Archives: Wiki Pages

PLAYED BY: Jacob Bollig

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 26 RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Blacksmith.

BIRTHPLACE: Old Vandergon

APPEARANCE: White and gray clothing

RELATIONSHIPS: Broken Blade, Rangers, my brother Jack

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: I always grew up following my brother around, he was only 2 years older than me. Our family paid its way onto the boats as soon as we could, anything to get away from the undead. I still remember the way the waves hit the boat during the night. I loved the new world and the new people I met in it. The ulven were not kind at first, but over the years we all have bonded. Myself and my brother had set up a new life for us in Crows Landing. After we set out on our own, it happened. The news was difficult for me to understand. The ulven war seemed ridiculous to me. How could people want fight one another when the mordok still live? I wanted to help, but all I knew was how to run a shop and pour drinks. That’s where I found my love for the forge. Blacksmithing was something I could do to help. I took to the trade and worked as hard as I could, but I wasn’t all work and no play. I do often enjoy a few drinks after closing with some of the new friends we’ve been making, Puckermen and Akyr. I think my brother wants to start traveling again. He loved going place to place. New people are so interesting. So it looks like our little bar is going to pick up its feet and travel awhile.

PLAYED BY: Shawn Smith

CHARACTER NAME: Oryn Neowyrd or “One”

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 31

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dirty blonde, messy

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: Passive Information Gatherer, Merchant, Diplomat

KNOWN SKILLS: Merchant and Political dealings

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria’s main shipyard city

APPEARANCE: Average looks, taller in appearance and heavier build. Often found in more expressive clothing benefitting merchants or diplomats. Strong vibrant colors, with patterned fabrics.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Able to set up long-term dealings geared towards helping support a strong business foundation

RELATIONSHIPS: Neutral to positive with most faction leaders and adventurers. Leader and friend to Double, and in charge of leading a few people within his Agnosco chapter guild like Tyden Resborn.

RUMORS: “Why do the Bloodmoons want him?”

“His family actually uses his stores to collect information from various travelers.”

“His mother had connections to the sailors who found Mardrun.”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Oryn grew up on Faedrun in the city, so he had only heard stories about the undead. His father, Wyrn Neowyrd, operated several successful stores that catered to many tastes in the Aldorian shipyard district. Customers all over Faedrun saw his wares, and Oryn could hear everything from them: tales of soldiers battling the undead, some new law passed in the great Syndar capital, and anything in between. He loved to hear the stories that came from all across the continent. With his interest in learning more about the world, he found it useful to help his father with his work. Of course, some of the customers rambled nonsense, while others told amazing stories.

As well as helping with the stores, Oryn assisted his mother Ryiah. She was a representative to an Aldorian household, one which helped finance a voyage to discover new lands in case of a final victory by the undead. IF the undead were to ever run over the lands people had owned for generations. From his mother, Oryn got a taste of how political operatives worked.

As he grew up, he did occasionally get in trouble with unsavory characters who were mad at losing to his father’s business practices or his mother’s connection to the Aldorian household. But being in the cities, security was fairly tight, and while Oryn received some self-defense training, he had next to no experience actually using it.

When Faedrun was on the brink of collapse, the Neowyrd family departed for Mardrun. Oryn was sixteen. By the time he turned seventeen, they had managed to reestablish some of their merchant work in the new land, and hired the Blythe family to keep an eye on their increasingly independent son.

Three and a half years later, an attack apparently aimed at Oryn destroyed one of the family stores and killed the Blythe parents. Oryn and the surviving son soon learned that the Neowyrds were in fact involved with the information-gathering group Agnosco. Seeking answers, both boys began to work their way deeper into the organization.

By age twenty-six, Oryn stepped up to become leader of one of the Agnosco guilds. The work was complex and challenging behind the scenes, but his background tempered by his experience made him a capable and clever leader. Agnosco was flourishing.

As wars come and go, new secrets revealed, and alliances formed, Oryn Neowyrd has his hands full controlling his guild and keeping various sources of information happy, while Double and the others chase down the leads that could have vital revelations for the future of Mardrun.

PLAYED BY: Ethan Cox

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Warrior

AGE: 29 or thereabouts, he’s usually drunk.

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Was a handyman at the Under the Kilt bar in Crows Landing, but now sells his services as a sell sword.

KNOWN SKILLS: Fucking people up. Otherwise, Shield proficiency, Improved Shield proficiency, armor proficiency, throw, and respite.

BIRTHPLACE: It was burned to the ground. Does it matter?

APPEARANCE: Fat & stout with short brown hair, long torso and arms compared to his legs.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Quiet. Usually swears a lot when he does speak.

RELATIONSHIPS: Ivan: Retired

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

“Fight! Launch the catapults! We won’t let those fuckers take this land!” The Commander shouted.

I saw from the top of the ramparts what a rock falling from the sky does to a person. Chunks were all that remained. Limbs flew everywhere and gods forbid if the rock just kept bouncing over legs where the people were screaming. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastards.

“Launch the burning oil!” The Commander ordered.

Flaming pots flew over the ramparts and landed with deadly efficiency. People screamed out in pain. Undead flailed as they burned. Our archers let loose volleys of arrows upon their clustered formations. Men would fall over screaming with arrows sticking out of their arms and faces, but they just kept coming. I heard the banging of a ram at the gate house. The constant rhythmic pounding. 1 2 3 boom, 1 2 3 bang, 1 2 3 Thump. Over and over again, they would only stop when we poured oil or alcohol on them and burned their pitiful siege. It would stop for five to ten minutes then it would start over again. But this time it was different. This time they brought ladders. Simple wooden ladders and were attacking on all sides. Two squads were sent to each wall in order to stave off the attackers. Boys sent to defend the wall against religious fanatics. Most of the proper militia died defending the walls, so the army commander demanded every young boy and girl strong enough to use a pitchfork be pressed into service. John stood in front of me, shaking our young corporal standing in front of the line who stood there praying.

“Belligero god of war please do not let me disgrace my regiment. Belligero lord of war, father of my fathers, accept my sacrifice, and do not let me bring misfortune to my regiment. Belligero lord of war do not let harm come to my men and give them strength for the battle ahead.”

The man next to John threw-up over the walls. John continued to shake the old man to my right. I looked down at his locket hanging around his neck.

“He must have been in his late 60s,” I thought to myself.

Then I heard it the smack of wood on stone. The ladders touched the walls. Scorpio bolts shot out from the tops of the guard’s towers, picking men off the ladder, but they reloaded too slowly and there were too many ladders for it to be of much use.

“We won’t let these fuckers take this wall men! Isn’t that right men?!” Our Corporal commanded.

The squad replied back, “Right!”

The first bastard made it near the top of the ladder when three spears were thrust into his chest.

The dead man fell over and was replaced by another. Eventually they pushed past the first line. Men and women began to scream as they hacked and slashed their way past our febrile lines. Somehow we manage to push them back. Men cheered. The squad roared out in triumph. Piles of bodies laid at the bottom of the ladder. I looked around the top of the wall trying to find John. He laid against the wall with his intestines spilling out from a massive gash across his gut. I scrambled to his side.

“No. John.” I cried out

“Go on without me Jim.”

“I’m not going to let your intestines spill out any more John.” Tears streamed down my bloody face as John’s body slowly went limp and his eyes glazed over. I tried to stuff his intestines back in while screaming, “You’ll Be All Right!” over and over. I stopped, looking at the blood and green bile on my hands. A hand was placed on my shoulder and I turned to look at the person whom tried to comfort me. My Corporal’s bloody eye sockets and rotating face stared at me blankly.

I awoke from my dream with wide, crusted eyes. I then reached across my bed and grabbed the bottle of mead on the night stand. Popped off the cork and drank what remained of the bottle. Stretching, I stood up. A cold winter breeze blew in from under the door. I slipped into my work clothes and walked my way to the Bar. A kilt with a blue ribbon flew in the breeze. I sat near the fireplace to warm up. Only two people sat at the counter. One had a peg-leg and the other sat down trying to nurse off a hangover with a glass of fruity yellow wine and a pretzel. I took a piece of gold wood out of my pocket and threw it at the barkeep. He picked it up off the ground and asked me what I wanted to drink and eat. I shrugged and kept looking into the fire. Slowly the screams crept back into my head. I remembered the wails of pain as burning oil covered their bodies and burned them to cinder.

The barkeep sat a bottle of some yellow fruity drink on the table and a steaming hot pretzel roll next to the bottle. I popped of the cork. It was fruity, a little sour, but all and all good. The roll was filled with smoky bacon, eggs and cheese. The barkeep placed five silver on the table and took a seat next to me, smiling.

“You’ve been coming here for the last two months now. You’ve come in here, sat quietly, eaten your meal, and have taken a bottle. And in those two months I haven’t even asked your name.” The barkeep said inquisitively.

“It’s none of your business.” I said bluntly.

“You’re right. I just wanted to know if you wanted a job, that’s all. It pays well, 2 silver a day and a free meal, but no free drinks. I know you’ll make more working for me than working for the lumber mill across the road.” The man said nonchalantly.

I shrugged and sighed “Might as well. What do you want me to do?”

“Cook and clean up messes that are made. And if needed, to act as a strong arm if shit goes down.” The man said smiling.

“Ok.” We both shook each other’s hand.

For the next two months everything was easy. The people were friendly and the work was easy. The barkeep was a good employer. A former Warden of Crows Landing, he was an OK guy. One day Ivan asked me to go with him on a trip to New Hope to buy some new type of liquor. We gathered what supplies we thought were needed. Money, food, bed roles, weapons, and armor. The trip was easy. No Mordok and no bandits, thank the gods. New Hope had grown quite a bit since I was last here. Ivan lead me to this little brewery where he bought three kegs from the owner. After that, we both decided to get ourselves real food and a drink.

Four men dressed in New Hope guard uniforms sat in a small bar. We sat at a table across from the guard’s men. A young Syndar server came up to us happily and asked us what we wanted to drink. I asked for bourbon and Ivan asked for a glass of mead. One of the guardsmen stood up from his seat and stumbled over to us.

“You boys look lost.” We ignored him “What? Are your ears full of cotton you dumb fucks.” The guardsmen sounded agitated. The other three men stood up and began to walk over.

Ivan spoke up. “We’re from Crows Landing getting supplies and we were thirsty.”

The leader of the group leaned in and smiled. “Well this is a private party and you’re not invited.”

The waitress stood off to the side with two cups. I shouted for her to make the order to go. The barkeep asked one of the guard’s men to stop harassing his customers. The guardsmen flipped him off. The woman squeezed passed me on the right and gave me two bottles. One of the men reached out and grabbed a bottle out of my hand.

The man smiled. “Thank you for your generosity. You crow hicks can get out now.”

Me and Ivan stood up and began to walk out when one of the men pinned our waitress against a wall by her throat. The barkeep yelled at the man to stop. Two of them jumped over the bar counter and began to kick the shit out of the barkeep.

The man that pinned the woman to the wall dropped his pants and pulled up the woman’s dress. “Squeal for me hon. It makes it more fun.” The leader of the group said sickeningly.

I looked to Ivan and we stepped forward. The man meant to be on lookout was too busy watching his buddy trying to rape the waitress. Ivan walked to the bar and slid over the counter. I looked at the clay bottle in my hand. It was made of clay and was thick. An old trick to make people think they were getting more out of their bottle. I swung the bottle in an upwards arc, slamming it into the back of the lookout’s head. He stumbled over. I clocked him the temple when he turned to look at me. Ivan had begun a fist fight over at the bar. The leader of the group looked over at the bar to see what was happening as I walked up behind him. I sat the bottle down on the table and slammed the assholes head against the wall of the bar. He flailed around as I continued to beat his head in. Flashbacks from the war continued to run through my head and all I could think of is “Don’t stop till he stops screaming.”

Ivan shouted from behind the counter. “Behind you.” I turned. One of the guardsmen had jumped the counter and was coming to his leader’s aid. I threw the leader at the charging guardsmen. The guardsmen caught his leader and asked him if he was ok. I grabbed the bottle that I set on the table and smashed it over the top of the distracted guardsmen. Both the guardsmen and the group’s leader fell to the ground. Ivan finished beating the third guardsmen over the head with a glass bottle. I looked around the bar. It was a mess for the most part. A couple chairs knocked around, a few broken bottles laying on the floor, but for the most part, it was ok. Ivan came walking around the bar rubbing his bloody knuckles. I opened the bottle I still had in my hand. Bourbon.

I poured some on his knuckles and we both drank a swig before leaving the bar keep 12 silver for the mess.

Ivan asked the girl a question. “Would you like to come work with me? The pay is good and I’ve got a spare room for staff. The job is yours but we would have to leave now.”

One of the men began to moan and get up. I walked over and stomped on his head till he stopped moving.

I looked at Ivan, “We need to get going. They’re going to wake up soon. Barkeep, go find a doctor for these assholes. Tell him everything that happened,” I said harshly, “And you.” I pointed at the girl and smiled “Are you coming or not?”

She looked at the iron bracelet on her wrist. “I’m a Surf sirs. I cannot leave my master.”

Ivan stormed out of the bar and dragged in one of the kegs we came here for. “Take this as compensation. He slammed the barrel on the ground in front of the barkeep. This will work considering how we were treated here.”

The barkeep seemed flabbergasted as the girl tossed the band that was on her wrist onto the floor as she joined me and Ivan. As we walked out of the bar I asked what the young syndar’s name was.

She responded in a happy tone “Bellatrix Von Driscoll.”

Ivan shook her hand and introduced the both of us. I just kept quiet, dragging our supplies on the sled we brought. We walked for four days till we made it back to Crows Landing. Ivan was greeted by his father while Bellatrix and I made it back to Under the Kilt. I got her set up while Ivan cleaned the bar up for its reopening. Two months passed and I felt an aching in my bones. Something I haven’t ever felt before. A will, like someone unlocked a cage releasing some kind of beast. I wanted to do something I haven’t done for a long time. Fight. After kicking the shit out of those bastards at New Hope, I feel it’s time to take up arms again and fight. But where to go?

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.