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Played by: Kallie Bain

Name: Wren Duncan

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Age: 21

Class: Rogue

Wren Duncan

I never thought I’d end up where I am today. When I was a child, I was sure I’d have a home of my own once I reached adulthood. I knew, back then, that I wanted two things out of this life: to be the best sword-fighter in all the land (although of course back then I was thinking of a different land), and to have a family. Well, here I am. I will always have room to improve my sword-work, and I have still not managed to find anything approaching a family. When I was hardly older than 3, my father died while fighting in the Vandregon army. I have no memories of him, but feel I missed a chance that many other people had. A chance to have a loving father who could guide me through my early years and provide support in the later ones. My mother was no more help. She passed not long after my father, having caught a strange disease at a time when we had no money to hire a healer. I was left alone in a world I could hardly understand, but learned enough to survive fairly quickly. Living on the streets, one can’t afford to learn survival skills slowly. I learned that watching and listening were the best ways to discover anything, whether that be information or new techniques for blade work. I learned how to kill with a single jab of a knife by watching another man do so. It took me a few tries to get it right, but eventually I found the precise spot, then expanded my knowledge from there. My true passion became the sword. The stealth required for knife-work has never really appealed to me (mostly because I am incredibly clumsy when care is required), but the longsword…. I knew after my first time climbing the wall of the training yard to watch the soldiers, that was my weapon. I cannot say to this day what about it drew me in, but I couldn’t imagine ever wielding another type of blade quite as well or with as much pleasure.

After the first day, I decided to return every morning to watch the soldiers train, and every afternoon I would find a long, heavy stick to practice with, replicating what I had observed that day as best I could. I practiced my sword fighting in this way for about two months before accidentally receiving professional training. It shouldn’t have happened at all. The only reason Landon Faulken ever found me was through my own single-minded swinging of that stick. It was general practice among the children of the streets to flee the area when a soldier turned up, but on this particular afternoon, I was practicing a challenging feint on a post and didn’t notice the children melting back into the shadows or the man in red and gray striding up the street, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. So intent was I on my exercise that it took me several seconds to register the fact that that same man had come to a halt some ten feet away and was watching my determined attempts to beat the post into submission. I stepped back, glaring at the post, and glanced around, finally noticing the soldier nearby. I froze, ready to bolt if he tried to come any closer, but he raised his hand off his sword-hilt in what I took to be a gesture of peace. I still didn’t relax, of course, but I was now willing to wait and hear this man out, at least until I stopped liking what I heard.

“Child,” the man began, “that is a rather crude weapon.” I glared at him. “However, you wield it well. Of course, there are huge flaws in your stance and technique, but those could be rectified with a bit of proper training.” He was smiling, seeming to invite me to do … something. Was he suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? “Come with me, child,” he said gently. “I’ll get you some food and clean clothes, then perhaps we can see about equipping you with a worthy weapon.”

I regarded him warily, sorely tempted by his offer of food and a weapon, although at this point in my life I could hardly care less about my state of cleanliness (I was so encrusted with dirt from the streets that hardly an inch of skin could be seen). I considered for a long moment, finally deciding I would never get a better chance to learn proper sword fighting. I nodded once and the soldier smiled again, a kind smile, nothing hidden in his gentle, open face. I didn’t trust him. Not yet. This could still be some sort of trap, some strange effort to rid the city of another homeless child. I wanted to believe that this man was really going to teach me, though. I wanted to believe he would feed and clothe and care for me. So I followed him back to his modest home (which looked like a castle to me at that point) and allowed him to guide me inside, hand on my knife the whole way, but only as a precaution, not because I really wanted to use it. His wife drew a large amount of very hot water into a brass tub and scrubbed me down until the water was black and my raw pink skin could be seen beneath the grime of years. It took a total of three baths to get me completely clean (which was just about the least enjoyable experience I had gone through at that point) as well as a very long attack upon my very long hair, which hadn’t seen a comb since my mother had died. Finally, I was clean and dressed in clothes that were quite a bit too big for me, belonging to the son of the baker who lived next door. I was grateful the soldier didn’t try to force me into a dress, as one of us would not have survived that experience. As I soon discovered, that someone would most likely have been me. Landon, it transpired, was a superb sword fighter, at least to my untrained eye and mind, not to mention limbs. By the end of our first training session, I felt as though every muscle in my body was made of rubber. Over time, though, I became used to the motions of the short practice sword he insisted I begin with. My body adjusted to the actions and soon they became almost instinctive. Landon was a mentor to me, always kind when talking to me, demanding on the training field, jubilant when I mastered some particularly challenging move. I respected and trusted him more than any other person before or since.

I don’t think he ever really understood me, but he seemed to be alright with that. After the first week or so, he stopped asking questions, knowing he would get one-word answers at best, or (more often) no answer at all. At first, I kept my secrets to myself, hardly speaking at all lest he learn something about me beyond what he did through having me under his roof. By the end of our time together, I like to think I would have answered any question he asked me, but he was always polite and never pried into my past. How I wish there were more people like Landon Faulken.

But all good things, as they say, must come to an end. With the Undead hordes ever growing, Landon was called out to fight for Vandregon. He went away for long periods of time, only coming home for brief visits perhaps once a year for the next three or four years. Eventually, the army of the Undead was at the gates and pressing forward. Landon told me to go with the other women and children, to flee in the ships headed to the new continent, but in my 10-year-old stubbornness I insisted upon staying with him for the battle. I remember telling him, “I can fight! What was all the training for if not to battle opposing armies?” He was still unhappy about it, but for his own reasons allowed me to stay. Perhaps he could already sense the weakness inside of me. Perhaps he already knew I would run. Perhaps he saw that I would give in to the fear inside of me, let it control me, allow it to take over my limbs, my brain, my very soul, and cause me to flee. Perhaps he knew, even then, that I was horribly, despicably weak.

After that day, I swore never to run from a fight again, not without trying first. I never found out what happened to Landon, but I have a guess, and I might have been able to prevent it. If I had just stayed beside him…. There’s a part of me, a logical little voice, that says “If you had stayed, you would be dead too. Or worse, undead.” But I still feel somehow responsible. This mental argument has tormented me for years, ever since I came back to my senses on that boat to Mardrun and my new home.

Our ship landed in Daven’s Reach after what seemed like years at sea, although it was probably only a few months. I was seasick the whole time, having to run up on deck to vomit over the side every few minutes. Since then, I’ve avoided sea travel as much as possible, only having to set foot on two ships in the last ten years, and then only briefly. I lived in Daven’s Reach for several years, working as a blacksmith and learning everything I could about the new society the colonists were building here on Mardrun. I left after the city was overrun with bandits, though, not wanting to live with those people on my doorstep. Since then, I’ve been acting as a mercenary of sorts (although I like to think I have more honour than most mercenaries), protecting caravans and nobles. When I can’t find work, I steal, but only out of necessity. It seems dishonourable, but it keeps me alive, so I suppose it’s worth that shame.

Wren is not a trusting person. She’ll be very unwilling to say even a few words until she’s watched you interact with others for a while. She doesn’t really know how to handle new people if she doesn’t feel she knows enough about how they talk and act. To find this out, she takes to sitting on the edges of rooms or camps and staring at each person present for several minutes, watching their actions, listening to their speech patterns, learning as much as she can about them before they even notice she exists. When people do notice her staring, many are unnerved and look away quickly, while others will try to hold her gaze in an attempt to make her move on to someone else. Wren will continue to stare whether the other picks the first or second option, refusing to look away.

Whenever she feels as though things are getting too lighthearted or frivolous, she will turn and leave, not looking back or telling anyone where she intends to go. This last is generally because she has no particular destination in mind. She leaves because she despises immaturity and excessive displays of cheer. She will wander for a while, perhaps practice with her sword a bit, then return when things have calmed down. It doesn’t make her angry, it’s just a mild irritation when people start being very loud. Wren likes to use all of her senses, and is perhaps a little paranoid. She always expects an attack, and uses more than just her eyes to locate any possible dangers. Therefore, loud noises/people put her on edge, because there is always a chance their noise is concealing an approaching bandit. She also dislikes the tradition of building a campfire every evening, believing it to be a hindrance to her ability to see in the dark. In the winter, her desire for night vision is often outweighed by her need for warmth and comfort, but in the summer, she will remain on the edges of the firelight, staring out into the surrounding terrain.

Wren usually shows very little emotion, preferring to hide what she feels behind a tough mask of blankness. She very rarely laughs (this could become something of a game when in the company of certain people; that is, attempting to make her laugh) and tends to take sarcasm literally, becoming disgruntled when she finds out it was “just a joke again”. It generally takes quite a lot to provoke her because she has had so much practice controlling her emotions, but when someone does manage to anger her, she goes very quiet and still, glaring at her provoker. Her hand will clench around the hilt of her sword, prepared to draw it if she is given a reason, no matter how slight. If you do make her angry enough, she is likely to attack you, more with the intent of frightening you into silence than maiming or killing. If you do get injured, though, she won’t feel too guilty about it. The best way to anger her is by insulting her pride. Of all her emotions, that is the one she feels most strongly, overridden occasionally by fear (of which she is ashamed).

Her policy of never running from a fight puts her life in danger fairly often. There is a constant battle of pride and self-preservation going on inside her when she is engaged with an enemy. A war between fighting and dying honourably, or fleeing and living another day. So far, she has always chosen the right moment to flee, although every time she does so, she is effectively useless for the next few days because she is mentally berating herself.

She is very secretive about her past in particular, although that may stem from the conviction that any information about her can be used against her in some way. She will open up to someone only after she’s had several incidences that cause her to trust that person, often over several months, or even years. It takes a lot to make Wren trust. It isn’t a state that comes easily to her. She doesn’t get along well with most people, especially bubbly and open people. She thinks they’re a bit foolish for the most part, divulging information often without realizing it to people whom they hardly know. She occasionally makes friends with other silent people, although this can only be called friendship if one stretches the term to breaking point. Seeing as two silent people will rarely talk to each other, it is difficult to call them friends.

She is generally uninterested in political affairs, unless of course they directly affect her. She will take notice of politics only if it is absolutely necessary, and doesn’t think much of noblemen or kings, believing them (rightly) to be dishonest.

Joel Robertson

Zeke Ravana

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Age: 24

Class: Rogue

Birthplace: Aldoria

Parents: Both from Nara Pentare

“In a world of loss, art is the first thing forgotten…”

I never saw my home, my true home of Nara Pentare, but I often hear of the colorful cities and beautiful mountains; the way the grass would flow with the wind and how you couldn’t go ten feet without something new catching your eye. I was born in Aldoria, after my parents escaped the undead. The safety didn’t last long though. I remember hearing the screams and seeing the fear in everyone’s eyes, as if it flowed like a river into an ocean and left no room for hope… I could hear more and more the clanking of metal and cries of anger, and less and less of sweet laugher and music. I saw the houses in flames and the ashes dancing on the wind. I try to remember as much as I can, but at the same time I don’t want to. My life became blurred once I saw death.

It happened all at once. At first I had only heard of the undead; my parents were far from the port cities so they had to go over the mountains and across the continent to escape. People said we were safe here, that Aldoria and Vandregon were strong and would save us. I couldn’t tell if they believed it themselves or said it to convince the young. It wasn’t long before things were different, before the stories stopped altogether; along with the art, dancing, and my favorite, music. With remaining culture of the nation’s slowing dying, people lost hope. Eventually the undead reached us, and no wall could stop that. We were lucky enough to be close to a port this time; the journey wasn’t long, but our feet didn’t stop with death nipping at our heels.

When we got there we realized there was hope. The ships were loading up, with people in lines to get on. My parents soon realized that there were limits on how many people were let on. We would not get spots, so my parents did something terribly dishonorable for a Nara Pentarian. They paid a family to pretend I was one of theirs and take me with them. I guess desperate times make desperate people because the family did it, although I don’t think they liked my kind. I hate remembering my past, and I try locking it away in my mind; in a room with the key lost and a keyhole that darkness creeps from, allowing no light to be seen. But the darkness tortures me with the fact that, while I ignore it the best I can, I can still remember my parent’s screams and the sound of their flesh being torn apart.

A time later we arrived at the new home, with the few Nara Pentare that didn’t go with the rest. I became an orphan the moment I stepped foot on Mardrun, since the family that claimed me as their child during the trip wanted nothing to do with me. I lived on the streets of New Hope, finding out what makes happiness in people and trying to get a hold of anything from the old world that I could. When I became of age, I worked small jobs until I gained enough coin to buy a djembe. Pretty much an artifact from the old world at this point, and then took to the road. I don’t like staying in one place, but luckily I wasn’t alone. I made a friend on the road and we traveled as a duo, playing everywhere from semi-grand halls to small town taverns. Life was good, but naturally, it couldn’t last.

One day while traveling a road near the mountains, we were ambushed by bandits. Money or life, my friend chose to fight and I chose to run. The price of survival was his life. Another person for the locked room in my head and I was determined to keep it shut this time. I used my remaining coin to purchase alcohol to blur the keyhole, but it also blurred the lines of my music. Though one day a child, seeing my drum, asked me for a song. It was the first time I denied the bottle so I could bring happiness to the boy. The smile on his face when I played him my song “The Young Boy” reminded me why I got this drum to begin with.

It wasn’t to make money. I became a bard to make sure that we don’t forget where we came from. I do it to bring hope to those who have none, to create light where there is only darkness. I will not let the old world die, with its heroes and history. I am Zeke Ravana, and this is not the end.

Played by: Truman Shortridge

Character Name: Dorn Tallstag

Class: Warrior

Gender: Male

Age: 15 (player age 16)

Race: Human/Ulven

Occupation: Hired Sword.

Known Skills: Armor Proficiency, Improved Armor Proficiency, Rage, Basic First Aid,

Two-Handed Fighting, Improved Two-Handed Fighting

Birthplace: The small town of Daggerford, in Clan Riverhead territory.

Dorn Tallstag was born to parents Alice Tallstag (the village healer) and Barton Longstride (a wandering Bard) in the small farming village of Daggerford, on the continent of Mardrun. He grew up there hunting, fishing and idealizing the three guards who protected the village from the occasional raid of Mordok. But mostly hung out scaring the children, but not Dorn. Dorn worshiped them to the point that they were almost like gods to him. But you have to understand that these were just farmers with rusty swords and broken armor.
When Dorn was seven his father disappeared, leaving his life in shambles. But that wasn’t the end of his troubles. When he was thirteen, a traveling adventurer named Malek Barenholder came to Daggerford hunting a pack of Mordok, but no one in the village knew anything about the pack Malek was hunting, so the strange man continued on his way. The day after that, Dorn was out hunting deer by the river when he noticed a red piece of fabric in the tall grass. So he looked closer. It was Malek’s cape, and underneath it was Malek himself, bleeding from multiple blows to the head, and an arrow protruding from his back. Dorn carried Malek back to his mother. Months later after Malek had mostly recovered Dorn asked if he would help him learn to fight. Malek did and one year after that when Dorn was fourteen he and Malek set out for the Dirge Swamp. But a few days into their journey they were ambushed and Malek was slain. In a sudden rage Dorn killed the few remaining Mordok that had ambushed them.
He returned to protect the village of Daggerford but soon got bored and and left for the Dirge Swamp again to fight alongside the legendary Pack Longfang. Now with his life shattered he tries to suppress the anger inside him but if pushed enough he will snap and the anger will overcome him and be unleashed and wreak havoc on those around him… friends and foes.

Played By: Nathan Tukiendorf

Character Name: Drex Blackstone

Gender: Male

Class: Rogue

Age: 28

Race: Human

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Green

Occupation: Bounty Hunter, Mercenary, Hunter, Survivalist. A Bounty Hunter with his own sense of justice, with a side job as a mercenary.

Known Skills: Skilled Swordsman, Adequate Archer, Excellent detective skills (good at finding people/objects)

Birthplace: Port city of Aldoria.

Appearance: Dark clothing, Composed, Shaven or sometimes with a small beard, observant.

Notable Traits: Piecing Green eyes, Quiet, Inquisitive, Excellent listener. Dark clothes/ looks Dashing

Relationships: Was the son of a wealthy merchant in the port city of New Aldoria, Former son of Sir Helmsworth from Aldoria. Used to own a Shipping Company. Age 16 was married, killed a person in duel, then divorce two months later resulting in the “Helmsworth Scandal.” Investigated, released and lost inheritance, went searching for the truth of what really happened. Found out and went searching for my former wife. Spent years wandering Mardrun. Changed name. Lost the naive, spoiled child persona and developed a sense of justice for finding villains that would ruin the lives of other people. While handing them over to the authorities and getting paid. Hoping to find my cunning, former wife.

Rumor: Fallen Merchant. The result of winning a duel. A few whispers say the reason for the duel was because of a woman, and she took every penny he had after he was jailed. As soon I was released, I left New Aldoria. Drexel Helmsworth was not seen as for 12 years. Drex Baern, the Bounty hunter, has been around for 6 years.

Prologue

In Crows Landing on a late spring afternoon. A man in a dark hat and clothing was standing in front of an inn looking at the wanted posters and bounties. It seemed, I was standing there for an awfully long time looking at the bills, because when I noticed it was suddenly dark. Dam! Can’t decide whether to go with a regular job or join up in the Stormjarl and Prince’s Contract.

I was about to go get a drink to think on it, when I saw two guards coming down the street with what looks like new posters. I waited there a few more moments to see what was going up on the board. The older guard saw me and gave the posters to the younger guard, telling him to hang them up on the board. As soon as he made sure the young guard doing his job, he went towards me. He looks familiar.

“Hello Drex, been a few years. How’s business?” asked the old guard. Now I remembered him. I handed him a few bandits when I was here a few years ago.

“ Business has been good Waylen, though not as good as I would like. I was thinking about the Contract up North, when I saw you coming down the street, and decided to wait to see what you post on the board.” I responded.

“ Besides the Summer Market on Fire Isle this year, a fifteen silver bounty for a murder and burglary at Lady Awen’s home.”said Waylen.

“Lady Awen’s home?!” I asked “Was it the Master Awen that owned a shop and a boat, that was murdered?”

“The same.” he answered. “It was a three man job. They broke in late one night while the lady and the children were visiting relatives. They picked their way in and crushed his head, while he was reading in his lounge room. They knocked out the maid, tied her up and stole into the night with the goods.”

“ When did this happened?” I asked

“ About 5 days ago. Family is still in mourning.”

“ Is the maid still here?”

“No, she left about two days after the crime. She says that she blames herself, and decided to look for employment elsewhere. Family were sad to see her go, except for her ladyship. Lady Awen had numerous good maids before this one, but for some reason she had a hard time with the last maid.” Waylen answered.

“How long was the maid there?”

“ Barely four months.”

“ Waylen, my friend. You were right that it was a three man job. However, it was two that got in and one was already in the house. Did Master Awen’s lounge room have one entrance and did his chair face the door or away?”

Waylen’s eyes bulged at this new information. He responded “Yes, and toward the door next to the fireplace.”

“ I’m sorry to say sir, but the maid did it.” I said “ She let them in. Master Awen would have seen them come in, once they entered his lounge. There would be no way they could get behind him without him noticing them. He would have put up a fight and a struggle. Was there a struggle in the lounge?”

“No.” he said with a sigh.

I responded with “ Master Awen knew his killer, but did not suspect foul play.” As I finished that sentence, I saw Waylen’s guilty face, as realization dawned upon him. The weight hit him like a cart of bricks. He let the maid go, as if he helped with the murderer itself. I felt a little guilty so I threw him a bargain.

“Look Waylen, I’ll help you out. I’ll take on the bounty, but I will go after the woman first. Can you give me a general description?”

His face changed rapidly from depressed to one of hope. Hope was shining on face when he asked “Why the maid?”

“Because she is the real prize for the other criminals. In order to keep the money flowing into the pockets. She gets into the rich homes as a maid and sets up the crime. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is actually in charge of this group. Plus, did the Lady send her off with a recommendation for other employment?”

“Blimey, Drex! Your mind is sharp. I’m not sure if Lady Awen did give a recommendation to the maid. We can go see her before dinner and you can ask her what you need to know. Shall we?”

“Ha! After you Sir Waylen. So, what does this maid look? Old? Young?” I asked

“She has the face that still looks young, but she was approaching her 30th summer. Her height was about to my chin, about five ft six inches. She did turn heads with her long, curly red hair and steely gaze of hazel. She also had a nasty scar on her left hand.”

As Waylen was describing this mastermind, I listened intently. As he continued with the description, I began to get a nasty chill and my steps became slower. When he described the scar on her hand, I stopped as I felt my stomach drop. No, it can’t be her. Could it? I thought to myself. I must have looked shocked and staring off into the distance, for Waylen stopped ten steps ahead of me, turned, and asked me “You okay Drex?”

I focused on Waylen’s face.“Waylen. Did this maid have a demeanor of someone with noble birth, arrogance, if you will? And did she have a way of capturing an audience, as if the people were under a spell?”

Waylen flinched at the sound of my voice. I must have sounded angry and I was. I took a deep breath to control my building fury and waited for an answer.

With a slight tremble in Waylen’s voice he answered “ Now that you mentioned it. She did act like she was better than everyone else, but she didn’t have that behavior with the Awen Family. She seemed nice in their presence. As far as spell casting, we didn’t see any channeling of mana, but when she was talking to a crowd, they did seemed enthralled with her words. Do you know this woman Drex?”

Fuck! It was her. After all these years she finally surfaced. Must have run out of money. I must make sure it was her and talk to Lady Awen. I reached from my former life as Lord Drexel Helmsworth and I brought forward a commanding voice and directed it at Walyen.“Waylen, take me to Lady Awen immediately!!”

He saluted and for a moment wondered why he did that. He asked with a perplex look “Drex! Whats going on? Why do we need to the hurry?”

I began striding forward. Closing the gap and moving past Waylen, not waiting for him to catch up. He caught up with me and matched my speed. I explained my thoughts to him. “Speed is necessary, if I want to catch up to her. She has a three day head start. If she is who I think she is, multiple people are endangered, including their families. I wouldn’t doubt her partners will not see any of their profits when they’re done. For she will not stop until she has quite the sum of money to tie her over for years. Like she did before. Twelve years ago.”Waylen paled at the last statement. He immediately moved a step ahead to lead me toward Lady Awen’s home.

Lady Awen confirmed my suspicions. She described the person I knew to exact detail. She did give the maid a recommendation to a rival merchant of her previous husband’s business at New Aldoria. I shared my thoughts to Lady Awen about her previous maid. She paled, but didn’t look surprised. I think she knew something was wrong, but she couldn’t prove anything. She sent the maid to a rival instead of a friend. Smart woman!

We left after an hour of questioning. As I was walking out the door, Lady Awen told me to do my best and that my reward will be waiting for me when I returned. I asked “How do you know I will succeed?”

She responded “The look in your eyes tells me you would stop at nothing to catch this monster. For I can see she has done terrible things to you as well, sir. I wish you a safe journey.”

Waylen and I walked back toward the Inn. I took the bounty poster off the board and asked him to change it to add the woman. He took it back towards his building while I got some supplies for the journey. He returned an hour later with two copies, one for the board and one for me. I was grateful and bought him a few drinks before I left. As I was walking out, he put his hand on my shoulder and asked “Who is this woman to you Drex? You make it sound like she is a devil in disguise. What happened?”

I looked at him and thought about telling him, but decided against it. I did not want to get into my past, plus I was far behind by three and half days. So I told him this, with a grin. “Waylen I hope to see you soon. I’m off to go capture my former wife.”

Character Name: Dom DiSaaro
Played By: Bailey Hellerud
Race: Human
Class: Cleric
Born: December 27th, 238
Rumors: Hates the name Dominic

The Order has always been my life. I was young when I joined, younger than most of the other children in the keep. Growing up in the shadow of the Lions, I hoped to emulate them and someday join them, though I was always smaller than my colleagues as a child. I worked hard and took any task or chore offered to me, hoping that they would make me bigger and stronger. Though I had to work harder to match the other boys physically, I was able to surpass many of them mentally, devoting what time I had left to learning. A scribe worked to teach me the High Aldorian language so I could help her translate the Tomes and spread the word of the Path.
When I was sixteen, I joined the Lay Militia, eager to prove myself to the officers and Lions overseeing my unit. A few months after training, I was sent as part of an escort for a number of Griffons to meet with Baron Richards in Newhope to discuss his investments into Starkhaven. We were given leave to explore the colony during the meeting, and I found myself in a small park. I saw a young girl, likely not much older than ten. She looked upset with three boys, younger than me but still far larger than her, who seemed to be mocking her relentlessly. I strode past the three boys and crouched down next to the girl, ignoring the boys completely. “Hey. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” The girl shook her head. “That’s good. What’s your name?”
“Rossignol. But no one can say it right, so I just go by Rose.”
“Well, Rossignol, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dom. It’s short for Dominic, but I don’t really like that, so I just go by Dom.” I was stopped suddenly by a hand grabbing my shoulder. The bullies were upset that I had ignored them, and wanted my attention. All they got was a finger raised, telling them to wait. “See, Rossignol, do you know why these brutes are picking on you?”
“Because they’re mean and I’m small?”
“It’s because they’re scared. They know that someday soon, someone bigger, or stronger, or smarter, or just better than them is going to come along, and when that happens, they won’t have power over anyone else ever again. They’re cowards.” I felt a hand on my shoulder again. “One moment, Rose.” I stood and turned to face the boy who was grabbing me. “Thanks for waiting. Now, what ca-“ I was sent reeling by a fist in my jaw. The other two caught me and kept me from moving as the first went to work on my ribs.
“Cowards, huh?” He spat at me through gritted teeth. “I’ll show you who’s a coward!”. It seemed like hours before they finally let me go, though really it was probably only a minute or two. Bruises on my face, chest, and stomach had already begun to form, and all I wanted was to lay there. I saw Rossignol staring at me, almost inspecting me from a distance, and I willed myself to my feet, despite my body’s many protests.
“Dominic, you look bad. You should lie down.”
“What, this? No, I’m fine,” I managed somewhat weakly, sure that I wasn’t convincing anybody of that claim. “That’ll show them. I had them on the run. I had them right where I wanted them…Yeah, I’m going to sit down now.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, thank you.”

Rossignol and I parted ways after that, but I made sure to keep writing to her. She was a smart child, smarter than most I had met, but always more than a little awkward around the other kids. She always got excited when she made a new friend, and I was happy to see those letters, though they would invariably be followed shortly thereafter by another one explaining why the former friend was stupid and no longer worthy of her time. I made sure to visit her any time I was in Newhope, and soon she became like a younger sister to me.
As I worked my way through the ranks of the militia, I continued to write to Rose. I would volunteer for any missions to Newhope, and try to meet up with her, even just for a meal. I wrote to her every week, and she would always respond just as quickly. My Aldorian grew rusty in Starkhaven, with fewer people continuing to uphold and learn the language, but our letters gave me some practice here and there. A few other members would tease me when I got the letters, but I just brushed off their comments.
This went on for four years, writing letters and visiting when I could, training and drilling during the day, studying scripture at night, until I was finally allowed to petition to join the Lions. I dove headfirst into my duty, ignoring the outside world completely, and emerged on the other side in the Light of Arnath, accepted and welcomed into the ranks of the Lions. I was busy with my new duties now, preaching, training new recruits, learning more about the divine magic I would need to call upon, and I stopped writing.
I continued to preach the word of Arnath since that day, using my faith to serve as a beacon, guiding the lost back to the Path. My work with the Order of Arnath’s Fist has led me to a number of great deeds, and I have been blessed to touch so many lives, but it was when I was first introduced to the new chapter, the Order of Light and their more progressive, diplomatic ways that I first saw my true calling. I joined with them, eager to show the world that the Lions of Arnath are not just warriors, that we are not all the prejudiced descendants of those who came before us. Arnath is a lion, but he is also a Shepherd, and we are the hounds who watch over his flock.

Name: Roains
Player: Aaron Pfeffer
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Occupation: Mercenary
Religion: Unknown
Bio:
Many townspeople funnel down a set of stairs onto heading towards a small dock where several large boats are moored. A soldier at the end of the docks is waving and shouting. “Please move quickly onto the boats. There is room for everyone so there is no need to push.” He continues to show people to the boats and after a while there are no townsfolk left. Another soldier runs up from the boats “Sergeant. All the towns people are on the boats.” The sergeant turns “Good. We must wait for Commander Nikiri and the rest of the men. Go back to the boats and keep everyone calm.” “Right away.” The soldier runs back to the boats and the sergeant waits at the edge of the docks looking up towards the front gate. The rain is falling hard drowning out almost all noise yet you can hear the faint sounds of battle in the distance.
Several minuets pass and then he sees movement in the distance. As it gets closer he sees that it’s the men that where fighting at the gate. “This way quickly. We must board the boats quickly.” The large number of soldiers run past. A few soldiers being helped or carried by others. As the last man passes the sergeant turns and quickly follows.
As he steps onto the boat the lines are cut and the boat is pushed away from the docks. As the wind catches the sails the boat is pulled out to sea. He turns and looks to the small town for one last time as he see’s undead poring through the gate and sweeping over the town like a flood. He watches for a moment then turns away and goes below decks to rest. Several weeks past as they sailed. No one knew how long they have been sailing. They managed to stay fed with what supplies they had on board as well as what they managed to catch. They encountered a few minor squalls but nothing to major as the small fleet sailed.
One night he is suddenly woken up by getting tossed to the ground by the ships rocking. As he gets his bearings he notices the boat being thrown from side to side and the sound of wind howling. Rain and waves pounding the deck. He quickly gets up and works his way the top deck where men are scrambling to get control of the sail that has broken lose from the wind. As men clamber about getting tossed around with the boat he tries to work his way to a group of men that are trying to tie down one of the ropes for the sail. He rushes over to assist but as he passes the mast a large wave comes over the rail and crashes onto the deck. He gets swept up and smashed into the mast getting knocked unconscious and thrown overboard.
He then slowly begins to wake up. As he opens his eye’s he finds himself floating on a large board just off shore of unknown shores. He gathers what strength he has left and swims to shore. As he gets onto the beach he lays there for a while and then passes out. He awakes to an unfamiliar room. The house belonged to a small family that took him in and started to nurse his wounds.
Several months later he has left the town and the family that helped him. He is now traveling with a group to help them rebuild a village as a wood cutter. Armed only with an axe he felt pitifully armed and protected compared to what he was used to. As time passed on his trip be came into contact with a Feral Syndar named Pan. A while after they reached the village He was tasked with watching over the fire and to keep it going. He was in the process of thinking as to what he should do next after the village is built. He did not belong with these townspeople. Then Pan sat by the fire and they talked a bit. She asked if he would care to join them and he saw it as the opportunity he needed to get back to what he was good at and get away from the life of a simple wood cutter. Shortly after the town was secured he left with them to a city where he was able to have a blacksmith make him the equipment he needed.
Now armed with a good sword and protected with fine armor that he was used to he felt like his old self and felt he had a purpose again. He shall continue to search for the others with every chance he gets but he shall continue to follow the new path he has found.

Name: (Uncle) Ishvan Vladoff
Birth place: (cold barren location on old continent)
Age: 23
Race: Human
Traits of note: Cheery disposition with morbid humor
Slavic or Russian accent
Blunt and loud

Backstory:

Ishvan was born the youngest of 8 children. Ishvan’s large family has gifted him with 24 nieces and nephews, and being that he is part of such a large family and village many of the names known to them have been reused. This lead to a person’s title, position, or family relation being used like a first name followed by the persons actual name. Thus he introduces himself as Uncle Ishvan. As the youngest he was often charged with the protection of his nieces and nephews, such as it was while the village was attacked by undead. While he was first told to use a shield to protect them, there he found that he was frequently pressed by the undead and needed assistance. Upon a whim, he grabbed a great sword to bat away the foes. There he found power to drive his foes back with the strength of his arms. From there he focused on building his body and yearned for more power. During this time the village held strong against the occasional wave due to village’s sense of community. Unfortunately the undead were relentless, enough so to force his family to travel to the new continent to escape to safety. The people on Mardrun were not like the village he had left behind, and for several years he stood out in Newhope as a form of outsider. Eventually, he started to look for work and decided to help a caravan go through a forsaken swamp of sorts. There he started to see the struggles on this continent as well with these creature called Mordok. There he bonded the crimson shades and saw the strength of their community of arms. He also witnessed firsthand the phenomenon known as Witch Magic, with casters seamlessly blending together both divine and arcane magic as though they were the same thing. The spectacle awed and humbled him, leaving thoughts as to what power lays within magic itself.

PLAYER NAME: Zack Alesch

GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: He/him

CLASS: Rogue
AGE: Old enough to know better

RACE: Human
OCCUPATION: Troubadour

APPEARANCE: Swash-buckling jester, spindly fella. Often paints his nose red.
KNOWN SKILLS: Whatever randomly makes for the best story at that exact moment (though mostly music-playing and storytelling)

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria

Ye lords and ladies gathered here today,
this story is quite long and full of fire.
Some details will be tweaked to save on time
But still I swear these things did all transpire.

Though parted from the land where I was born,
My childhood home still bore its galant name.
That lively town is where I learned the ropes:
In New Aldoria I made my fame.

My parents wanted me to learn to count
But coins we lacked to pay the tutor’s fee.
And since I seemed to jabber all the time,
Twas with fine songs and stories they raised me.

We shall skip past the romance of my youth,
Though tragedy and laughter did abound.
Instead, I shall reveal why I did leave
To seek great tales whilst traveling around.

Mayhaps you have seen me brandish a blade,
A sabre with great tales of its own.
Twas granted to me on a stormy night,
Its former owner seeking to atone.

“I tire of killing, burning, taking coin”
Did sob the weary captain on that night.
“With sword in hand, I’ve done so many wrongs;
Won’t some soul take this blade to use for right?”

I paused my tune, much to the crowd’s chagrin.
“Your name is feared, oh sinker of the ships,
But if you speak in truth your dying wish,
This quest I shall accept ere your life slips”

His withered hand and bold eyes gripped me fierce.
Said he, “You are a fool in many ways,
But brave to take this old man at his word.
My sword is yours, to use for better days”

And so, my quest is set, the road is long,
To spread the songs and joy that make life true,
To wield a blade that stories call “Knightstar”,
Now I just need to learn to swing it too.

Name: Harkov

Played By: Cole Potter

Age: Ask

Race: Human

Class: Cleric

Harkov was three when his family made their way across the sea from Faedrun to Mardrun. Their family barely scraped their way onto one of the boats. It cost them most of his parents combined wealth and a few favors from his father’s time in the Vandregonian army. His father is a tradesman and his mother a healer. They lived a modest but comfortable living for the first eighteen years of his life on Mardrun. When Harkov was thirteen his parents divorced. His family was the near perfect family before that, it wasn’t entirely shocking to Harkov though. His brother didn’t handle their parents divorce well. He was emotional and it was clear why, Harkov on the other hand was different. On the outside he, in what was simple to him rationalized that his parents were free people and had the right to make their own choices. They had raised him to be independant and he knew he wouldn’t lose contact with either of his parents so he showed no worry. On the inside he didn’t feel anything, he didn’t care. Harkov was too busy focusing on himself to let his parents lives and actions affect him. Harkov received a good education from a fairly large school in Newhope. He was a good student but found himself tiring of the everyday studies and repetition of life in the colony more so than his peers. By all expectations Harkov was a normal boy and should’ve fit in well with his peers during his days of schooling. The opposite was true. Harkov always felt distanced from his peers, sure he had friends. But only when he was at his school. In everything he did Harkov felt like he was treated as if he was something less than human. No matter what he tried Harkov was always an outsider, it didn’t matter how much he wanted to be accepted. Harkov’s isolation drew him to the stories of glory so many young men find themselves encaptured in. He often planned his future around following his father’s footsteps and joining the ranks of the new Vandregonian army. Funny considering he had never been in a real fight. His martial prowess was hardly doubted though seeing as his often aggressive demeanor and determination in athletics gave a glance into his abilities.

Because of his peers Harkov grew bitter and antisocial, fearing having to deal with people while still wanting to be accepted. He slowly disconnected from the few friends he had, and fell into what could only be described as darkness. His attitude changing from one of eagerness and childish joy to hatred and cynicism. Harkov was lifted from his “darkness” when he became friends with a girl when he was fifteen. Harkov had known of her but she had never really knew he existed so they hadn’t interacted before they began being placed in lessons together. They had similar opinions on many things and his cynical tendencies were often found humourous, their friendship blossomed quickly. She pulled him from his self-centered existence. Eventually his feelings turned from simple friendship to more, some could say he loved her but the idea wouldn’t be put to the test for a long while as she was interested in other suitors, for years Harkov continued on like he had, spiraling in and out of his own dark place.

As Harkov grew older though he slowly gained more confidence as he grew stronger. He used his strength as a source of hope, it was often fleeting at best. Harkov was never the fastest or the strongest but he thought that any improvement from the boy he was was an achievement. As he reached his eighteenth year a small group of his peers went on what could be called a “tour” of several human settlements and colonies outside of Newhope in an attempt to begin giving the next generation some experience of their new world. Harkov went and so did the subject of his affections. The two were inseparable, their peers questioned whether or not the two were lovers and to the strangers they came across in their journey almost certainly thought they were. However no matter how far things escalated between the two it didn’t change anything and when they returned home to Newhope they remained as they had for years only now Harkov new the greatest pain from heartbreak he had ever felt.

However, while on their tour the group stopped in Starkhaven and Harkov stole away to explore and while he marvelled at the mighty keep and surrounding settlement of what was supposedly a new chapter of the famous Order Of Arnath he encountered a man named Brother Ventaris. Harkov was amazed by the man, he was everything he had heard from the stories of the Lions, clad in full plate with a large tower shield and a hammer both bearing the image of a rampant lion upon them. Harkov approached the Lion with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in years, to the Lion he must’ve seemed like a child rather than a young man. Brother Ventaris greeted Harkov’s enthusiasm and questions with a surprising amount of what could be described as welcoming. Briefly explaining the basic tenants of Arnath’s Path. From what he gleaned from Brother Ventaris’ explanation appealed to Harkov far more so than the teachings of The Light as he was taught when he was younger. Brother Ventaris must have appreciated Harkov’s eagerness or sensed something in the young man he himself could not, for he invited the boy to come participate in some training being conducted shortly, Harkov’s admiration for the man was prevalent and Harkov happily accepted the invitation hoping to prove himself, It was little more than basic physical training with a small group of initiates but in Harkov’s mind it was grand and exciting. Returning to his group after giving his thanks to his new found friends for their inclusion of him Harkov had what he saw as a fantastic life experience. After his return to Newhope, Harkov began to grow stagnant his wondrous journey mired by his heartache and disappointment at life after his schooling was over. His life devoid of purpose he worked as a laborer to begin his life as a young man, but this wasn’t enough for him. His original path of the army seemed pointless after the once prominent colors of red and gray fell into simple subsistence.

Then on a stormy night as thunder and lightning boomed and crackled outside his window, Harkov remembered his admiration for the men and women of The Order and found renewed purpose in the idea of becoming one of them. The weeks after that were filled with preparation for his journey. Before gathering supplies he reached out to his acquaintance Brother Ventaris and inquired as to whether or not he should join. Harkov received an encouraging letter from a Griffin named Brother Oliver shortly after stating that The Order was always looking for aspiring individuals. Harkov needing no further affirmations left for Starkhaven a few days later. Upon arriving he was thrown into a training class with the Lay Militia and learned the basics of proper combat making swift friends with a man named Basil who helped train the militia. Harkov took to the study of battle quickly and his true martial prowess was realized at an astonishing rate. Throught his training Harkov would notice Brother Ventaris conversing with Basil and other members of the Order of Arnath’s Light whilst observing his class training. Harkov simply took it as the leadership attempting to draw the best from their men by being an active presence.

He was mistaken though for a few weeks after Harkov had begun his training he was approached by Brother Ventaris and a stranger who turned out to be Brother Oliver. The two informed Harkov that they sensed a potential in him to be not just a regular soldier, but an ordained cleric of Arnath. Harkov was shocked, never having felt a strong connection to any faith he thought he simply did not have the potential to harness the powers of the divine. His role models convinced him otherwise and encouraged him to seek out the Path Of Arnath and to reach his full potential. A few days later Harkov was accepted as an initiate into the Ecclesiastical Order.

Harkov now trains under the diligent eyes of the senior members of The Order Of Arnath’s Light hoping to bring honor to himself and his order. A very wavering personality, Harkov is often caught between ebbs and flows of happiness and anger, at times skeptical at other times friendly. Harkov is an easy individual to read and seems to still carry a slight naivety about him while at the same time a wisdom beyond his years. Truly a man of contradictions he is devout in his faith, pursuit of honor, and his higher calling and will stubbornly protect what he cares about with little or no care for his own well being.

Rossignol

Played by: Samantha Vold

Occupation: Dominus of the Natural Sciences (of the Ravens)

“Edmuir! I have the solution to your aching tooth!” Rossignol cried as she burst eagerly through the door.

Edmuir looked up from the chainmail he was repairing, “Rose, I don’t trust you and your crazy ideas. You know that.”

“Just because the dragon thing didn’t work out, doesn’t mean all my ideas are idiotic,” Rossignol replied defensively.

“I have yet to see a brilliant idea come out of that supposedly brilliant brain of yours,” Edmuir retorted.

“Hey. You agreed to always support me and tell me how great I am,” Rossignol snapped back.

“I am supporting you. I’m giving you a dose of reality. Your “science” ideas aren’t working out,” Edmuir replied.

“No. Being supportive means you go along with my crazy ideas. And I’m just trying to help you! But you obviously don’t want it….” Rossignol replied.

Edmuir sighed, “Fine. I’ll at least let you tell me about your crazy idea.”

“Huzzah!” Rossignol exclaimed excitedly. “Well. First, I found this plant that if you chew on it for about 15 minutes, it should numb your mouth. The whole thing.”

“Can you confirm this?” Edmuir asked.

“Yes. I tried it on myself earlier. Now. After your mouth is numb, I’ll brace it open with this.” Rossignol held up a small metal rod. “Then I’ll scrape around your tooth, exposing the bottom of it. When I feel I’ve accomplished that, I’ll pull it out with a pliers! By the way, I’ll need to borrow your pliers….”

Edmuir walked across the room to Rossignol and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve gone mad, dear. I’m not going to let you do that.”

“But! Doesn’t your tooth hurt? I can fix it! And I have an abundance of this plant to keep the pain away while the tooth completely heals.”

“Have you tried this before?”

“Um. On a dog. But it didn’t work out very well because the dog kept wiggling…You can be my first real test subject!”

“You almost killed me the last time I agreed to be your test subject.”

“Only almost! You’re not dead! You’re here talking to me! I won’t kill you this time!” Rossignol indignantly exclaimed.

Edmuir sighed, “I can’t let you do it, dear. I don’t trust your idea.”

Rossignol looked at him sadly, “It’s okay. I understand. I’m a bad scientist…” She pouted.

Edmuir kissed the top of her head, “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying you should stick to what your mentor taught you and study to be a better herbalist. You’ve been doing well with that so far.”

“But! That gets boring! I want to try new things!” Rossignol pouted.

“Then try new things. Just new things that don’t involve pulling my tooth out,” Edmuir replied.

Rossignol sighed, “Fine. It’s okay. I understand you don’t love me and don’t want to help me become a better scientist.”

Edmuir rolled his eyes at Rossignol, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“I knew it!” Rossignol exclaimed.

Edmuir kissed the top of her head again and hugged her to him. Rossignol buried her face in his chest, then quickly reached up and snapped her hand at the side of his neck. Edmuir dropped to the floor, unconscious.

“Holy shit! I didn’t think that would work!” Rossignol exclaimed.

She dragged him over to a chair and strapped his arms and feet down with some leather straps she kept in her bag. Then she stuck a couple leaves of the plant she found into Edmuir’s mouth and manually helped him chew, opening and closing his jaw. Once satisfied that he’d be alright, she propped his jaw open with the metal rod. Edmuir stirred a bit, but she gave him another quick smack on the neck and he was out again. She then grabbed her chisel and the pliers and began to work. Once the tooth was pulled, she wadded some gauze in the back of his mouth to quell the bleeding and sat on the floor, staring at Edmuir until he woke up.

“R-Rose…what did you do?” He mumbled through a numbed mouth, still groggy from unconsciousness. “Why does my mouth feel funny?”

Proudly, Rossignol held up Edmuir’s tooth. “I fixed it!”

Startled, Edmuir pulled at his restraints. “You little shit,” he mumbled.

Rossignol smiled, “But I helped!”

Edmuir glared at her as she got up and walked over to him.

“Promise you won’t strangle me if I undo the straps?” she asked.

Edmuir glared at her again, “I don’t know…”

“Give it a couple of days? If it doesn’t feel better, then you can strangle me?”

Edmuir sighed, “Fine.”

“Great!” Rossignol undid his straps and held out a couple more leaves, “You may want to at least suck on these for a bit, chew them if you can. It’ll help with the pain.”

Edmuir took the leaves and did as he was told. Then got out of the chair and laid on the floor, head still feeling weird after waking up. Rossignol bent down to kiss his forehead, and Edmuir spit a gob of bloody leaf chunks in her face.

“Really? This is the thanks I get? You’re disgusting!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the only thanks you deserve,” Edmuir replied. “You knocked me out and pulled out a tooth without my consent.”

“I guess that’s kind of fair. But I’m still keeping the tooth!” Rossignol cried as she ran out the door with her new prize to add to her collection of oddities.

Edmuir sighed and smiled, “That is a whole lot of crazy in a tiny little package.”