Wiki Category: Human Characters - Active

Player Name: Solomon Stevens

Contact Info: sboysteve@gmail.com

Character Name: Kovar Savarog

GENDER: Male
PREFERRED PRONOUN(S): He/Him
CLASS: Warrior
AGE: 20
RACE: Human
HAIR: a slightly reddened brown color
EYES: blue
OCCUPATION: A blacksmith who refuses to work with weapons, providing armor and shield repairs as a pay what you can service.
KNOWN SKILLS: Trained blacksmith, adept with heavy armor.
BIRTHPLACE: Though I wasn’t born here, I’ve lived in the tiny village of Oros located roughly 25 miles from the Nightriver Clan’s border from New Aldaria as long as I can remember.
APPEARANCE: A man of average height and build, typically seen with his apron on.
NOTABLE TRAITS: Never carrying a blade and always refusing to fight unless strictly necessary
RELATIONSHIPS: Exiled from the village of Oros and its surrounding territories. Recently joined Imrick OakenBrow and Rexton Atherton as a travel companion.
RUMORS: Many think me a coward and fool for my pacifism, some may have even heard I was involved in the attempted Oros revolution.

BIO:
Growing up in the small village of Oros brought with it many boons. There were the great, close friendships, the freshness of the vegetables plucked straight from the fields, and of course the lack of competition to become the blacksmith’s apprentice. But small backwater towns like ours have their downsides as well. Nobles granted lordship over the smaller, quieter places tend to try to find ways to flex their control as if they see the land itself as being beneath their lofty status. Such was the way in our village when Mathew was granted the title of Lord-Baron and his manor established on the hills overlooking our village. It was clear to all who cared to pay attention that Mathew wished for bigger things and felt his lordship over such a small and unassuming place to be an insult to his noble name. Unfortunately for us, the eyes of the City-State don’t always find their way to the small places either.

Mathew began to take advantage of his position. He taxed our people more heavily and took advantage of our labor to earn himself a higher quality of life as we began to languish and after years of putting up with this, three of the more prominent members in the village met to determine what we should do about it. There was Sean, the village’s primary blacksmith and the man who taught me everything I know, Idris, the owner of the local tavern and the best damn baker I’ve ever met, and Robin, the greatest carpenter the village had to offer. After consulting with the various townsfolk, the three decided that if Newhope weren’t going to step in then we would have to take matters into our own hands and oust Mathew. Everyone would arm themselves and meet in the square the following week and we’d run Mathew out of town or something like that, looking back it was a stupid plan. I was a humble blacksmith, maybe nineteen at the time. I had recently finished my apprenticeship and had been producing swords, shields, and armor for the guards stationed in the village. The pay was shit and I made sure I always had a gear surplus so if the guards needed repairs they’d still have usable gear, so when the rebels asked me to help secure arms and armor I happily agreed to supply them. My family, friends, and everyone in the village were set on this revolution and I was going to do my part to help. But the day we were going to gather, Mathew had everyone forcibly brought into the square and I watched with the rest of the village as Sean, Idris, and Robin were executed with swords I had made. At some point, whether Mathew had spied on us from the first meeting or one of the villagers had ratted us out, Mathew learned of our plot and sought to make an example of our leaders. Then, I and the others who were important to the cause were exiled from the village and the surrounding territory. Why I haven’t been exiled from the entirety of the City-State, I can’t say. My guess is that Mathew is probably trying to keep the planned rebellion under wraps, for whatever reason. Whatever the case, from that day on, I vowed to never work on a weapon ever again and that I would only take up a weapon to protect myself and those important to me.

Player Name: Laura Hagen

Character Name: Lia Al Mo’alej Brana Nulpun Khara Weithe Sé Dom Sirina

Character Name Meaning: Lia (given, casual name), Mo’alej (healer), Brana Nulpun Khara Weithe (God/Goddess of Fire, Air, Earth, and Water in that order), Sé Dom (tribe name), Sirina (mother’s name), [lack of name here means unmarried]

Character Full Name (only given to members of Kae’Rim): Lia Al Mo’alej Brana Nulpun Khara Weithe Sé Dom Sirina Al-Kali Raqi-Nulpun Lo-Kadaran Kali-Das Fali Wei-La Brana-Lo

Full Name Meaning: Al-Kali (born under the kali constellation), Raqi-Nulpun (dance of air), Lo-Kadaran (despair of death), Kali-Das (lonesome wonder of the unknown), Fali (new life), Wei-La (healer of life), Brana-Lo (flames of vengeance)

Gender: Female

Class: Cleric

Age: 31

Race: Human

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Occupation: Healer, Weaver

Known Skills: Weaver, Transcendent Meditation, Meditation, Divine Magic, Improved Divine Magic

Birthplace: Open desert near the Ul-Weithe flower formation in the north of the May’Kar Dominion under the kali constellation (meaning lonesome wanderer)

Appearance: Standing 5’8, dressed in well worn robes

Notable Traits:
Typically carries a dagger or small sword (to kill undead only)
Believes all life is sacred
Will not carry any leather/tanned skin nor eat meat (unless it is offensive to refuse)
Will try to heal/protect all life, no matter race or alliance
Fierce determination to kill undead

Backstory: I was but a child when my peaceful world came to an end and the unmistakable vengeance grew within me. I remember clearly as our dwindling tribe fought so many undead, not knowing that there was no end in sight. Many of our warriors fought and died, forcing us to move west towards the coast, away from the hordes of undead. We had settled down for the night at a cliffside overlooking the ocean when the undead caught up to us. My parents fought desperately to save me, but were ultimately bitten and torn open in front of my eyes. Screaming in pain and sorrow, a friend (Jakiel) grabbed me and jumped off of the cliff with me in his arms.
I don’t remember anything of what happened after that. I had woken much later in a boat, surrounded by strangers from May’Kar who were fleeing the continent. They had found me drifting in the ocean on a large piece of driftwood and that I was very lucky to have survived. Now the only remaining survivor of Sé Dom (my tribe), I became determined to carry on our traditions and serve Ul-Brana in killing the abominations of undead that plague our world.
However, the new world did not suffer from the undead like the old world did. The numbers of undead were few and far in-between. After roaming the new wilds for a few months, nearing starvation and death from sickness, I was taken in by a farmer (John) and his wife (Nira) who was a healer. They took care of me and taught me about this new world I lived in. I learned many skills from John and Nira, but I still followed the traditions of my people, worshiping the Four Gods and holding their teachings in my heart .
After I turned 15 (5 years after I was taken in by John and Nira), I ventured into the wilds once more with the survival knowledge to live on the road. While I never will forget the kindness that was shown to me, I want to wonder as my people had before, living as one with nature, protecting living creatures, and destroying any plagues of undead. For 16 years I traveled, sometimes alone, sometimes alongside caravans or travelers. From my prayers and learnings, I have been granted healing magics from Al-Khara, protection magics from Ul-Weithe, aura magics from Al-Nulpun, and offensive magics from Ul-Brana. It surprised me to be able to use such a diverse array of magics when I had not yet formed a priest pair, but I surmised this was because I worshiped not two but all four gods (as part of a priest pair each person only worships two gods). While I find it fulfilling to protect life on my travels and destroy the few groups of undead that are sometimes found, I will always remember the old world and greatly wish to go back and reclaim our lands from the corruption that has spread on it.

Played by: Leticia Gonzalez
Character Name: Itandehui
Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Class: Rogue

Age: 23

Race: Human

Hair: Brown Curly

Eyes: Brown

Occupation: Merchant. Crown and Dagger

Known Skills: Makes chocolate

Birthplace: Faedrun, her mother and father came over and brought her father’s mother and sister and her two boys with them.

Appearance: Short, curly brown hair. Fluffy skirts and embroidery wherever she can get it.

Relationships: Nadja. Soon after leaving her family to go be a traveling merchant, Nadja and her crossed paths and became very good friends.

Rumors: Maybe everything in her store is stolen? She won’t tell anyone where she gets things and she definitely isn’t making any of it.

Secret Info: She’s not actually stealing things, she just doesn’t want anyone to know where she’s getting her stuff from and how much she’s really paying for it.

Bio:

Itandehui came to Mardrun as a baby. Without any memory of the boat, her grandmother made sure to remind her how difficult it was on their family to bring a baby across.

“We had to keep all you kids happy and fed on a ship that didn’t want us aboard to begin with! Now it’s your turn to take care of me.” She would say. “You would not stop crying for one second on that boat. I thought they were going to throw us overboard. It’s lucky we made it here with you.”

She was a little nicer to the boys. They were her daughters’ kids and she called them the future of our family. “You two are going to grow big and strong and we’ll never have to worry about anything thanks to you.” She told them. “Without the two of you, this might be the end of us.”

Itandehui’s parents and aunt would be gone all day, trying to work enough to feed themselves and grandma and the three kids.

“Mama, grandma says I almost killed us on the boat,” Itandehui told her mom one day. “She says I was too loud and they wanted to toss us!”

Her mother picked her up and told her, “It’s funny she would say that. Grandma spent the whole boat ride puking over the side so I didn’t think she noticed all your crying.” Itandehui laughed and said goodnight.

She didn’t know that later that night after the kids had gone to sleep, her mother and grandmother had a talk.

“You can’t keep talking to her like this. Me and Josepho will take her and we will not come back.” She told her.

“What will I do then? Rosita can’t take care of the boys and me and I can’t move on on my own!” Her grandma yelled back.

“I don’t care. Itandehui is my priority.”

Her grandmother became much nicer after that. The family eventually worked hard enough to begin traveling the new continent and grandma had come across the right ingredients to make chocolate the way she did back on Faedrun. She told Itandehui that it’ll never taste the same as it did there because everything is different here, but she’d teach her how to do it anyways. They made chocolate together every few weeks and the boys would tear through it every time. Itandehui always hid some away for her mother. It would melt in her pocket but her mother appreciated it all the same.

Grandma also taught her how to get a good deal.

“These people want you to spend all your coin so they can have it for themselves,” she told Itandehui. “They don’t actually need all that from you, they just want it.”

They would visit markets together and bargain with the sellers there, then go to the next town and sell what they got for a little more than they paid. They’d use the coin to get good food for everyone and have family dinners.

As the years went by, it got harder for grandma to keep traveling. She decided to settle on a warm coast and told everyone to visit every chance they got. Itandehui goes back every spring before the real summer heat pops up to celebrate the season with her.

The rest of the family kept moving together. Itandehui decided to use what her grandma taught her and started buying things to resell in other towns. She used the coin to buy more and more each time and eventually split off from the family to travel on her own and go to new towns she’d never visited before.

Now she sets up her merchant stall wherever she goes and takes it with her when she leaves. She makes enough to buy her way onto a wagon for her goods and goes wherever she feels like. Every few months she’ll meet back up with her family and have a nice family dinner with them.

PLAYED BY: Jayson Benson
CHARACTER NAME: Svart Revur
GENDER: Male
PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): He/Him/His
CLASS: Rogue
AGE: 38
RACE: Human
HAIR: Greying Black
EYES: Hazel
OCCUPATION: Hunter & Ulven researcher
KNOWN SKILLS: Lore: Survival (0), Armor Proficiency (1), Trade: Hunter, (7), Traps and Devices, (8)
BIRTHPLACE: Northeast Vendregon
APPEARANCE: Unassuming, tall, dressed in black armor, can blend in well in both nature and crowds
NOTABLE TRAITS: A human who seems obsessed with the Ulven, Svart is quiet and often listens far more often than he speaks. His stoicism can at times make other uneasy, but he is generally positive and wants to help those in need. His penchant for sarcasm and wit does not help matters.
RELATIONSHIPS: While he behaves as if he is an Ulven without a clan, he dreams of one day being adopted into a pack and treated as an Ulven.
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
Svart Revur was born as Brandt Earthentoil in Vendregon, however his grandparents emigrated from Marais-Enceinte in Rightcrag in 198 before the region fell to the undead. The family were able to secure a small piece of land and began to use their patriarch’s farming skills to sustain themselves in their new land. Brandt’s parents raised their children in the ways of their homeland and remained devout followers of Yasin as they had been taught by their parents before them.
Almost immediately after he was born, Brandt’s father began to make plans that would allow his son to join the Íoclaochra roaming the land. Their brightly colored armor and beautifully adorned hats fostered in him a desire to make sure that his son got off the farm and lived the far more lucrative Íoclaochra life. As soon as he was had the strength to hold a short sword, his father began to search for an Íoclaochra to take on his son as an apprentice. After much searching and no small amount of convincing, a lesser-known Íoclaochra named Eist Gøtueiði agreed to take young Brandt on as an apprentice. As far as his father was concerned, Brandt had already become an Íoclaochra the day that his apprenticeship began. It never occurred to him that Eist may not see the boy as anything other than a perfect pupil. Brandt’s father was to be let down. It became clear to Eist early in the apprenticeship that the boy may not have the disposition to serve as a warrior-for-hire for the rest of his life. During their lessons on duels Eist was dumbfounded when Brandt began to try negotiating his way out of the duel in the hopes of gaining an understanding of the problems that led to the fighting rather than simply cutting down his opponent and moving on. Eist tried to remain patient, hoping that his apprentice would grow to appreciate the cold realities of life as an Íoclaochra, however the final straw came when Brandt’s questions cost Eist a contract. They were meeting with a nobleman in Valinate, when instead of simply taking on their paid task, Brandt presented alternative solutions to the customer that did not require steel. The nobleman heeded Brandt’s advice, and thus the contract was lost. This was the final straw for Eist, who promptly returned Brandt to his father. Eist made it clear to both that Brandt would never be an Íoclaochra due to his penchant for not relying upon his steel first and asking questions only after his opposition was eliminated. He also advised that he would warn any other Íoclaochra to never take Brandt on as an apprentice, effectively ending his father’s dream.
The sense of shame and anger was palpable almost immediately. His father did not reject him from the family outright, allowing him to remain on the farm if he kept his mouth shut and worked hard to help the family. If there was any discontent or issues caused, he would be forced to leave. Brandt’s mother did little to soften the situation, as her take was that all was Yasin’s will. Despite his broken relationship with his parents, Brandt toiled on his family farm for a further two years. As the undead threat and war with the May’Kar was at the forefront of their minds, the news of the discovery of Mardrun caught Brandt’s attention. He immediately began to find ways to trade for goods that were of value, hoarded what little silver he came across, and made a plan to get away. Tensions with his father only grew over time, as his father loved to point out Eist’s observations and that he would never amount to anything of value. Brandt became jaded by the culture of Rightcrag, began to see the Yasin as a farce, and struggled to keep his mouth shut about his beliefs when his father would lash out at him. His interest was piqued by the Vendregonian culture that he began to notice and pay attention to, and finally recognized that there were alternatives to the life of his parents. He was simply done with his family and their ridiculous life and expectations. He needed something different.
Upon his 18th birthday, in 251 Brandt decided enough was enough. He fled the family farm in the night with his valuables and headed to Aldoria to start a new life. He wished for Brandt Earthentoil to cease to exist and wanted to eliminate any traces of himself so that he could not be found by his parents , Eist, or those within his community. He sold anything he had of value and agreed to join a group heading to the Mardrun to help with the settlement of the new colony. When he arrived, he took on the name Svart Revur and began to explore his new land. He familiarized himself with the land as best he could, helped farmers to become established, and began to trap and hunt game to provide for himself. He refused to plant roots in the new colony, as his greatest fear was becoming trapped in his life the way that his father had been. When he first encountered the Ulven people he became completely enamored by them. Their warrior culture had sparks of connection to the familiar steel-first culture of Rightcrag and the Íoclaochra, but lacked the pomp and circumstance. While he did not regret his choice to forge a new life, the pangs of homesickness could be relieved by being with the Ulven people. His new name was partially chosen as a way to better connect with the Ulvens where his birth name connected him to the people he left on Faedrun.
Svart subsists as a hunter so that he can remain completely independent. He is happy to help where he can, and often lends his aide to those in need that he encounters, but his years of working silently have caused him to become socially awkward. Many who he encounters walk away from the experience feeling that he was unduly brief and somewhat cold. Svart can sense this, which is partially why he chooses to exist on his own in the Ulven lands rather than establishing himself in Starkhaven or New Aldoria. This also affords him the opportunity to observe and learn more about the Ulven people, their culture, and their rituals. He leverages the knowledge he gained in his Íoclaochra apprenticeship as well as the lessons he’s learned from experience on Mardrun to live a somewhat anonymous life, and as a result his lack of social skills can be perceived by others as his attempt to jettison his “civilized” life for that of a more rugged Ulven roaming Mardrun. Svart sustains himself by roaming the outskirs of the Steinjottun lands and has an understanding with the sentries there. By roaming the lands, he can observe their culture and can work towards integrating himself into the clans. He also relishes in the neutral nature of the clan, and the fact that they seem indifferent to his curiosity. In particular, he works hard to emulate the attitude of pack Fleetfoot and the idea that there is always something to find if you know what to look for. He badly wishes to engrain himself into their pack so that he can learn the secrets of their tracking prowess and better himself as a hunter. He feels that the pack leads the ideal Ulven life that he so badly wishes he had.

PLAYED BY: David Brunes

CHARACTER NAME: Hex Pendable

GENDER: Male

PREFERRED PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 28

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Mercenary/Guard, now dragged into a “divine militia”/cult.

KNOWN SKILLS: Surviving in an urban environment, beating people, fighting, murder, sleeping, drinking

BIRTHPLACE: Small Vandergonian town now long since destroyed, too young to know what town that was.

APPEARANCE: Rough, stoic, usually looks like they just rolled out of bed and are annoyed by your presence.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Usually tired, covered in armor, and either looking for food and drink or consuming said food and drink

RELATIONSHIPS: Currently a member of the Blades of Sol, convinced to join by his other ragamuffin friends who have either gotten much more involved, left, or died at this point.

RUMORS: They seem to just go with the flow, not really fighting decisions or making major decisions for themself. They have a rigid exterior, but internally just want a good meal and a nap.
Not much is known about them because they tend to not do much. No one has broken them out of their shell, whether or not anyone has even tried yet.
They don’t even seem to want to be a Blades of Sol member, but they seem to not want to be convinced otherwise. Last person who tried was met with the usual hostility.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
Born in a town now lost to the hordes of undead and cultists to parents that died off long enough ago to be forgotten, this wholly unremarkable man is a living epitome of indifference and unwillingness to change. They stuck with the same friend group growing up, at least the ones that survived, and made their way doing what the rest of the world did. They ran through alleys as a kid, stealing here and there. They got in their fair amount of scraps with other street dwellers, occasionally needing to make use of sticks or rocks to get their point across or make their escape.
Always longing for the simple life, Hex’s wishes never are met as they are constantly asked to do this or that. Hoping that one day they would either land a comfortable spot being a guard in a town with no problems so that they could keep watch on something too important to be messed with and enjoy their off time drinking, or they would meet a voluptuous and well connected woman who would take care of them so that they never needed to work a day in their life.

Instead of living either dream, Hex’s friends found a Celestine Syndar. Thinking they could easily make some money following around someone who reeked of being special in some form, they followed as “guards”. Time went on, and despite their otherwise ill intentions, they ended up becoming guards for this celestine. What became a way of getting free food and drink became an actual job, and one surrounded by interesting company at that. From doting ulven wanting to keep a naive syndar safe to groups of Solar worshipers thinking this Celestine was a gift, Hex and his group ended up mingling and mixing in. Hex himself tended to only speak with his direct friends, but never turned down a free drink when offered to him.
But as time went on, one specific day had changed everything drastically. The land continued to be at its own throat with bandits, mordok, and tense political problems. The group of travelers were as crestfallen as the rest of the realm in the midst of the winter season. With complaints heavy in the air, one of the tavern patrons posed the question to the celestine “Are you going to unite everyone under a banner to vanquish the darkness?” Hex himself rolled his eyes and continued drinking his ale, but then he heard everyone beginning to rally with the celestine. Apparently the shiny guy had said the right thing, and the tavern atmosphere began buzzing with excitement and standing. Hex, not knowing what was going on, stood up with his friends still eating his loaf of bread and accidentally joining The Blades of Sol.
Many months have passed since his joining. He was given a sword, heavier armor, formal sword training, a sufficient amount of food and booze complimented by moral raising parties, and has been more or less been kept content with his new life within the Blades. While his friends roamed, departed, died, or found themselves deeper within the Blades, Hex continued his life of being a fighter and simple guard. Occasionally being asked to do a task here or there that he has not been a fan of, primarily a dangerous mission to fight bandits or something worse, he does his job with the normal amount of grumbles you’d receive asking a tired farmer to stand up after a long day’s work.
An unremarkable, unwavering, and otherwise standard human who hasn’t had anything special happen to them has been dragged into a group claiming to want to save the world. Whether he knows what he’s in for or not, this man’s adventure has already started. Either becoming a legend or becoming another funeral pyre, only time will tell.

PLAYED BY: Matt Thomas

CHARACTER NAME: Theodore (Theo) Abbotson

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: Middle aged, 30ish

RACE: Human

HAIR: Blonde

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: Merc for hire

KNOWN SKILLS: Waylay (0xp), Sap (1xp), Dual Wielding (2xp), Improved Dual Wielding (3xp), Break Away (4xp), Appraise (5xp), Armor Proficiency (6xp)

BIRTHPLACE: Vandregon ~ Ritchcrag descendent

APPEARANCE: Tall, medium build, tends to wear masquerade masks or mempo’s.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Very good at doing whatever is asked of him

RELATIONSHIPS: Seems often found around people that need jobs doing at high prices

RUMORS: Supposedly killed a charging bull while walking across a field. Sticks to dark places. Enjoys camouflaging himself to train spying and subterfuge skills.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
Growing up in the region of Vandregon, life was fairly peculiar for the young lad. This land was not the one his family had moved from where heroes were great and well respected. His parents drilled it into him at a young age that elders were shown the utmost courtesy and respect, especially to the individuals that wore fancy shirts, dresses, and hats above all. His father explained that they weren’t just a show of their stature in society, it meant they were efficient fighters, wearing the wealth of those slain by their blades. At first the young boy wanted to ask if it was to show off that they could embark on battles and return without a scratch, but he didn’t want to get snide less his father beat him for it. He came to realize while young what his parents meant by showing their superiors respect. His father would tell stories about how the nobles in Valinate would do horrible deeds to those whom offended them in, at least in Vandregon, seemed like water off a ducks back.

When the Penitent came surging into the lands of Vandregon, Theodore’s parents were a bit hasty to head for a new land discovered over seas. For his parents had been lucky to escape the town of Valinate on a vessel taking those who fled the Penitent away to safer lands. Safer, that is, for a time. Eventually many escaped the relentless undead horde for the safer lands of Mardrun that were rumored from sailors that had returned from over sea’s. Nobody knows if any defenders of Faedrun were left at all.

As the Abbotson’s, and many others, left Faedrun to the Penitent. It seemed like many weeks had passed before Mardrun’s shorelines came into sight, the yell from the crows nest of “LAND HO!!!” rung out loud and clear. During their voyage they came across a few other ships, all with the same destination in mind. Safety. For even though they might have left meager possessions behind, or everything they lived off of in wealth, everyone here was having a fresh start. Having Tailors for parents, to Theodore, seemed like a well respected job here in the new country. People were always needing holes patched and those that managed to acquire wealth quickly seemed to come in for well respectable attire to wear to business ventures and banquets with others.

Eventually in his twenties the burning of Richtcrag’s fighting desire took over the young man. He’d often take earnings from delivering his parents’ clothing, to the local tavern’s to see how many fights he might get himself into. As he grew more and more competent through his fighting, he’d begin to place bets with his chosen opponent of the evening for possessions. Theo would often wager big on the families well trained donkeys they’d purchased with which to haul fabrics to the shop, against someone’s sword, knowing fully well that the drunken arse was thinking they’d win two donkeys easily for such a meager thing as a sword. In this manner, Theodore came to stockpile weapons and various pieces of armor until he had himself quite the adventurer’s gear.

He’d often head out on long excursions to the various cities of Newhope, Silver’s Crossing, New Aldoria, to the great north and fight besides the warriors of the great Shield of Mardrun. He found fighting mordok quite amusing, especially when they’d go into a blood rage and chase him until they fell over dead. It was around this time that he practiced using the stealthy, dirty fighting tactics he heard about from his father at an event called The Masquerade. Masked individuals who’s only forms of identity were the colors of their masks, darting among shadows and slitting throats. He never got to know just how good they were at their chosen profession, but it didn’t stop him from trying to reach that same threshold.

A few years later and Theodore returned home to see his parents’ shop as successful as ever. The place had grown considerably as they bought new looms and hired a few more employees since, for all they knew, their son might have been slain somewhere. While at home he informed his parents of his deeds for the last few years and all the sight’s he’s seen. Of Mordok and the Dirge swamp, of how brutal and, quite frankly, terrifying they were face to face. Much more viscous fighters than drunken sods at a tavern. He told them of how they would enter a rage before death and he’d lead them off on a chase to keep it as far from his allies on the line before making it back to assist where he could once again. And he’d tell them the stories he’d hear from the Ulven fighters about there heroes and the bravery of their fighters and other seasoned warriors.

Now he’s off doing his own devices again. One can’t help but wonder…what stories will he come back with this time?

CHARACTER NAME:  Kasim-Kara
PLAYED BY: Jake Segor
RACE: Half Syndar (human traits) age 52
OCCUPATION: Drifter/Bard
CLASS: Cleric

He stands upon the mound of dirt he dug up, looking down at the figure resembling a corpse below him. The hardest part was laying out all of the pieces in the hole, he found the act of making the grave almost cathartic. Tilting his head up he looks upon the grey sky hoping that it would rain, it would feel right if it did but maybe it’s more poetic that it hasn’t. Inhaling, he picks the shovel back up and throws the first scoop of dirt over it’s chest. While he shovels he takes time to give a silent obituary, recounting what brought him here upon this hill.

Long as his memory serves, he lived among the monastery. He never knew his parents, all he had been told was that his mother was a syndar and his father was not. They left him with his name and that was all. Growing up in Saresh as an orphan wouldn’t have made for a promising start to life, looking back on it he wonders how his life would have differed if he wasn’t brought in by the monastery. It was a warm place. He was brought up among the teachings of Mahsai and only knew how to believe, no matter what it was in.

The monastery offered a place for him to grow spiritually, with some help he quickly became adept at channeling divine energies. He could feel the warmth of the gods flow through him and took a great passion in growing as a conduit for their magic. His learning was not limited just to that though, as he grew he learned a great many things stretching from the basics of commerce to mending wounds. He learned to play music and appreciate art. Of all the things he learned, one thing he found particularly satisfying was sword play. The heft of a large sword in his hands felt like a calling. His talents shown and he began to dream of a day where he could learn the sacred ways of the paladin. All of his life he had known of the threat of the undead holding siege to his lands. He had seen clerics and warriors of the Ma’kar Dominion and Vandergon travel through Saresh on their way to fight, and heard of how many would not return. He would make his goal to put an end to the rising dead with his own hands.

When he came into young adulthood he found his way to the battlefield. He had not yet risen highly in rank but he held confident in his skill not only with a sword but with divine powers as well. His unit was a young group, many of them were individuals of other monasteries, some that he even called peers. The confidence that they had held then, he now recognizes was arrogance. They pushed their way against lines of undead, dropping many of them effortlessly with divine righteousness. As they were ready to call their first folly a success a second undead unit came over a hill, lead by one wielding a sword made of curved and blackened bone. They stood their ground, not ready for what was actually in store. His memories of what happened next are foggy, maybe a way of preserving his own sanity. However he can clearly remember regaining consciousness after a violent loss. Surveying the field and seeing a second May’kar unit that pushed the enemy away, but not soon enough. The majority of his unit was lost, most of the survivors had lost limbs or suffered other substantial damage. His body was gravely wounded and would take the next year to fully heal up.

The fire in his soul was not put out from that fight, if anything his will to fight was emboldened. His abilities to channel divine energy however, was weakened. It grew harder for him to call upon the gods in true earnestness. He would claim that it was due to his injuries, even believing it himself on some level, but deep down he felt resentment for his loss at that battle.

Years go by and he rejoins the battlefield, smarter and hardened. He grows to despise the undead and penitent more with each battle and lets that drive push him through to the next day. The more experience that he gains on the field trains his discipline and he learns the ways of tactics and command. Each day begins to feel like the last, pushing undead back and being pushed back upon. Then the Bishop king rose.

He was away on the front lines for some time while it happened. Word spread out about the Bishop King and he wanted nothing to do with a land full of undead. A group of like minded soldiers in his platoon made the decision to join Vandergon’s lines, it was a hard choice but he followed them. He took only what he needed, his sword and armor.

For years he continues to fight, now against what was once his own people. The first year of this endeavor was emotionally the hardest. Torn between the sadness of fighting his own, the anger that they would turn in such a way, and at the same time feeling that he was wrong to fight them. Now and again he would feel a tang of guilt, he would catch himself thinking that there had to be a good reason the May’kar would do this. He was quick to quell these thoughts, reminding himself they were his enemy. By the end of the year he numbs himself of these thoughts and just fights.

As Vandergon pushed into Saresh, he was there. Cutting down anyone he was put in front of, throwing their bodies to the side to be burned. The dry air of the desert can carry a smell quite far when there’s nothing to interfere with it, it only made the funeral pyres that much more unforgettable. He did not see the end of the campaign against the Dominion though. Two weeks into the push he took a spear to the shoulder. Later he would be told that he was lucky to still have an arm after taking such a strike. He travels south for medical attention, this was the last time he would leave the city he thought he loved.

Word travels that boats that have gone out found a new land, a land free of undead. A call is sent out for able bodies to guard caravans heading to boats off of Faedrun. Even in his injured state, he still attempts to be strong enough to guard and finds himself boarding a ship when they arrive. The seas are anything but calm but compared to the day to day horrors of a battlefield, he would have rather take the boat.

When they dock in the budding colony of Newhope he has nothing. He hears that they are looking for strong hands to fight new monsters of this land, and he wants nothing to do with them. He finds a hill near a pond, removed enough from this colony, where he builds a small camp under a willow tree. He spends the following months in solitude living off of what he can find and sorting through the remnants of thoughts he held on Faedrun. His will to fight had been extinguished, the strength he once held had left his body, and the last of his faith had been snuffed out.

He eventually attempts to rejoin society. Unable to commit himself to a trade, he travels and plays music. He had paid enough attention in his youth to know how to play most stringed instruments, but never thought it would be a lifestyle in his future. He drifts from place to place for years, living off of tips and scraps, until the settlement of Serai was founded. He rejoined his people but he never truly felt at home. If anything, the only benefit there was that people were more willing to feed one of their own without asking for much more in return. When Bos Mezar was revealed to have been handling undead, he knew Serai was no longer a safe place and returned to a life of drifting.

He still traveled with his sword and armor, its weight serving as some type of reminder of his past. As he packs it up to leave Serai, he decides that it’s no longer a weight he can carry and makes for the camp he had made when he first arrived on Mardrun. It was makeshift camp to begin with, so he was not surprised to see that after years it was not recognizable. Time and weather had worn down most of it, save for the willow tree that stood over the pond. He decided it was time to bury the life he clung to. He dug down next to that tree and laid out a grave for the armor and sword that he once donned.

The dirt is easy to pack down. He levels off the pile, ensuring that there’s no visible mound of a grave. A bead of sweat falling down his face stings as it gets in his eye and he wipes it clear. For some time he just stands and stares at his work, almost waiting for it to do something. He throws the shovel into the pond and turns to leave, looking back one final time at where he buried the boy who dreamed of being a paladin to save the world. He needs a drink.

Player Name: Joe Hamblin
Name: Rowan son of Brom “Battle-Born”
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Occupation: Mercenary
Skills​: Armor Proficiency, Improved Armor Proficiency,
Thrusting Weapons
Character traits​: Enjoys drinking, gambling, war, and luxurious living. Spends money quickly to enjoy the moment rather than the future. Slight prejudice against Ulven since the Ulven Civil War. Worships the Elder deities of Richtcrag.

History​:
Rowan was born to Brom “Battle-Born” and Helena in the year 236 in a small village on the mountainous border between Richtcraig and Aldoria during their flight from Richtcrag in its fall.
Brom “Battle-Born” served as a Battle-Rager in the Broken Blade Union. Helena accompanied Brom as a camp follower – Shortly after birth, Brom “Battle-Born” and Helena fled to Aldoria to escape the Penitent and the undead as they laid waste to Richtcraig.

Once across the mountains and safely in Aldoria, Brom and Helena roam the countryside, raising Rowan to the best of their abilities. Thankfully, their life out in the wilderness is a brief one as Brom hears rumor of his company further south. The quickly made haste and rejoined the company, resuming their previous rolls.

Once Rowan was old enough, Brom started training him in the ways of both spear fighting and swordplay. Making sure that the child drilled daily and trained at every opportunity. While this went on, the camp lifestyle slowly became part of Rowan’s identity: drinking, enjoying finer things, and gambling. While he may have been too young to join in on such things, it was the aesthetic that sold him on the idea of this is how a mercenary should be.

However, life like this eventually ended in a cruel and abrupt manner. One day while training with his father, Rowan heard the screams and then saw people feeling as the Penitent started to attack the camp. Brom and many others from the company grabbed arms and armor and stormed to chase off the raiders, leaving Rowan behind. When the Penitent was driven off, among those that were found dead was Helena. To this day the image of her body being burned on the pyre is seared into Rowan’s mind, along with that feeling of loss.

From then on, Rowan worked as a squire for the company and trained daily. This was his routine for years. However, one day the company commander came back with a grim look in his eyes. The Broken Blade Union, a mercenary Union headed by the Broken Blade Company was disbanded by majority vote. The Commander states he is confident that they will be able to survive without the safety net that the Union provided, but will understand if others wished to split from the company. Brom “Battle-Born” was one of the few that decided to go on out on their own, taking Rowan with him. It was some time, but eventually they made it to the capital city of Aldoria and began to take up work for caravans and guarding minor nobles.

That life was what Rowan then knew for four years, living and enjoying the lifestyle along with this father. Then one day the blood red banner of a silver hand grasping a broken sword entered the main gates, followed by around two-hundred-forty-eight hardened Íoclaochra of the Broken Blade Company itself. Both Brom and Rowan watched from the crowd as the lines of pikes, great swords, shields, and countless other weapons came into the city, making its way towards the Royal Palace of the King of Aldoria. Brom then told Rowan to stay home, and came back late that night that he was able to get both Rowan himself passage to the new world on one of the boats leaving in the next two days.
However, on the second day at evening, the Army of the Undead marched upon the gates of the city of Aldoria, just as Rowan was boarding the boat. When he turned around the wooden plank was raised and his father was on the other side.
“In order to get you passage, I had to stay and fight with the rest of my fellow mercenaries… Good luck son! I know you will do well!” Yelled Brom “Battle-Born” as Rowan started to sail away.

Along the way with over to the land called Mardrun, a terrible storm wracked the small fleet of ships. This very storm caused Rowan’s ship to become separated from the rest, but thankfully beached right near the budding settlement of Newhope. During that time Rowan went straight to work and joined the Newhope Militia, with which he stayed a part of, even when it became a standing army during the First Contact War between the refugees and the Ulven. He stayed even longer and fought for years in the Ulven Civil War against Clan Grimward. During his time he earned many notes of commendation, and even was promoted to the rank of Sergeant within the Newhope Army. He stayed only a few years after that though, feeling the pull to go out and adventure like he once did with his company, father, and mother. So one day he turned in his paperwork stating his retirement, took what money he was owed, sold the rest of his belongings, and bought himself some new armor, weapons, camp gear, and fine wine.

He was traveling through the settlement of Davin’s Hold, slowly making his way north when he heard tell of the Broken Blade Company and its growing settlement called Balie Onoir. He quickly made sure to join with a passing caravan as a guard and slowly made his way towards Aylin’s Reach, to seek out the company that once marched through the streets of Aldoria’s capital.

When Rowan arrived in Baile Onoir he made his way into the Drunken Cardinal as he was desperately in need of some good ale. Upon entering the tavern, Rowan noticed a big red bearded man. This man was a boisterous fellow, who appeared to hold the attention of most of the tavern’s patrons. After a few stiff drinks Rowan challenged the red bearded man to a game of dice. When challenged the man appeared excited at the chance to best this cocky traveler. During the game, however, there arose a dispute over the rules. A brawl quickly ensued between the two. After getting a few hits in Rowan exclaimed,“Is that all you got ya red bearded bastard!” The man smiled and swung with a quick right hook. The force of the punch was so strong that it was like getting hit by a boulder hurled by a catapult. Rowan dropped to the ground dazed and confused. The red bearded man began to roar with mirth, then Rowan began to laugh, and then the entire tavern began to laugh. The red bearded man then reached down to help Rowan up, and stated, “That’s what we call a Broken Blade hello.”
“What a coincidence.” Rowan exclaimed, “I’m looking to join the Broken Blade’s!”
“Then you have come to the right place. I’m Volrok ‘Battle-Born’, commander of the Broken Blade Company.” said the Man. Rowan, realizing his mistake, dropped to a knee, and begged Volrok to accept his apology, and requested an opportunity to join the Company. Volrok chuckled and said,“You’re going to have to learn to fight better than that if you want to survive in my Company, but I’ll give you a shot to prove what you’re really made of.”

Played By: Casey Wharton

Voltiare is 25 year old May’kar born Cleric, though you would not guess it by his garb or manner. Voltaire carries very little of his heritage, save for some of his clothing choices. The only things he still carries from his past life are his father’s sword, his religion, as what little remains of the family shrine dedicated to Solar. Little is known about Voltaire’s past outside of what he will tell you, but his story mirrors many of those who fled the old world, having lost his family to the undead and taking flight to Mardrun at the age of only 14. When he arrived, Voltaire took to odd jobs and minor skullduggery to get by until he was hired by a priory as a menial. There, Voltaire took an interest in study, and was tutored by the priests in the ways of the divine magic. However, Voltaire was a man of action, finding far more contentment in action than study. He had been trained in the ways of the sword by his father, but not to the skill of a soldier by any means. Regardless of his limitations, Voltaire set out to make the world better in his own way, and fell in with a band of mercenaries under the command of one Kled Winthrop. Voltaire took to the work like a duck to water, learning the arts on leading men and furthering his skill with a blade. However, during a particularly nasty run in with a group of highwaymen, Voltaire was injured. His companions got him well enough to make it to a small hamlet, but had to leave him there on account of an infection that began to war over Voltaire’s then broken body. When he awoke from his stupor, he claimed prophecy and enlightenment in a fit of hysteria. It was during this episode that Voltaire met his now compatriot and leader, Elzerith.

As of now, Voltaire has taken to a martial position with the Blades of Sol. As he is one of the few members of the company with much combat experience, Voltaire was elected to into the role of overall commander of their fighting forces outside of the Solarian guard, command of which being bestowed unto Ghant Az’ka as Elzerith’s primary bodyguards and protectors. Voltaire has taken the honorific of High Martial with his position, though it is nothing more than formality and flattery, and he does not require that anyone address him so. He works closely with Elzerith and the other blades to secure their holdings and maintain order where it is needed. However, outside of the battlefield, Voltaire can be found within his tent which he has converted into a small mobile chapel to his god, in which he performs his rituals, drinks his wine, and speaks to those who will listen on matters of spirit and philosophy. And when he is not in his chapel, he is out socializing with the populous, giving aid where he can, and comfort where he cannot along with the followers in his company.