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NAME: Maree Dunnidan
RACE: Human
CLASS/JOB: Divine Cleric
ORGANIZATION: Blades of Sol
AGE: 23
PLAYER NAME: Amber Kroening

BIO:

It’s another beautiful day in the countryside…

“Well, that’s not a very exciting way to start a journal entry, Maree,” she thought to herself. But it had been! The wind was blowing softly, some cows were gently lowing, and she was outside sat under a tree, the day the letter came.

Many days had started off like this, in the countryside of Lumaria where her family lived, albeit perhaps with slightly different weather. Maree had grown up here, an only child with a small group of friends, living a rather charmed life. Her parents were farmers with a small herd of cows that they milked and treated almost as pets otherwise. They were not particularly wealthy but had enough to get by and Maree was never wanting for anything. Sensing Maree’s desire to help others, and as new followers of Solar, they saw work as a cleric to be an honorable profession and so were more than happy to have Maree study the art of divine magic under the tutelage of some of the more advanced scholars and clerics of Lumaria. Maree took to her studies quickly, memorizing spells and understanding the concepts of how magic worked, and opening her heart to Solar in the process. She found joy in learning about the light of the Syndar god Solar, never quite feeling out of place as a human worshipping a Syndar deity.

Being born on Mardrun, Maree had heard stories of Faedrun, and the escape to the continent she now lived on. But her parents never dwelled on it much. If it came up in conversation, her mother would gracefully change the subject to whatever they were having for dinner, or what was selling at the market, and her father would become distracted by some chore that needed doing. And, although avoiding the subject of the escape from the old continent may be suspect to some…Maree never pushed deeper into the question. Sure, Faedrun came up time and again in her studies, and was a subject of several lectures, but if her parents didn’t want to discuss something that was apparently so horrific, and ultimately wasn’t affecting them now…she wasn’t going to make them. She had never seen an undead being. And yet, she was curious…

She started hearing about a group of people, joining together with the mission of reclaiming Faedrun. As she heard bits and pieces of conversation while travelling into the city for her studies, it became apparent this “group” was now forming into more of…a divine army, named for Solar. They called themselves the Blades of Sol. Their leader was Elzerith, a charismatic celestial Syndar, who was drawing followers who felt he was chosen by the gods, or that they were led to him by some portent of fate.

She saw some of them in the city one day. There was a tall, jovial looking man, armored and carrying a sword, and though he appeared carefree, Maree noticed he was always keeping watch. There was another man, a towering figure of regal presence. He wore shining plate armor, and a helmet, that when removed revealed flowing locks of long, light brown hair. Then there was Elzerith himself. Tall and golden, from head to toe, he seemed to glow radiantly in the sunlight. He wore a majestic white robe with detailed, gold trim. Maree almost tripped, watching him…

In later days, she continued to hear about other members of the Blades of Sol. There was Bero, who handled economical and logistical matters for the group. And Brenna, who served as an important advisor to Elzerith. She learned the man in shining plate was Voltaire, the leader of their military. And Ghent was the man who was always watching. The more their ranks grew, the more she heard about the Blades from folks around the city, and even extending out into the countryside where she lived. Her parents seemed to respect Elzerith, she learned this when it came up in dinner conversation. Never seeming to want to speak about Faedrun, they nevertheless admired his professed mission to go back to the old world and reclaim it from the legions of undead who had chased them out. Whether myth or fact, Maree heard tales of their pursuits, and the aid they brought to any area embroiled in conflict. They were helping defend towns from bandits, defeating Mordok, aiding outposts along the Shield…their adventures becoming more prolific and more dangerous, Maree had even heard that Voltaire had been stabbed so many times while serving as High Martial, that without the help of some serious divine magic, and a large amount of fortitude, he should have been dead by now. But fortunate for Maree, both the heroes and the stories of the Blades of Sol were very much alive, and a missive had gone out requesting aid on an expedition into the Dirge Swamp, which found its way into her hands on that beautiful day in the countryside.

It would herald one of the most pivotal decisions of her life, but she didn’t know that yet.

“They’re looking for clerics, Maree,” her father had said, dropping the letter between the open pages of her journal.

“Hmm? Who are? Wait..” She recognized the seal on the letter, and knew she wanted to say yes before she even read the words detailing what was needed, and yet something within her was still unsure. This would be the most dangerous expedition yet, the letter warned. Celestial Arragones and her research team had decided to work together with the Order of Arnath and send an expedition into the heart of the Dirge, to find a Hellenstone and search for clues as to why there is one in the center of the swamp. The Blades of Sol had an interest in the recovery of this stone and were joining the expedition. However, the swamp was infested with Mordok, who had a history of building idols to channel corruption magic. This was why those with the gift for Divine magic were specifically requested.

Maree felt her chest swell with purpose, and nervousness, as she realized if she answered this call, she would be serving alongside the valiant heroes she had come to admire so deeply. It was one thing to hear stories, quite another to take part. She thought about the last time she had met someone she admired…one of the most prestigious scholars of Divine magic and clerical discipline. He had asked her a question and she could barely get a word out of her mouth. If Voltaire so much as asked her name, would she be able to respond? If Ghent had need of her reserves of mana, would she be able to concentrate enough to complete the transfer? How would she react if Elzerith himself so much as looked in her direction?

Maybe she shouldn’t go, she thought, swallowing hard. She looked around. The countryside where she lived was free of cares, serene, and beautiful. The wind had picked up but a little. Her father was standing there, as even though a century of thought had passed through her mind, it had only been a few moments since she had received the letter from him. The sun was starting to go down.

“What do you think, Maree? You could serve Lumaria alongside the Blades of Sol. You could serve all the refugees of Faedrun, and maybe we’ll go back someday. You’ve prepared for this, sweetheart. Your mother and I would be so proud.”

As her mother joined them under the tree to discuss the news, equally proud (if not a bit emotional at the thought of her daughter growing up before her eyes), Maree knew what she had to do.

She answered that letter, responding to the call. And thus began her adventures amidst the ranks of the illustrious Blades of Sol.

PLAYED BY: Kallie Bain
CHARACTER NAME: Ara Vorimund
GENDER: Female
PRONOUNS: she/her
CLASS: Mage
RACE: Human
HAIR: Brown and wavy
EYES: Hazel
OCCUPATION: Beggar/wanderer, sells what she can get her hands on
BIRTHPLACE: New Aldoria
NOTABLE TRAITS: small scar on forehead
RELATIONSHIPS: A family she tries to forget, and a million friends she’s met along the way. She’s willing to strike up a conversation with just about anyone, and counts them as a friend after the first word.

Ara was huddled in the corner again, watching her father shout while her little sister pressed against her side. She couldn’t see her mother at all, but knew she was cowering on the floor just around the corner of the huge brick chimney against which Ara now leaned. This time it was because the washing hadn’t been done to his satisfaction, from what Ara gathered between the blows aimed at her mother. Most of them missed; he was almost blind with a combination of rage and alcohol. Still, the cries of her mother only feet away brought tears into Ara’s own eyes. She wiped them away before her sister could notice and bowed her head over the little girl, praying it would stop soon.

She sat at the table hours later with her mother and her older brother, Eron, listening to them argue in hushed tones about her father. They had this discussion after every incident, and neither ever gave way. Eron would start every night, saying he would fight back next time, and their mother would look up wearily from wrapping up a cut or sponging off a scrape and forbid him from saying a word against his father. It wasn’t their place, she insisted, to rebel against his wishes or his actions. The word “old-fashioned” would crop up soon, and probably something about standing up for oneself, and Ara would watch, and listen, and hope her mother would give in this time.

Everyone in the town agreed that their shop sold the best shoes in New Aldoria. Sometimes, when Ara got bored or lonely, she would sit and watch people come and go from their shop, hoping one of them would notice her. Her brother, working with the customers, certainly never did.

Caught again. The little girl rounded the corner just as Ara was trying to duck out of sight, and spotted her. The piercing voice shrieked Ara’s name once more and the pudgy hand grabbed hold of her sleeve, pulling her backwards. Ara insisted again that she did not want to participate in her little sister’s games, the inventions of a child of only seven years failing to amuse her much. The girl persisted, though. Endlessly.

She wandered out into the city, looking for excitement. That day, she saw a soldier on patrol, many people out buying food and cloth, and a rich woman inspecting a rare jewel a merchant showed her. Ara liked her walks through the market, looking at all the wares and all the people selling them. One large salesman looked interesting, so she started a conversation. He talked a lot, and she listened and complimented his skill in carpet-making. She spent the rest of the day watching, listening, wandering. Anything to stay out of that house.

She was sitting in the garden with her little sister, having given in at last to the constant pleading. The two of them were playing with dolls that Ara vaguely recognised as her own, but had evidently been passed on once she grew bored of them. In fact, they didn’t seem to have gotten much more exciting in the years since she had them. Her little brother toddled up to her, laughing, shrieked “catch!” and threw a stone straight at her head. This was usual behavior, but most of the time he missed. Her mother had to stitch up the cut, which left a scar there as a slightly itchy reminder of what a little shit that kid was.

In the relative safety of her room this time, Ara listened to her father’s roars and her mother’s whimpering cries. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, refusing to allow herself the tears this time. There was no use in them, and no one to comfort her. No one to make things better for her. This was how things were: her brother a coward, her mother submissive, her father shouting, and Ara left alone. But she was getting used to that feeling by now.

She didn’t exactly run away from home, she just…left. At age 17, she went away. She made no secret of it, just packed up her things, said goodbye to her mother on her way out the door, and wandered out of the city to make her own way. No one noticed, she told herself as she walked. No one cared.

Name: Artemis, The Artificer “Art”

Played By: Alex Robinson

Age: Unknown

Race: Half-Syndar

Class: Mage

Birthplace: Vandregon

Relations: Naxala, Nataniel

My name is Artemis.  I am not my father.

My story begins as any other.  Born amid the Undead war and somehow survived.  Living amongst the brink of war.  My story is nothing special or at least it should not have been.

My mother would often regal me of the story of my birth father.  In her words,

“Your father was kind man.  A Syndar.  He had sharp teeth and quite long ears.  He was dark skinned, and he walked with just the most impressive swagger.  Confidence.  Poise.  A charmer for sure.  One day, after a successful sail about the sea, he and his friends came in for a drink.  Boy could your father pack them down.  As I was watching him, I was accosted by some random drunkards wanting my services.  They were grungy and had no class.  But work is work.  These men were quite rough with me and id charge extra for that, but I did not care for these men at all.  But then, your father stepped up, dashing man, beautiful beard.  He shoved the men out of the way as they were hurting me.  They fought but your father bested them even in his drunken state.  He then offered me a drink with him and paid for the time.  He didn’t even want pleasures of the flesh just my company and conversation.  What a fine man.”

As you see, my father was a charmer.  As my grandfather states, over time of his stay, they would hang out together quite often. Chatting about life and being plain good company.  From what I heard; he was the only one that gave my mother a rocking good time.  I didn’t know what that meant until I was in my teens.

I am here on Mardrun as I am a prodigy.  I have taken a keen understanding to all things magic and have a high magical aptitude.  I was to surpass my father and take on his role.  I do not want this position.  His daughter, Naxala, states otherwise.  It was because of her, I should be grateful to her, I am alive.  She felt a dream, a dream of a boy who would one day overtake Talonflame and surpass him.  He would have extreme mastery and Practicality of Magic.  All Magic.  Her dream saw my face and she has been tracking me down.  With the help of her father’s adviser Nathaniel.

After a time, I was born, and left in the care of my grandfather.  Mother wanted me to be comfortable, and she didn’t want me taken away either.  A baby born with magical knack would be sought after by not only my father and the state but also by the Penitent.  I had a very strong magical aptitude.  Think of me as a diamond in the rough or jack of all trades.  I was being sought after on three fronts.  One, The Penitant, rumors circled that they were recruiting in the area and if they knew of my magical knack they may try to capture and train me in the ways of either necromancy or blood magic, my aptitude could have done both.  Two, The State, as the battles on Faedrun battered our lines there was concern that they would’ve grabbed me a trained me as an Arcane Front-line warrior, a Battle Magus.  Three, my father, he would want me for my extreme skill and dashing good looks.  She didn’t want me to get in the wrong hands, so off to my grandfather I went.    A lot of my time was spent reading and learning stories.  A chunk of time was spent in my grandfather’s forge.  Mostly fetching water and coals.  He has the task of helping arm Vandragon with steel.

In my studies, I had a bully, like many other book-learned of my time.  Except this bully, took things too far.  I was teen when things went off.  I was working diligently on a new project; I was trying to boil water without the use of raw fire or coal.  Trying to create a chemical fire much like oil.  Liquid fire if you will.  But then my bully knocked all my chemicals off my table.  Spat in my face and called me a worm.  But what put him over the edge, was today, he wanted to talk about half breed heritage.  He even called my father names.  Talked il about my mother too, saying I’m a son of a Bitch.  True but uncalled for.  That sent me over the edge.  Blood was rushing to my ears so I could not hear what he was saying.  That’s when I blacked out.  Witness accounts stated I ran at him with the force of a tiger and punched his face in.  That’s not all though.  I also used magics from my hands to launch him in the air and his body landed with a sickening crack.  A rudimentary push spell but you get the idea.  He was disfigured and very dead.  I was out for like a week after.  Its stated, that during that time, a secondary female bully took over and, had her way with me.  Taking advantage of my already bloodlust state.  I had hoped id find her before I left, show her a piece of my mind.

Either way, from then on, I was home schooled.  All my books were ordered, and I never left the house.  Though word already got out of my magical talents.  Grandpa would get visitors and scholars wanting to take and teach me, hone my skills.  Grandpa would have none of it and shoed them away.  Then he met a Syndar man.  He just was chatting about, blacksmithing.  But he was keeping an eye on me as well.  Then he left.  No mess, no nothing.  Just chatter.

Over time I got older and was allowed out very briefly to wander.  But my wandering days did not last long.  It was at this time my village was being attacked.  By undead no less, and a scream. The most terrifying scream I have ever heard.  A scream that still haunts me till this day.  The scream, of a Banshee. It was coming for me.  To make me one of her thralls.  That’s when that man from before came back and snatched me away from my village.  No fuss, no mess.  Maybe even an ice bolt of two.  As I dethawed I watched as my village was torn to pieces only thing left, was the fire from my grandfather’s forge still burning.

It was then, I was locked away yet again like a fairytale princess.  Forced to read and read and read.  Training in a small locked away part of a ship.  Hidden like a sack potatoes.  Once I was on land, I was not allowed to leave.  I read and I trained.  Over time, I was taken to what I guess is a small town.  I was to not run, only study.  Or else I get the ice bolt.  Thanks to my captivity, my intelligence may have grown but my mannerisms not so much.  Time felt like an illusion.

Naxala, was trained in Divine magics, Nathaniel in Arcane.  Together they trained me on fundamentals.  I read this, Vazra’s, old worksheets.  I was taught the ways of Khruki, Lord of Darkness.  Over an over again.  Not sure how long has passed since.  Don’t really care.  It was only recently that I was gained any amount of freedom.  Albeit due to the disappearance my father Talonflame.  People always told me he loved to chase tails.  In that time, I have unlocked the mysteries of wielding both Divine and Arcane power.  Not an easy feat mind you.  Also, in my father’s footsteps, I have unlocked the potential to understand the mysteries of the weave.  Again, I am not my father.

“I am something far stronger.”