they’re from another continent!” The man’s name was Ivar Shattered Spear, the leader of the village.

I stayed in the village that night. I meant to leave the following day, but I talked, and soon enough, the sun was setting. Rather than sleep in the inn, as I had last night, a farmer named Bjorn offered his hospitality. He had a daughter named Astrid, who was around my age and had long, black hair.

After we supped, Bjorn offered me his bed. I went to sleep almost instantly.  A noise in the common room woke me in the middle of the night. I clothed myself and headed out to see what it was. Astrid was sitting at the table, gazing at the stars. She turned and saw me, and pulled out the chair next to her. I sat. Astrid leaned her head on my shoulder. We stayed like that for the rest of the night.

Before I knew it, I had become a villager of Lowestoft. I would work beside Bjorn in the field during the day, and play music in the inn at night. Astrid and I grew closer, until we affirmed our love for one another. Life in Lowestoft was perfect. I preferred it infinitely to life with the Few.

Until that day. There’d been no rain for a week or two, so everything was dry. A lantern must have been knocked over in the bakery. I was heading over to the tavern after the day’s work when I saw it coated in fire. As I looked, to my horror, the roof collapsed just as the baker was running out. A burning wall fell onto the ground, just close enough to spread the flames to the building next to it, a butcher. I ran to the tavern, where everyone was sure to be in the evening. I called out, “Fire, fire!” People were only on their first tankard, and sober enough to get up and rush to the well. By then, three or four buildings were in the blaze. Just as Bjorn was running into our house to find Astrid, the thatched roof caught a spark and went up in a burning crescendo. I heard Bjorn yelling from inside, and saw Astrid burst through the door just as the front wall fell inward.

“No!” I cried. “Bjorn,” I said quietly, tears beginning to stream down my face. I slapped myself, clearing my head, and ran to the well to help fight the fire. As the sun grew low, the fires did as well, until all that was left was the ruined ash of Lowestoft. Left standing were only the well and tailor’s, and even that was missing a roof. I picked through the wreckage of my house, finding my sword and nothing else. My violin was safe, as I’d set it by the well before the inn collapsed. Deep in my heart, I wanted to stay, and help these people I’d known for months, but I knew I had to go. So I said my goodbyes, swearing to all that I’d return. Astrid begged me not to, but I kissed her and left.

I went south-east, to Bladehome and Shieldhaven to get to wherever I was going. To earn money for food and board, I would play for the inns and taverns in the town and villages. Thrice during my journey, I sold my sword, once to defend some rich person or another, once to dispatch some bandits, and finally to escort an overland shipment to Aylin’s Reach. From there, I saved up coin until I bought cheap passage upon a cargo ship to New Vandregon. In New Vandregon, I did much of the same, performing in taverns or getting my allegiance bought for a day. One day, though, a lad around my age named Drake approached me. Him and his father, Tor, were traveling to Newhope, and he wanted to know if I would go with. I had heard stories about the city, and figured I could make a nice living there. I accepted. On the road to Newhope, I learned that both were good singers. Upon our arrival in the city, Drake asked if I would be interested in joining the group of bards he was trying to assemble. I agreed. After we’d been in Newhope a few days, I spied a drummer playing on the curb. He joined up with us, and that’s how the Bardbarians were formed.

I was born into a group that died out. My father beat me as a child, and I began training under a bard. My father took one of my eyes from me. Everything I knew was burned overnight by angry villagers, angered only at our existence. I fled, and found a life and love in Lowestoft. When that too was taken from me, and I made my way to the south shore, I met people I could trust. Now I am part of a group of bards, and I can play without fear of losing an eye. I may seem like a dishonorable man, but I am anything but. I fight to stay alive, and I fight for honor and justice. However, I’ve seen my fair share, and am jaded enough. I may often bloody my sword, but I won’t turn it on one without. I’ve seen the world through many lenses, both good and bad, and still have some hope for it.

My name is Robert Shet.

I fight for honor. I fight for the world.

PLAYED BY: Tony Hunter

CHARACTER NAME: The Shepard

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Older than he looks

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION:

Itinerant Cleric/Healer. Former Shepherd

KNOWN SKILLS:

Healing, Preaching, Mediation, Negotiation, Marriage Counseling, Sarcasm, Occasional Banishment of Undead

BIRTHPLACE:

Southeastern corner of the May’Kar Dominion.

APPEARANCE:

Middle-aged non-descript guy. Black hat with a flower.

NOTABLE TRAITS:

Who’s asking? Did they say who was asking?

RELATIONSHIPS:

He barely managed not to get killed during the convoy runs to Grimsendir. In the aftermath, he joined up with an aspiring healer as a traveling companion.

RUMORS:

“Wasn’t there some preacher going around with some crazy ideas about all the different gods a few years ago? He had the same sort of hat I think…”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

“Arik” breathed a sigh of relief as they passed through the lines of the Clan Shattered Spear rearguard. His tiny flock lost, his worldly possessions reduced to the clothes on his back, he staggered to the ground and caught his breath. The painful memory of the wound to the chest as the Grimward came within a hair’s breadth of ending his life. His fourth life.

Al-Raaei. His first life largely consisted of weeks spent alone in the scrub grasses at the eastern edge of the desert. The flock of his father grazing, drinking, drifting with the sun and wind and dust and, sometimes, even rain.

Al-Raaei. He’d forsworn that first life and began a second, but the first name stuck. As a mockery at first, but then as a mark of respect. There had been a lot of blood, and many wolves had met their end under his knives. Unfortunately, many lambs had been led to slaughter.

Kahinon. He’d forsworn that second life as well. There were debts to pay and redemption to be earned. He recalled his journey back to the scrublands of his youth. Not to tend sheep, but to tend to those who tended the sheep. The shrine to Illyara still stood where he remembered it, and the Western Wind granted him her divine aid in the time of his newfound flock’s need.

Kahinon. When the Undead drove through his home, his new lambs were slaughtered. He nearly was too, but the goddess – or maybe all the gods – had other plans for him. At first, their plans seemed to be mostly concerned with removing any Undead he found. But then those plans led him to a distant land, away from their unnatural touch. His new home, filled with new people, required a new name. One that felt more natural to the new flock he would tend.

Shepherd. As he traveled this new land, he taught any who would listen about the unity of the gods, and hoped people understood that this required the unity of all who worshipped. But no matter where he went, there were always those who separated and segregated. Those who guarded their ways and refused to consider that maybe no one had a monopoly on truth. Who are we to say that Sol and Solara, that the Great Wolf and the Sea Hound, that Sialig and Gaia are all different “people?” And if one of them is listening, who are we to say that no other can hear?

The Shepherd had angered the villager. His prayers included any and all gods who might listen, who might aid in cleansing the infection. Al-Khara, we beseech the Sea Hound, Lunara, and the Great Wolf, have Saint Borim bring blood and bone! But he lacked the strength. This sickness was beyond him. The villager wasn’t convinced. It seemed more likely, in the villager’s eyes, that at least one of the gods took offense at being invoked alongside all the others. The villager’s wife died in the morning. He absentmindedly massaged the scars of the wounds he received that night on the highway. Boots, sticks, the occasional rock. As he crawled away, he didn’t bother to call to the Northern Storm, the Eastern Fire, the Southern Dust, or the Western Wind for aid. He’d failed in his divine mission, and he ended his third, and longest, life.

“Arik.” The name never felt right. It was a crude amalgamation of his first two lives, but one that blended with the Ulven who were his neighbors. He returned to his first flocks, the four-legged ones who needed only the most basic of guidance. Tending the flocks of others led to a small flock of his own. He’d found an oasis of calm in the desert of strife that frequently boiled this new land. He could live out this fourth and final life, and earn his well-deserved final rest. Until the horde from the south took that fourth life away.

“Arik” had answered the call for volunteers for the supply run. He had no desire to start another life. Four was more than enough for one man, while others barely had a chance at one. He pulled a cart. He lugged crates, He spotted wounded men in the forest and enemies on approach. He warned them about the ambush site he found, and nearly died when he was caught in it. And he’d been saved by divine power and human skill.

“Arik” looked toward the setting sun and realized that he’d probably live to see another dawn. As he brushed the dust from his hat, he saw the Flower. That Flower. Still as fresh as the day he lifted it from the grass near the shrine. It had weathered the Undead, the trip across the sea, the years of wandering Mardrun. All that time, he had thought it a sign that he had the blessing of Illyara and all her brother and sister gods. After his failure, he saw it as the idle whimsy of a mighty but detached immortal. As he looked back at the gathering dusk, he felt the wind – the Western Wind – touch his face.

The Shepherd put his hat back on his sweat-damped head. As he began his fifth life, he felt the wind shift from the west to the north. A storm was coming. It would wash away the dust of the day’s struggle. Then the dawn would come, and its heat and light would drive away the damp. The circle would continue, as circles tend to do.

The Shepherd heard the approach of one of the other refugees and turned to see a bald fellow with a full red beard hold out a cup of water. He accepted it with a nod and gestured to the ground next to him. The redbeard accepted the invitation and collapsed in exhaustion. As the younger man righted himself, he spoke to the Shepherd. “Thanks for hauling me to the healers back there. Thought I was a goner.”

“Someone did the same for me earlier in the day. It felt right to return the favor.”

“Looks like a storm’s coming. We should probably find shelter.”

“So say we all.”

PLAYED BY: Bryan Richmond

CHARACTER NAME: Paldo Larpapadom

GENDER: Male

PREFERRED PRONOUN(S): He/him

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 54

RACE: Human

HAIR: grey, mostly

EYES: hazel

OCCUPATION: Artisan, occasional guard, regular at the taverns of Bladehome

KNOWN SKILLS: alchemy, the gathering of reagents, drinking the little britches under the table

BIRTHPLACE: Valinate

APPEARANCE: Portly, bespectacled, just a bit of a jolly ol’ guy dontcha know

NOTABLE TRAITS: Paldo is fairly gregarious and eager to help. Paldo occasionally gives off “dad” vibes.

RELATIONSHIPS: The many members of the Larpapadom family, other common folk of Bladehome, the Broken Blade, a handful of Shattered Spear drinking buddies, a few ex-wifes and perhaps an ex-husband (buy him drinks for a night and maybe he’ll tell that tale), them lads and lasses at the Busty Bosom Chateau

RUMORS: The Larpapadoms in general, and Paldo specifically, hold the traditions of Richtrag and of their home Valinate in high esteem. Paldo will go to great lengths and spend a lot of silver to recover artifacts of his homeland.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Once farmers-turned-merchant folk in Cul’Claimete, the Larpapadom family moved to Valinate nearly two centuries ago. At that time Paldo’s ancestors embraced many paths to improve their lot. More than a few became Íoclaochra in the Valinate tradition. Eventually the Larpapadoms earned a small reputation as artisans, guards, and merchants eager for travel. This turned to their favor with the outbreak of the undead plague as many of the family were aboard a variety of merchant vessels when Valinate fell. The remaining Larpapadoms gathered and, with the stubbornness only those from Richtrag can muster, drank their way to safety.

After an elder Larpapadom found the journal of a long-thought-lost uncle hidden in a barrel of grog, their fate, and that of a young Paldo, was set. Scrawlings marked with spilled booze detailed a trip across the seas to a new land “for them strange Syndar, poor wretches lost the other boat.” Using clues left in The Book, the Larpapadoms were amongst the first to land on Mardrun. Not the first mind you, drunk Richtcrag scribblings make little sense to drunk Richtrag eyes, and drunk Richtcrag mouths belted out directions that made even less sense to any ear, but they arrived amongst the first wave of refugees nonetheless. That being said, Paldo was the first Larpapadom to lay foot on foreign soil, eager to embrace a new world and perhaps a local drink. Alas, to be so headstrong and cocksure now as he was in his thirties. The grog doesn’t go down like it used to.

Paldo and his brethren kept close to one another, working what trades and caravans they could in the new lands of the Colonists and, occasionally, Ulven territories as well. The Larpapadoms had perhaps a bit better luck with life on Mardrun than some, thanks to an insular nature and a variety of skills on hand. Always keep family close and a whiskey closer, as they say. Valinate shrewdness may have added some spice to Larpapadom success as well.

By the time a much older Paldo heard rumors of Bladehome, he was all too eager to set aside his spear and forge a proper home for the remnants of

Richtcrag. While some of his younger relatives took to the excitement of joining the Broken Blade as warriors and merchants in those early days, Paldo took his own path. Let the little ones earn their feathers, eh. Laying stone and cutting wood made for a long day, a good drink sitting on a bridge just built beside others made for a nice end to it. Sorting out minor cuts, bumps, and bruises, along with other tinkered small fixes to tools and the occasional armor kept things interesting, and was a sure way to make time for an extra sip or two. And if some brigands needed a lesson for interrupting such fine work, well Ol’ Paldo wasn’t one to shy away from providing an education, no sir. For the most part though, Paldo was eager to make friends with Shattered Spear villagers, share a drink or two, concoct a potion when able, and wander off searching for reagents when he could.

Then, after seemingly forever, Bladehome was alive. For a moment, familiar Richtcrag smells and celebrations brought Paldo back to his first, and last, Masquerade. Such joy and wantonness bubbling up out of Richtcrag hardiness. It was when he heard Volrock speak to the people of Bladehome that Paldo knew his heart would never leave. Here was a place for his people. A regular at the Busty Bosom Chateau, he has all but accepted Belterra as a surrogate daughter, a “feisty Larpapadom if there ever was one” by his estimate.

With recent events unfolding, Paldo has decided to take a more active role. It doesn’t sit well with him that the Grimward killed their own clan leader, and another Ulven leader in such a vulgar display, from what he was told. Making war in such a way seemed underhanded, and someone ought to teach those pups some etiquette. Despite many protests behind closed doors in the Larpapadom household, Paldo has taken up his old caravan guard armor (hey, it still fits!) and has fully offered his skills, trades, and service to Bladehome, the Broken Blade, and to Volrock himself.

PLAYED BY: Cody Jackson

CHARACTER NAME: Arleaux Bonnaire

GENDER: Non-Binary

PRONOUN(S): They/Them

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 35 in July 273

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Takes shifts as a barkeep in Haven

KNOWN SKILLS: Doesn’t seem to be too special, but is an incredible listener

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Human

RELATIONSHIPS: Seems known enough around various taverns in Haven. They seem to work at multiple bars on different nights of the week.

RUMORS: Arleaux is known as a listener. They are known through Haven as an excellent bartender to talk to, but beyond that not much is said about them. They are known as a voracious reader and some think they may have been a mercenary or a bandit before settling down, but no one knows for sure.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Aldoria held little more than memories for Arleaux. They were young enough when they first came with their family to Newhope and they were still not yet an adult when that family pulled up stakes and moved to New Aldoria to support their Prince’s growing city. It was here that Arleaux first felt like they’d found what they hoped could be a more permanent home, but alas things are not always meant to be and Arleaux found themself dreaming larger than the quiet life they were living.

They worked a job during the mid-day, turning over rooms in a grimy tavern, they’d hoped one day to move behind the bar and sling drinks where the tips were much better, but after two years that had yet to happen. One day when they were 18 they met a man who said he’d come from New Oarsmeet where he owned a few smaller taverns that had shifts available for a bartender. Arleaux jumped at this opportunity. New Oarsmeet had a reputation about it, but the call for a life beyond their parents’ home was too much to ignore. Arleaux moved to New Oarsmeet and for the second time in their life felt that they found a place that could maybe be their more permanent home, but alas things are not always meant to be.

They did manage to stay in New Oarsmeet, working across various taverns, for nearly ten years before the Aldorian Marines, led by that traitor Anne, burned the city to ash. Arleaux fled and went to the only place they knew, New Aldoria. They returned to a shrinking city as more and more people packed up and left to follow their Prince to his new sovereign land of Aylin’s Reach, but after the travesty at New Oarsmeet, Arleaux had lost any desire to follow that butcher. Their parents moved and Arleaux stayed behind, picking up a job as a bartender in the desiccated corpse that was once one of the most populous colonist cities on Mardrun.

Time wicked away slowly until one day a traveler let Arleaux know that a new city had been built on the ashes of New Oarsmeet, a city to carry on its legacy – a city called Haven. Arleaux knew immediately that they belonged among the people of this city of outcasts and without word they packed their things and left New Aldoria, resettling in New Oarsmeet where they took shifts across the city at various taverns. Here Arleaux met friends, or at the very least the closest they’d had to friends. Oddballs and outcasts the lot of them, but at the very least they made for good stories

PLAYED BY: Xak Hawkins

CHARACTER NAME: Keeper Tristan

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Late-30s

RACE: Human

HAIR: Black

EYES: Blue/Green

OCCUPATION: Battle Cleric of Nythara and North Seat for Knights of the Ebon Veil

KNOWN SKILLS: Keeping secrets.

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

APPEARANCE: Black on Black on Black

NOTABLE TRAITS:

RELATIONSHIPS: unknown

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Tristan’s early years were suffocated by the zealous devotion of his parents to Arnath. Every corner of their household reverberated with the deity’s teachings, paving a pre-ordained path for Tristan as an unwavering cleric of the faith. Yet, as the world outside their home began to unravel, Tristan’s yearning for freedom intensified.

The undead scourge on Faedrun was a nightmarish reality that no one could escape. The once-vibrant cities and towns lay in ruin, and a shadow of fear blanketed the land. As the undead horde advanced, swallowing everything in its path, the Fist of Arnath began to teeter in its resolve. Despite his parents’ rigid beliefs, they recognized the looming threat and made the heart-wrenching decision to leave everything behind and board a battle barge to the new lands which the Fist promised to hold their salvation.

This mass exodus was a defining moment for Tristan. He watched the familiar shores of Faedrun fade away, replaced by the uncertainty of a new land.  By now, the Fist had established the fortress city of Starkhaven, and it was here that he and his parents settled in.  There was a frantic push for the training of new clerics to replace the fallen in Faedrun and bolster ranks against the Ulven threat on Mardrun.  There was no time for processing what all had happened – every waking moment was spent in the library studying Arnath’s glory.  It was pressure that placed another crack in his already crumbling convictions about his god’s efficacy.  If Arnath was so powerful and just – why would he let this happen to them?

Here, amidst the chronicles of old and new worlds, he chanced upon a hidden treasure—an obscured book that would reshape his destiny. Nestled amongst scriptures venerating Arnath in an unassuming leather tome was the alluring tale of Nythara, a seemingly forgotten Goddess of Secrets, Darkness, and the Unknown. Tristan had never heard of this religion before but he quickly felt enraptured by Nythara’s enigma.

Where Arnath’s teachings felt confining, Nythara’s words danced with freedom, self-reliance, and the power of secrets withheld.  As Tristan embraced this newfound faith, he secretly began to worship Nythara, finding solace in her teachings and becoming obsessed with every aspect of her.  He was suddenly a rising star among the clerical ranks, but secretly – it was Nythara’s name he whispered in prayer, not Arnath’s.

Secrets however,  have a way of emerging from the shadows if they are not closely guarded. When his father discovered his hidden shrine to Nythara, it sparked a confrontation not just between father and son, but between two clashing ideologies. Tristan returned home one day to find his father in a rage – the Nytharran tome in one hand and parchments of “art” Tristan had drawn of Nythara in the other – many of which lacked clothing.  The resulting tussle ended with his father bleeding and unconscious and Tristan standing over him, a bloody statuette of Arnath clutched in his hand.

Tristan left that night and never returned.  He wanted to be as far from Starkhaven as possible and resolved that it was time for him to finally shake free from Arnath’s stifling embrace.  Nythara was his true and only love.  She was his true and only future.

He prayed for many nights to her seeking guidance, but he knew an answer would never come.  Nythara respected self-reliance and a true prayer to her would be Tristan forging his own way forward.  He drew upon the only resource he now possessed – Strength.

Strength of will.  Strength of mind. Strength of Conviction.

The following years are not something Tristan speaks of lightly.  He ended up in the settlement of Oarsmeet working at a tavern named “The Longpig”.  When Oarsmeet burned down and was eventually rebuilt as the town of Haven, Tristan was known to frequent it.  He considers this time period to be his “secondary education”, but when asked about this portion of his life, he usually becomes quiet in reflection.   He now spends his days proselytizing Nythara’s tenets to lost souls who need her.

CHARACTER NAME: Nyko Wolfgang III

PLAYED BY: Alex Robinson

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: ??

RACE: Human

You can call me Nyko III only a select few know what that name entails.  I trust you have no relation with them.  I am very much not like my grandfather.

Like any other story amongst humans, I was born during the Undead war.  It is a tale that most people of my kind have told.  Parents were executed by Undead and Penitent.  Father told me stories of his past.  I had the fortunate luck that on my father’s death bed he told me his story.  Where he came from.  I will tell that story in due time.  He did teach me what he knew about herbs and alchemic formula.  I took what I learned and smoked it, literally.

For now, after the death of my father I left.  I sought refuge in Vandregon as many others did before me.  I wanted to be on the first of many ships out of town, but I had no relatable skills to be part of the first wave.  I was left to struggle with the monsters of the night.  However, I did take a certain solace to the darkness.  It was very peaceful.  The town is generally quiet, and it can allow me to think.  Over time, I grew to be nocturnal only coming out of my doors at night.  I will say, the nightlife is a very welcome change once you get to know it.

I began to learn how to cultivate my herbs and mix different things together to harbor a very hallucinogenic effect.  So, I began to sell my mixtures to the local populace to ease tension.  It was a fantastic way to make money.  So much so, that I became more or a Drug Baron.   It was fun being known for that.  That’s when things took a dark turn.  The Undead pushed back hard and it was time to get on the last boat.  Most of my clientele did not make it.  A shame.

Once I arrived in Mardrun it was refreshing to be able to start anew.  However, old habits die hard.  It was back to the herbs for me.  I made a trek to a town where I can do my work with ease in the settlement known as Haven.  I made refuge there for quite a time.  I even amassed a following of those who wish to serve me.  I then heard tavern stories of this man named Artemis and how he is son of Talonflame.  Talonflame, that name rings some bells, that means my father may have spoke the truth.  I hear he is trying to make a New Home…again.  I should introduce myself.

PLAYED BY: Winter Edwardson

CHARACTER NAME: Katya Blackthorn

GENDER: woman

PRONOUN(S): She/They

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 31

RACE: Human

HAIR: brownish

EYES: blue

OCCUPATION: mercenary

KNOWN SKILLS: pretty good with a lot of weapons

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

APPEARANCE: usually armored often wearing fancy clothing

RELATIONSHIPS: member of the Broken Blade Company

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

We arrived on Mardrun when I was maybe 10 years old. We lived in New Aldoria for most of my early life. My mothers, Sasha and Celestina, taught me of our families back in Richtcrag. My mothers’ families had come from Kupferhügel and Valinate respectively, as such I was taught both of my families Fighting traditions. We kept ourselves busy taking small work, caravan guards, bodyguards, whatever we could find but when the opportunity arose we joined with many others to fight and help take territory from Squalborn. It was hard fought but a victory was claimed for New Aldoria and clan Stormjarl.

I had heard the tales of a true company of Íoclaochra but I hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing them in action until this conflict. I not only got to witness them first hand but was able to fight alongside some of their members. I learned they were named the Broken Blade Company. After the conflict ended and our contracts completed I approached their members about joining their company. They put me through my paces, checked my training and gave me the chance to prove myself. I fought hard and I fought well alongside my new siblings at arms to prove myself until I was recognized as a full and blooded Íoclaochra.

PLAYER NAME: Bryanna Koca

CHARACTER NAME – Bea

CLASS– Rogue

RACE– Human

AGE – mid-20s

GENDER – Female 

HAIR – Darker blonde with normally some type of blue dye hair.

EYES – Hazel blue

OCCUPATION – Wherever she is needed

RELATIONSHIPS – “Grandmother” – Helga, “Grandfather”- Frode, and Blades of Sol through the Bulwark project.

Bea’s goals and aspirations in life are to have more options, than just a pyre for your internment, she used to listen about other death practices from Frode and would like to bring them back. Other than the internment one, she was raised to just be helpful when she could. She has great appreciation and empathy for those who have been injured and those who have passed and she will take the best care she can with their bodies and loved ones.

Bea, will not remember much from her early childhood, before coming to Mardrun, Helga and Frode would both tell her, she should count it as a blessing with the way they found her in the Faedrim, with blood-covered clothes, but no injuries. Helga would recount Bea’s age to be in her toddler years when they found her. They both felt guilty leaving Bea behind with no other living persons around, just blood trails trailing deeper into the woods. So they took her in, on what they deemed the safest way of living, never staying in one spot for too long. Even in Mardrun, they kept this lifestyle out of fear for their safety, so Bea was introduced to their nomadic lifestyle.

Shortly after they found Bea, they were given passage to come on a boat over to Mardrun. They may have lied about Bea being their Granddaughter to lower suspicion about why an older couple had a toddler with them. They also were concerned about what would happen to her and all the other children who lost their caregivers from the penitent and undead, so they decided to keep Bea and call her their own. They would have called her their daughter, but they felt they were too old to be called parents again. They lost their daughter to some penitent one night, never really healed emotionally from that incident, and would break down from time to time.

The later parts of Bea’s childhood and teen years were spent learning what she could from Helga and Frode. Helga was a healer and surgeon, the main source of coin in the family, and would teach Bea about herbalism, healing, and basic first aid, later on in Bea’s teen years she learned more basic surgeries and would help Helga from time to time. When Helga wasn’t teaching Bea about healing living things and how to take care of life, she would teach her cooking and baking skills and talk around the fire for hours about strange things in the world and symptoms to watch for in life. She was very superstitious about the unknown and it kind of wore off on Bea a little bit.

Frode on the other hand would teach her about basic survival skills. Bea would enjoy the times Frode would take her out hunting and fishing. He would also do the dirty work if Helga lost a life well doing her duty or there was a battlefield nearby, he would always go ahead and collect the dead and clean them up and make sure they went to next of kin before the body looters came for them. He never wanted a corpse to be disgraced with him around as he witnessed back on Faedrun.

Both of them tried teaching Bea what they thought the right way of living was and to respect life, death, and nature.

More recently, the peaceful life was disrupted, as they were traveling between stops, after just helping a village with some sickness afflicting the population, they all fell ill. Bea was better in 3 days, but her Grandparents only got worse. 

On the fifth day of the sickness, Bea emerged from her tent and started with the morning routine, letting her “Grandparents” sleep in, after she had made breakfast for them, she walked over to their tent and called out for them, but there was no answer. She waited a few moments more then opened the tent with a dreaded feeling washing over her. They were lying on their sleeping mats looking fast asleep, but the colors in their faces were all gone, almost purplish, worse than they were the day prior. She crawled over to them first feeling Helga’s head, only to find it ice cold. The dreaded feeling turned sickening and cut deeper into her, she threw her head to Helga’s chest to hear nothing, then turned her attention to her Frode and felt he was cold too. With tears forming in her eyes and the realization that they had expired, she cried and screamed about life and she wasn’t ready yet. She knew this day would come, but she never expected it to come this soon.

When Bea finally got a hold of herself a little better, she performed the last care she could give them and marked the end of their journey through life. She marks the spot of the internment location in her book, so hopefully, she can come and visit in the future, but she feels more at peace as she leaves to continue her journey to Lumiria.

Once Bea was in Lumiria, she got the supplies she needed. The whole time in Lumiria, Bea kept seeing posters up for Seymour’s Bulwark Shield Wall projects, it sounds like they need a lot of help and support up there. She didn’t know where she was going to head next after her loss, she thought maybe this was her sign of where to go next. So Bea decided to stock up for her trip and head north to join the project. 

PLAYED BY: Brenna Norton

CHARACTER NAME: Bella Shroom

GENDER: Female

PRONOUN(S): She/her

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 26

RACE: Human

HAIR: Red

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: The best damn cook this side of the Great Forest

KNOWN SKILLS: Cooking, Knives

BIRTHPLACE: Doesn’t get into it. She’s from a Village in Nightriver. Stop asking questions.

APPEARANCE: Usually wearing an apron or large gloves to protect from the fire, Bella is often clad in practical clothing to be ready to cook in any environment.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Would fight you for a potato. Doesn’t care if she’d lose if the potato looked tasty enough

RELATIONSHIPS: United Bulwark of Mardrun project (BoS) – Heard someone was looking for talented, brave people to help out in efforts along the Shield. Hate the thought of yall dying on an empty stomach or coming back after watching others die. Figured a good stew can go a long way.

RUMORS: Occasionally contacts the blackmarket for… harder to obtain ingredients. Just as likely to trade in food as with standard currency

BIO/BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Bella Shroom was raised alongside a roaring hearth and an abundance of food from what she can remember. Her early years on Faedrun are all but a memory as she grew and adjusted to the hustle and bustle that accompanies being a colonist on Mardrun living near Ulven territory. However, the land itself was healthy and invited all manner of flora and fauna to grow. All the nearby fields held herbs to season the meat the forest creatures gave, the water bubbled up to become stew and mead, and even the cool air helped keep food fresh for longer. Alas, she had to outshine the cooking she grew up with and decided to travel nearby townships and cities seeking new recipes and flavor combinations. All in search of her final destination – a town full of flavor so enticing she hoped to never leave.

Her travels took her far and wide, but never settling in any place for two long. Newhope, Aylin’s Reach, Bladehome… all manner of Ulven townships bringing forth unique and delicious dishes graced her travels. Occasionally, she’d stop by the small home at the border of Clan Nightriver and Newhope to check in with her parents and share some of the more interesting recipes discovered along the way. Food is best seasoned through sharing with those you care for and those you stand against opposition with – something Bella learned rather quickly during her travels in more dangerous climes.

Hearing of recent calls to aid for Clan Shattered Spear pushing back the Mordok Bella pivoted her interests: perhaps on the frontlines of battle her blooming skills could be put to the test; her skills to the skillet. Bella joined the effort under the United Bulwark of Mardrun and started the long journey north to feed those poor, flavor deprived soldiers. Her goal is simple: give a spark of light to those burdened by the defense of Mardrun through the warmth and comfort of home cooking.