Archives: Wiki Pages

PLAYED BY: Juilan Boehm

CHARACTER NAME: Moe Sphere

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: Mid 20s

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

OCCUPATION: Brewer

KNOWN SKILLS: Alchemy and Herbalist

RELATIONSHIPS: Member of the Nomads.

RUMORS: “do you think he’ll burn his eyebrows off again?” “Who cares. He makes the best apple pie this side of the world.” Over heard around the campfires of the Nomads.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Moe was an apprentice brew-master back on Faedrun. Given more time he would have become Faedrun’s best as his brews were enjoyed heavily among the Aldorian nobles. Learning to transfer his brew master skills into that of an alchemist his trade took off even further. As a few years passed he had become better than those he learned from, moving on to newer and better towns he eventually opened a Tavern all his own. The Pie House, named after his signature brew the business flourished and he hired on help quite steadily. Yet he still kept the entire brewing process all to himself, although people asked him many a time he kept quiet, often telling tall tales about how he plucked a chicken for a single feather to mix the entire batch.

When word of the undead within the city reached them, he wrote it off as drunken rabble, the man tumbled head first through his door and onto the floor. Voice cracking, wheezing with hiccups he babbled about the hordes as they struck down towns not too far from there. Handing the man a bottle of brew and a silver piece he guided the gent to the door and let him out. Laughter peeling across the tavern as people jested with each other, ridiculing the man as they presumed he ran on to tell his tale once more. Undead had never been able to breach this far into the city, they had taken care of them and only the outter lying towns need fear.

Staying late that night he tended to his brew, the great barrels stated the back of the storage hall were hauled up front to Make room for his next batch. The groans were soft as scuffles echoed in from outside, his wheelbarrow full he iced the door open to find himself staring into dead eyes. The monster let out a scattering screech as it lunged for him, eyes wide with hunger it’s call made more turn. Shoving the wheelbarrow at it he turned for the rear entrance. Shuffling multiplied behind him, soon a shatter of glass rang in his ears. Turning his head he could barely see the fire from his overturned lantern, licking at the barrels of brew like a desperate drunkard.

His heart pounded as he ran faster, throwing open the door and bashing the lock closed. Unable to contain his horror any longer he screamed, as lights appeared so did more of the horde. Panic ensued as people ran from their homes and into the thing. It turned into a bloodbath, the central square awash with the thudding of feet and groans of monsters.

A loud boom roared from behind him, as the brewery went up in flames. Undead poured from the now broken door, fire coating their bodies as they walked into pandemonium. The fire spread as people ran for the woods, neighboring villages, for safety. His legs started moving, arms pumping, lungs burned as his instincts took him far away. Dodging around bodies, lunging undead, to the dark safety of the forest.

Unwilling to stay any longer, he boarded the boats a week later. Arriving on Mardrun, he took to his old ways brewing and running tavern. But finding consistent customers was not as easy as it used to be. He turned to travel, both to gather more clientele, and to ease his troubled mind.

CHARACTER BIO: Basil Gavras

PLAYED BY: Andrez “Peanut” Beltran

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Early Thirties

RACE: Human

HAIR: I wish (black)

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Militia member of the Order of Arnath’s Light

KNOWN SKILLS: Hit things with stuff. Teach people to hit things with stuff. Good strategist and tactician; loud voice that sometimes stays on key

BIRTHPLACE: Unknown. His mother was refugee during the War on Faedrun. Eventually settled near Celestial Mountains and the Order Fortress

APPEARANCE: Short; dark skinned; handsome beyond reason.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Darker skin than most on Mardrun. Ancestry may be closer to warmer climates. Also bald.

RELATIONSHIPS: Follower of Order of Arnath’s Light. Respects the Clerics as he grew up hearing tales of their heroics and exploits. Respects the Vandregonians for their part in the destruction of the May’Kar Dominion. Dislikes Bos Mezar as they are affiliated with May’Kar.. Doesn’t trust Ulven leadership due to Civil War; not xenophobic due to his time as a refugee

RUMORS: Tries a bit too hard to act like an Order Cleric even though he isn’t.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Basil is a young man in his early thirties. Born in the mid 230’s, his mother was a refugee of the War on Faedrun; his father unknown. During the early years of his life his mother moved from place to place trying to avoid the war and did what was needed to survive. Eventually the pair managed to make it to one of the many villages in the Celestial Mountains by 245 and settled there.

Basil came to revere the Order of Arnath’s Clerics as they battled the Undead. The gleaming rows of Clerics and Lay Order as they marched to war. He dreamed of being one, but was too old to be given to the Order by that time. He instead set his sights on the Militia.

This was not to say the boy was unskilled in the way in fighting; growing up a refugee with a single mother, he was an easy target. His smaller stature and different skin only exacerbated it. He quickly learned to take his beatings and return the favor. Most quickly learned the hard way of the boy’s ability to take punishment and come back day after day. By the time he was settled in his village, he was a stout boy with hard fists and a knack for fighting many opponents.

It did not take long for a member of the Militia to notice him. Between the rumors of his fighting and the way he hung around the known officers, he quickly drew attention. Unfortunately, some thought it was because of his attractive mother. Either way, the boy quickly became a servant to the militia members by day and was instructed in the way of fighting at night.

When the first battle barges left for Mardrun, his mother packed them up and went with them. The boy protested, as he wished to follow his idols into combat with the Undead. His mother wisely overruled him as he was still too young to fight. The boy would resent her at the time, but later look back on it as a blessing.

The trip to Mardrun was a perilous one. The conditions on the battle barges were claustrophobic and harsh. Order Clerics enforced law where they could, but there was simply too many people. The boy dealt harshly with those who looked to prey upon him and his mother, and eventually any he could find.

This brought him to the attention of the Order Clerics on board, as a number of his victims reported him as the abuser. Brought before a group of clerics for judgment, the boy made quite the fool of himself with passionate speech and no evidence. Luckily, his mother was of cooler head and brought many witnesses. His accusers were then convicted and punished. The Clerics, however, did not lose sight of the boy and brought him into the ranks of the Militia. The boy had reached his goal.

However, the trip was not all happy news. The confines led to the easy spreading of disease. His mother, unfortunately, contracted a virulent plague that swept the ship. For two weeks she was on death’s door while the plague took many of the passengers. The Clerics did what they could, but there was never enough of them or supplies. Finally, his mother managed to pull through. However, she was never as healthy afterwards.

After landing in Mardrun he helped with the long journey to Starkhaven. His now official role in the Militia left him little time to see his mother, though he did so at every available opportunity. As the new colonists settled in, he was given some polish by the senior members of the Militia; namely, how to be a good soldier outside of taking care of himself. He learned unit tactics, strategy, and how to lead and take care of men.

During his first years on Mardrun, the young man did not see much action. He mostly patrolled roads, helped his unit, and served diligently. During that time he was ever the dutiful son, never looking for companionship. This started some rumors within Starkhaven, but most thought it a good mark on his character.

As Basil barely passed into manhood, so did his mother pass from the world. Her funeral was well attended as they were well respected. She was cremated on a funeral pyre; a strange concept in Starkhaven, but was waved away as old habits from the Fall.

The loss of his mother hit him hard. He took up drinking and brawling among the Militia members and townspeople. Repeated punishments from his superiors did not curb his destructive behavior. He also volunteered for duties that might be dangerous, but quickly was denied those as he was more of a danger to his team.

When all else had failed, his superior called in a favor. An Order Cleric was brought in to talk to the young man. Though he listened more respectfully than previously, the words did not sink in. As a last resort (as they did not want to lose the young man due to growing tensions on Mardrun), the Order Cleric challenged him to a trial of combat. Arnath would show him the way.

It went about as well for the young man as expected. Though skilled with arms, the Cleric easily beat the young man. Not one to quit, he kept coming back for more punishment until the Cleric beat him into submission. Taking the wearied young man back to his home, the Cleric and his superior made to visit him the next morning to heal his wounds and speak.

What they found was the young man in good health and decent spirits. Apparently, the fight had shown him back to the path of Arnath. What disturbed the Cleric more was the disappearance of his wounds. Some magic had to be at play. The young man confessed to be able to channel the divine powers as had his mother before him. When they questioned why he had not shown this talent before, the young man simply stated that life had taught him not to reveal all of his skills. Though there were some that had benefited from his and his mother’s skill, they had been sworn to secrecy. After a drumming by both the Cleric and his superior, the young man promised to put his skills to better use.

He did not have to wait long. Tensions flared in Mardrun not soon after. Though he was eager to prove his worth again, his superior often relegated him to more mundane affairs while using other militia members to support the Order. To his great shame and frustration, he was not with the force that went to hunt the Lich in the Dirge Swamp and to this, wonders if he had been there would more of his comrades returned.

The Order did not have the ability to keep him out of the fighting during the Civil War. His unit was deployed to patrol roads, guard convoys, and even support the Order on some missions. It was here he picked up disdain for the Ulven Clan leaders as he lost many friends over what he deemed petty reasons.

With the losses the Order sustained, his unit was slowly pulled back to Starkhaven. He found it much more worn and empty than previously. The corruption and infighting was also a shock to him, and his disgust for it fueled the fire.

One of the few remaining experienced members of the Starkhaven militia, Basil has thrown his efforts into rebuilding the settlements glory. He yearns to get out into the world and may soon have his chance.

The Order of Arnath’s Fist. That’s all I’ve known. Sure, I tried living life outside of it for a while once we were on Mardrun, but that didn’t work like I thought it would.

Like all humans, I was born on Faedrun. I lived within the Order’s borders. My father was a Lion. He fought on our borders, defending from enemies that wanted to see us fall. My mother could weave the divine magics, but studied herbs and healing. She never wanted to trust alone in the healing power of the divine. I tried to study with her, but it never stuck real well. I could only get so far with it. I never felt as passionate about healing like she did, but I always helped her like an obedient daughter should. I felt at peace outside the walls, hunting for food or acting as an escort for my mother and her expeditions to find new herbs. I was never an extremely strong fighter, but I could hold my own and my father knew I would defend my mother until I couldn’t swing a weapon. And even then would use whatever strength in my hands to be sure she could get away. I was always proud that he trusted me with her, but wondered if by letting me be the one to fall instead of her, did he value her life more than mine? I could understand why if so, but never bothered asking. That wasn’t what was important. Protecting her, always being strong when needed and not asking questions was what showed true strength. By the time I reached my teen years, the undead became an overwhelming force and it was apparent we needed to leave Faedrun. My mother would not leave until my father came with so that we all would be together, no matter if that was on this earth or the next. After we got to Mardrun, my dad helped to build the stronghold in Starkhaven. That’s when I began to question whether I should stay or venture on my own. My parents never pushed the Order onto me for a life to live, but they didn’t deny any of it from me either. With a short discussion of not having regrets, I left the Order to search for a life outside of it. That life was much different than I expected. I was proud to have been from the Order, but there were many out there that did not feel the same fondness or gratitude towards it. Ulven whose families were relocated, even some killed. They say the Order only treats those that look just like them well. I would always defend the Order, spreading the word to anyone that would listen that the Order were the defenders of the weak. This got me in many fights. A couple times left beaten to a pulp from groups of Ulven that didn’t feel the same. Less than a year went by before I came back to the Order. I had realized that the Order was in my blood and nothing would make me more proud than if they accepted me into their ranks. Times had been hard for the Order. No support from other human groups, the loss of so many Order members falling in battle. Now rejoined with my family, we all worked with the rest that stayed to keep the Order in as good as shape as we could. I trained when I had time, studied when I was too exhausted from fighting. I petitioned to join the Order. I was first accepted into the Layorder as a Scout. I knew my fighting was not up to Lion standard, but I wasn’t a complete dunce in it and I could read the land and people pretty well. With more vigilant training and dedication, I was accepted into the Eagle ranks. I felt complete. I was home.

SuuNalla Ree

PLAYED BY: Ryan Jopp
CHARACTER NAME: Brother Ventaris
GENDER: Male
CLASS: Cleric
AGE: Presumably 35
RACE: Human
HAIR: Short brown hair with a beard
EYES: Brown
OCCUPATION: Lion of Arnath, Cleric of the Order of Arnath
KNOWN SKILLS: Heavy armored combat, Laborer Skills
BIRTHPLACE: Unknown
APPEARANCE: In combat, he wears the heavy plate, red tabard, and tower shield of the Lions of Arnath. Out of combat, he is usually seen wearing a simple monk’s robe and red tabard.
NOTABLE TRAITS: None that are noteworthy.
RELATIONSHIPS: Strong ties to the Order of Arnath
RUMORS: None
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
I never knew my parents.

Were they rich nobles who cast me away because of a political agenda? Perhaps a bastard son who would spoil a bloodline and instead of drowning me in a creek they instead turned me in? Or perhaps an orphan found on the streets, handed over to give me a place that wouldn’t eventually lead to theft and crime?

Perhaps it was a combination of all three?

Regardless, my life truly began when I was handed over to the Order of Arnath. The war had been raging for decades… the penitent and undead relentlessly pressing on the Kingdoms of Man and Syndar alike. The Order needed fresh troops to keep up their campaign and fight back. It was a glorious cause, but everything is flawed in some way.
I believe I was born in roughly the year 230. Nobody really knows, but I was part of the Youth recruits to the Order. Train, do chores, listen to the clerics. Every day, over and over again. It was much more boring than you would think a highly organized and militaristic religious order gripped in the midst of a nearly half a century long war would be. People came and went, important people, and hushed discussions seem to follow. The May’Kar turned and followed “them”… would the followers of Arnath do the same? At the time I had no idea what they meant. Now I do… and those accusations offend me.

For years I served in the Layorder Youth groups until it was finally time to take the tests to become a member of the Order. I had learned the scriptures, I had done the initial battle testing. I was good too. A few of the other kids learned not to mess with me, that I was quick to bust out a tooth and pummel someone. Lions are taught to wield fury as a weapon and apparently I was good at it. I had decided I was going to be the best Lion and eventually lead a Chapter and then even serve as Hand one day. My youthful arrogance was a detriment but the fact that I did what was needed to be done to advance meant that it fed my ego as well.

It was time for my testing and I had my sights set on becoming a Lion of Arnath. Righteous with fury, unstoppable in battle, our armor turning away the wicked and our zeal burning back the tide of heresy. I believed in it. I lived and breathed in it. I wanted and had to have it. But unfortunately… I did not possess the willpower to have it. Class after class I was recycled back in… my martial skills were ready but I did not possess the divine talents. Each season the Youth around me seemed to get smaller and smaller… my fellow Youth cadets coming in, training, gaining their divine aptitude, and moving on to begin training as a lion. For some reason I was unable to tap into the powers of the divine and to begin the steps of the Lion training, you must become an ordained cleric of the Order of Arnath and possess his magic.

I was angry. I was hurt. I lashed out and screamed at the world and wretched myself to sleep wondering about my purpose and every other angsts-like thing that young people do when faced with looking truly inwards at themselves. I asked Arnath time and time again what he wanted me to do? I asked him to come and save me, to grant my salvation and lift my fears, to come and rescue me? Arnath is selective in his hearing, for my prayers were never answered. As time wore on, I stopped testing for training to become a Lion. I was allowed to help the Order scholars and do other tasks that took me away from the Youth program. It was apparently not my place.

News reached us that a continent had been found… a place they called Mardrun. The war was not going well and even some of the Order fortresses had been lost or nobody had heard from them in quite some time. It seemed like every year the future looked more bleak. For two years I served as a priest…not an ordained Cleric, but just a holy follower of Arnath. I learned the scripture. I truly learned it, not just memorized it to pass the Youth trials. I held sermons for others and talked of Arnath’s great deeds. I helped people. I did what I could with what I had. Sometimes that was combat… for I never abandoned my training and kept my skills sharp, but I never joined the Layorder Militia because I felt that once I began that path I would never return to test as a Lion.

News arrived that the May’Kar Dominion, the great holy traitors to the Kingdoms of Man, had finally been destroyed. Two decades of warfare and their oasis fortress of a capital had finally been defeated. The startling details of the final stages of the war… of the massacre of tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians alike that were murdered for their beliefs. It was enough to wretch the stomach and it took me many years to truly understand why. It was then that a large callout began; a fortress monastery was being built on the new continent of Mardrun. The conflict with the wolf-people was over and refugees were being sent to build a colony and survive. The Order had been preparing to send battle barges across the sea loaded with supplies, to begin a great plan to build a presence on the new land. Soon after the May’Kar Dominion’s fall the undead menace had begun to besiege Aldoria. Reports of the inevitable fall of the Kingdom were talked about all over. It was hard to hold onto the world as I knew it when an inevitable ending seemed near. I began to lose my way a bit, I questioned things and felt my belief slipping.

I had thought about signing up to go to the new continent. They will need laborers and priests there to help with daily activities. One of the battle barges was leaving to go along the coast and eventually go far east to the new continent. Do I stay? Do I leave? What do I do?

That night I prayed for Arnath to guide me, to tell me what to do. I had truly relinquished myself to the inevitability of fate and that I was unable to change my own course. That it was up to Arnath’s plan for us all to take us where we must go.

I prayed the hardest I had ever prayed in my life for what my fate should be… and he answered.

The message was clear. There was no misunderstanding it. No way to misinterpret it.

It simply said three words.

“Forge…

…Your…

…Own.”

And when the core of my being reverberated with the deafening roar of these whispered words in my mind, my hands began to glow in silver light. I wept with joy and now I fully understood. I was ready.

In the morning, I packed my things and volunteered for the voyage to Mardrun. After a long and dangerous voyage at sea where I contemplated my faith, held sermons to still fears, and understand the wisdom of Arnath and his ways of teachings… we finally arrived. The moment I landed on the shores of Mardrun in 253, I signed the papers necessary to prepare for another test to enter the Lions of Arnath.

This time… I knew that things were going to be different.

Played by: Jaime Arreguin
Name: James Arbor
Gender: Male
Age: mid-twenties
Race: Human
Hair: Black
Eyes: brown
Occupation: Traveling mage
Known Skills: Arcane Magic, Meditation, spell return, Lore: Arcane Magic
Birthplace: Vandregon
Appearance: Plain tunic, black pants, boots
Notable Traits: Markings of Eyes on hands, black marks/runes along arms
Bio:
James is a quiet sort of fellow who doesn’t tell much of himself. He helpful and willing to fight for his friends and allies but not reveal much. But if you get close enough to him he might be willing to tell you his story.
James came over to Mardrun quiet young. He had lost his family to the undead upon Faedrun and fled to the coast. Once there he heard of boats heading to a new place, he stowed away on a boat. While on the boat he studies books that belonged to his parents. They were books of magic and how to tap into the mana stream. He practiced tiredly on the trip. By the end of the trip he could access the mana stream by still not produce any spells. Once off the boat, James settled into his new life as one of the refugees. He survived the first few years in New Hope by stealing supplies. Eventually he was caught, but was saved at the last moments by a mage. Seeing the potential in a new student took responsibility of James and took him under his wing. After that James worked during the day to build up New Hope and studied magic at night. It took James many a year of study but he learned much under his master and became the mage he is today.
Now James seeks to better his understanding of magic and learn more of his new home, having never left the safety of New Hope. With his Master’s blessing James has now set forth into the world to begin his adventure.

Brother Orn Ree, Order of Arnath’s Fist

62 years old

Orphaned – joined the order – Received training with the Lions and Eagles

Traveled to Mardrun on the battle barges

Married with 2 children – 1 male, 1 female, both in the Order: 1 Lion, 1 Eagle

When do we start to question our purpose in life? I was content in the Lions until recently. The last 5 years have been hard on Arnath’s Fist. We were always being sent to scout and smash the Enemy. Never questioning why, just going out to slaughter anything not human, and even some humans were eliminated along the way. We stand for right and goodness yet kill anyone or anything we are told to. We have killed by the tens of thousands and have died by the thousands – why? We were taught anything not human had to go – they were our enemy. But these last 13 years have shown me differently. In the Great Civil War with the Ulven, we fought against them and yet we fought with them. When we were left at the Pass, where were our human allies? Where was our food? Weapons? Our relief? Many of the Order died in that pass: for what? As we traveled home to our starving people, where was our help to feed them? Not humans, but Ulven gave us supplies; should we kill them because they are “just Ulven”? No, not anymore. We have suffered greatly from this war. Many dead, battle barges destroyed, the Keep unfinished and the Order in decay. No! No! No! We have to decide what is right and good for us. We need to survive. We need to choose our battles wisely, not just be used by others to hammer the “enemy”. Our “enemy” is the one that helped us to survive through the winter. Some of our leadership is trying to change and I will do everything I can to make that happen. NO more killing everything not human. They have shown us compassion; can we do anything less?

Bartholomew, Cleric and Warrior.

Age: 27

Race: Human

Class: Cleric

“Training to be a blacksmith started when I was young. I wasn’t the strongest, but I had a keen eye and could shape steel well. I was sturdy and quick; I produced many fine weapons and armor pieces. I worked hard like I was supposed to and managed to get bread once in a while to keep myself and my father fed. Word swept fast that the mercenary units deployed at the front needed field smiths for the Ulven civil war effort. They wanted people who could work with little, keep their shields and swords strong, and patch arrow holes in armor. I could do that well enough and figured, ‘Hey, I may just get enough silver to live comfortably for a few months’. I enlisted my services and found myself running the forge for 26 hours at a time. I was only allowed rest when I collapsed from dehydration. The sweltering heat was maddening, but it was work that needed to be done and I was the man to do it. For weeks this went on, moving every few days, a few miles at a time. I saw fields and fields of scarred land from the battles won and lost. Day after day, I hammered away and wove chain link and other assortments of armor. I found myself overhearing the clerics chanting and healing. It granted me solace. I could breathe again; I could keep swinging that blasted hammer. I heard the Syndar clerics, their words soft, treating all they could. I started to pay attention to their words, drinking in deep the philosophy of Lunara. I found it agreeable and, being a previously faithless man, after seeing the miracles they performed on dying and injured soldiers decided to study and receive teachings in my spare time (what little I had). I started to feel a connection to the divine current they drew their power from. I felt tied to Lunara and that faith carried me forward for another year more. On a particularly dreary day, word rolled through the camp of important mercenary soldiers being pushed back.
All men that could hold a sword and walk were summoned to the fight. I had no say in the matter. I was outfitted in simple light armor and given a blunted blade, with no shield to speak of. Our leader was wounded, bandages soaked in bright red frothy blood. He was a dying man. At that point I reached the conclusion that I was assigned to a diversionary force… a suicide mission to assure the rescue of a few important units of mages. I looked around and could see it in the eyes of the injured and sick soldiers and bakers around me. They knew today was the end… I accepted that in my head. I screamed inside while my heart tried to claw its way from my chest. My throat felt cold and my heart continued pounding furiously. We approached the forest line where we were to do battle. I leaned around the man in front of me and I could see them. The Ulven, their teeth sharp, bodies hardy, and eyes fierce. The next gruesome hours were a blur. I remember catching a blade to the collarbone and tumbling down a hill. Lying at the riverbank, I watched as blood flowed down my arm only to follow the sweeping stream as the Ulven waded through the dead to find the injured to put them out of their misery. I lay there clutching at my wound. I knew I only had moments before I was found and ended or I ran out of blood. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the clerics’ words…. my ears were ringing…. the pain started to fade…. it was nice…. I could accept this…. and just before I could let it all go, I felt a tug at my leg. I snapped awake and a tall, slender figure was pulling me from my would-be grave. I glanced up the hill I so graciously tumbled down to find that the Ulven only watched as this man dragged me away. I was saved. “I see great potential in you. Your talents could be better employed somewhere not completely bloody stupid…” said the tall man. “My name is Vazra, I feel we should be fast friends.”
Since then, I have been drifting about and only recently have I decided to find out what kind of shenanigans Vazra has found himself in this time.”