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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.”

PLAYED BY: Violet Carpenter
CHARACTER NAME: Quille Nightflower
GENDER: Female
CLASS: Rogue
AGE: 26
RACE: Human
HAIR: Blond
EYES: Blue
OCCUPATION: Traveling merchant and herbalist.
KNOWN SKILLS: Quille is a skilled forager and trader.
BIRTHPLACE: On the road in Faedrun.
APPEARANCE: Wears comfortable clothing.
RELATIONSHIPS: Quille maintained close relationships with several of her missing caravan mates, including her parents and her partner Caster.
RUMORS: “Seems lost…” “Were you just in my stuff?”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: While though she was born in Faedrun, she does not remember it. She was born on the road while the undead rampaged the lands and spent her first year either on the road or in a boat. Once she got to Mardrun, her family were able to get by with just enough to support themselves and have some niceties.

Quille was a traveling Soujourner and part of a small caravan which delivered supplies during the war. One evening, the group was set upon by Grimward raiders. During the attack, she was separated from her companions and has been searching for them ever since.

Currently, she is living on the fringes of society just trying to survive and get back to her people. She is also looking for a reliable group of people to work with while she is on her own. She is a merchant, so finding a group where she can peddle her goods and find trade connections is also important to her.

She is wary, slow to trust, but loyal. She is also nosy and curious.

Name: Ethan Cox
Character name: Ivan Axel
Gender: Male
Class: Warrior
Age: 17
Race: Human
Hair: Brownish black
Eyes: Blue
Occupation: Mercenary/Freelancer
Known Skills: First aid, throw, duel wielding, armor proficiency, and improved armor proficiency
Birth place: The small Aldorian port town of Cool Water
Notable traits: Eager, arrogant, looks for fame, riches, and adventure. Cares little about where he goes and even less who he’s with. All he’s truly interested in is money and fame.
Appearance: Large, stocky, tough, and big.
Relationships: Knows most of the Rangers and most of the people within Crows Landing.
Rumors: None (As of yet.)

Bio:
Eon is Ivan’s father; Ivan’s mother was left back on Faedrun due to the lack of room on the ships.
Eon, “Hmmm. I hear there’s a civil war going on between the Ulven and there’s a Syndar leading Mordok up north.”
Ivan, “It sounds like a fun time had by all.”
Eon, “If I were 18 years younger, I’d head right to the front lines. I might just come out with something when all is said and done.”
Ivan, “No shit?”
Eon, “Fame, power, riches, and maybe some stories for some of those future children of yours.”
Ivan, “Going on about that future shit again are you father; but that does sound like a good deal.”
Eon, “Hey, I hear the Rangers are looking to build an army here in Crows Landing. I wonder if they have any room for someone like you within their ranks.”
Ivan, “Are you saying that I’m a problem?”
Eon, “No. But do you remember what your mother used to say?”
Ivan, “Hmm?”
Eon, “Boy, is your head made of iron….”
Ivan, “And your brains out of lead or what? Yes father, I remember.”
Eon, “Good. At least I know that not all of your brains are made of lead.”
Ivan, “Ha. Now let’s get back to work. We don’t have all year you know.”
Eon, “You know, our family has had a long history of soldiers and warriors.”
Ivan, “I know, but isn’t that how you lost your leg in the first place? Fighting in the front lines; killing penitent?”
Eon, “Yes, and what fun that was. In the few battles we did win; my fellow soldiers and I would just bathe in the spoils of war. Enemy armor, weapons, loot, and from time to time, silver. It was a gold mine.”
Ivan, “Yes, but you still lost your leg!”
Eon, “Yes, but if I hadn’t lost my leg when I did, I would have never met your mother.”
Ivan, “I know, but still…”
Eon, “If you’re not going to join the Rangers for our family honor then do it for your friends here at Crows Landing. Do it for money, fame, and the possibility of power.”
Ivan, “Humph. Fine, I’ll enlist.”
Eon, “That’s my boy. It’ll be fun, trust me.”
Ivan, “You know you’re going to be the death of me someday.”
Eon, “I Know.”
Ivan, “Come on. Let’s finish up with this house. It isn’t going to build itself you know.”

Played by: Ian Loebl

Contact Information: imloebl@gmail.com

Character Name: Al Mafajjar

Full Name: Nasih Al-Dawla Anwar Ibn Hilal Al Mafajjar Al Saresh

Gender: Male

Class: Mage

Age: 34

Race: Human, May’Kar

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Grey-Blue-Green

Occupation: Researcher and Adviser

Known Skills: Magic & Lore

Birthplace: Saresh, in the May’Kar Dominion

Appearance: Wears a long black coat and a strange red-lined mask, as well as a gold headdress. Usually in close proximity to Al Haddad

Notable Traits: Reserved, but is easily amused. He loathes mere mention of the Cult of Anguish or Penitent, but does wish to understand the strange magic that they used. Devoted to Serai and the May’Kar, and ready to stand up for their best interests.

Relationships: Member of Boş Mezar, and Citizen of Serai. He is a nephew of Abdul Qahhar Husam al Din.

Bio:

“Follow not thine uncle’s folly” These are the first words that I remember my father saying. The scene is preserved in my mind as though it happened yesterday, though in truth it occurred over 30 years ago. We were standing in Saresh, beneath one of the great minarets. A priest was crying morning prayers from the top, and a crowd was slowly gathering to listen. On the steps under where the prayers flew down on the wind, my father stopped and knelt down in front of me. He had a gravely serious expression on his face. From within the robe that he was wearing, he produced a strange mask that I had never seen before. It was white and covered half the face, just as his did. However, it was covered in tiny black cracks, and, of greater note, it had red lines under its eye and on its forehead. I asked my father what it was, and he told me a little of its twisted history. Evidently, it had been created for my uncle to wear in order to cover the facial deformity common to men of our family, conveniently not possessed by me. It started on a noble path, but fell to a dark one when my uncle became a part of the Cult of Anguish. There my father stopped telling me anything, and when I asked him about where he had obtained the mask, he would not answer. All he told me afterwards were those five words, which I remember to this day. After this rather strange event, my childhood was spent in Saresh, exploring and learning. I loved the city. It was a paradise on earth, and I would never have given it up for any reason. The great oasis was one of the wonders of the world, and it pained me in a horrible way to leave it. However, one must do what one must. When great troubles arose in the Dominion, my family and I left Saresh when we could, and went to the northern forests of Vandregon to hide from persecution. It was there that we eventually met Al Haddad and his group. We linked with them on their journey, and came to the new continent of Mardrun alongside them. When Serai was established, my parents threw themselves into the work and played a role in aiding the process along. I also worked very hard to create a new home for the May’Kar on Faedrun. It was what I started living for. When I was invited to become one of the Citizens that help to shape the policy followed by Serai, I was filled with pride. It is now my great duty to aid Al Haddad and the other Citizens in the governing of Serai, and the actions taken by the Boş Mezar. Through this, I pray that this mask comes to represent the work of Al Mafajjar, and not the dishonor of Abdul Qahhar…

Played by: Arron Singkofer

Name: Akyr

Gender: Male

Age: 22

Race: Human

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Occupation: Things and such

Known Skills: First Aid

Birthplace: Faedrun

Appearance: Average Height, Pudgy

Notable Traits: None

Bio: I don’t exactly remember what happened to my family on Faedrun. I know my father, mother, and I made it out. I apparently might still have an older brother, along with a sister. Haven’t seen them in years.

I remember being sick a lot on the boat.

The first few years on the boat were “learning” experiences for me. I had to watch my mother stitch up my father more than she’s had to re-stitch my pants. When New Hope had settled, my mother found she had a knack for helping people stop hurting. My father, on the other hand, got into the tavern business and encouraged a couple of fights here and there. I got to practice my own stitching skills on the drunks after my mother taught me. After a bit, my father tried to branch out into underground things. Mostly getting some small time rumors, maybe a job to give out.

I didn’t find out the whole “underground” side of things until I started to work more heavily at the tavern. My father became ill for around a year so my mother would have me either taking care of my father while she worked at the tavern or had me work it while she took care of my father. When my father recovered, we’d both be working all day, though I’d spend half my day with my mother and the other half with my father.

I don’t live in New Hope anymore, I moved to New Aldoria. I took a job from my father to help with some caravan work. I only did a few trips with them; learned how to patch someone up quick and temporarily. I met quite a strange couple of people. I learned a lot from an old man and his grandson while I was in the caravan. I think the grandson’s name started with a B. I can’t recall it for the life of me, and I’m kind of glad I can’t. The old man was mild tempered but the young man was always angry. He was large and bear-like. But I talked to the injured mostly.

As of now I’m looking for some new faces to call friends, and to yell at when they get injured.

Mostly yell at when they get injured.

PLAYED BY: Hawk McClurg

CHARACTER NAME: Lucy Griffendail

GENDER: Female

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 22

RACE: Half human/Syndar

HAIR: Blonde

EYES: Blue

KNOWN SKILLS: Arcane Mage

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Short in stature, broad shoulders, mostly wears green, muscular.

RELATIONSHIPS: Granddaughter of Vazra

Bio:

When I was a young girl my father would tell me great tales of my grandfather, “The man who traveled through time and space”. He was a grand mage looked up to by some and resented by many. A fond wizard of sorts really.

My father once told me the story as to how I was born. My mother went into labor much too early and was in great pain. My father said the amount of pain he witnessed his beloved wife and mother of his first unborn child go through made him nearly go mad with panic. He didn’t know what to do. The only thing he did know was that his mother would know what to do. He told me he went on a short journey into the dark forest to find her. You see, my grandmother was what you would call a hermit of sorts. She stayed in the woods for the most part, according to my father, never really venturing into the town. Some of the town’s folk were afraid of her but not my brave father. After he had drug my grandmother out of the house and out of the woods, he had to let her be alone with my mother. Unfortunately, after she did all she could, my mother died during childbirth. My grandmother held me and wept. This saddened my father, delving him into a depression that he couldn’t seem to shake. My mother had died and all he had was me and my grandmother.

Throughout my youth as I grew older, I could see the sadness my father held on his shoulders. He would occasionally go speak with grandmother, but told me I could never meet her. I never understood why and when I would ask, my father would always answer vaguely.

I remember the day my father disappeared though… My father left the house at the normal time that he did every other week on Wednesday afternoon for the market. It was mid fall, winter slowly making its way, but the sun still made its way to the earth with its motherly warmth. Then night fell and my father still had not come home. Being 6 years old, I didn’t know what to do so I panicked and left the house to search for him. It being nearly dark, I quickly realized that it was a bad idea to leave. I had nobody to help me look for my father either. First, I ventured into the village asking anyone I saw if they’d seen my father but nobody could say they had. I remembered my father talking about my grandmother sometimes. He had said she lived in the forest somewhere but it would take forever for me to find her house. It was the only option though because I needed my father. He was all I had. He was my teacher, my friend, and my father. So I had to get over my fear and go into the woods. I searched for a little shack till dawn break. Exhausted and hungry, I sat down at the base of a mighty oak.

That’s when I saw it. Deep into the forest between the trees, I swore I saw a roof reflecting the blue of the morning. I got up and started to run a shambling, tripping run, but I ran none the less. I tripped about half way there and fell, slicing my knees open on a big jagged rock buried in the dirt. I got up, tears filling my eyes, blood running down my legs, and dirt all over my pretty dress and hands. Walking up to the old shack, I saw candle light through a crack so when I got up to the door I tried to push it open but it was locked. I knocked… Nothing. I yelled… Nothing. I banged as hard as a six year old girl could smash her fists on a door. Giving up in the middle of the woods, the early rays of morning shining through the trees, I started to cry, sliding down the door panel. There is where I fell asleep…

Until I got woken up by falling inside the shack, looking up at a grizzly old woman. She looked at me like I had just fallen into her house or something. She asked what I was doing, I asked frantically where my dad was, she asked what I was doing, and I asked if she’d seen my father. Finally she looked at me, grabbed my shoulders and whispered in my ear that my father was dead. I slapped her right across the face, being feisty and six, not having that as an answer. I screamed where is he?! She grabbed me and brought me into her shack.

“First off. Why are you even here? These are awfully dangerous woods for a little girl. You must’ve walked all night.”

I replied, “I’m not afraid of anything. I want my father and I’m willing to do anything till I find him. I want to know if you saw him since yesterday.”

She looked at me with a somber look, turned around quietly and grabbed a letter on her table, handing it to me. “Read this.” I looked at her and blinked. “I can’t read.” Dumbfounded, she looked at me and said, “For goodness sake girl, your father didn’t teach you to read?” I replied, “I’m six.” Exasperated, she sighed at me. “Fine. Fine. I’ll read it to you.”

She unfolds it and proceeds to read:

I had to leave you Lucy. I know you’re my only daughter. I know I’m all you have but I see a great future in you. You’re beautiful, strong, and one day you will be powerful. I left because I will weigh you down with my sadness. I don’t want you to resent me, or hate me, but I know you will. There is one thing I must ask of you. I see in you the ability to follow in the footsteps of your grandfather, Vazra. Our family has long held that he did not fall in his fight with the Death Knight. I have personally heard accounts of a bright flash of blue light surrounding both of them as Vazra alone vanished from the field. If there was anyone who could have survived such a thing, it would have been Vazra. If you work hard at expanding your mind, you may be able to reach some of the great peaks of power Vazra tread on before he left us. You may be able to discover his fate… My mother, your grandmother Sheila, will help you. Do not shy away from her. She is an odd woman, frightening even, but listen to your grandmother. She will teach you and help prepare you for this quest. She will tell you when you are ready. You must be steadfast and smart. Never forget that I love you Lucy. You will not understand why I left you now, but one day you will.

I angrily wrinkled up the letter and threw it at the door. I started to uncontrollably sob, curling up on the floor. Sheila picked me up off the floor, stood me up and glared at me. “I didn’t necessarily agree to be a babysitter but your father asked me and I promised I’d raise you. Now stop crying and toughen up. You’re not going to get anywhere on the floor crying, you’re not a baby.”

Jumping forward seven years, I’m thirteen and grew up in the woods with my grandmother. I can, however, read fluently which is glorious. I found I love reading. I have my things packed for the quest I am about to go on. My grandmother tried to teach me how to wield a sword. Let me tell you, that woman does not do well as a teacher. But I took in her lessons nonetheless. She got mad at me once in a while, not that I didn’t deserve it most of the time, but I took it like an adult. Life is hard with a crazy woman, but here I am strong, smart, and most of all ready. I do not hate my father. He did what he did out of care, not spite or anger, and I still love him and know he’s watching over me.

My grandmother told me of the fond, secretive love between her and Vazra. Vazra vanished before my father was born. Oddly, she didn’t hate Vazra. She was just saddened by him, but loved my father anyways, in an odd, standoffish kind of way, but still love.

One day mid training my grandmother suddenly stiffened and informed me that we were taking a trip to the coast and that I should bring everything that I found valuable. While I found this odd, I packed my few prized possessions and followed her down the road. After a few days travel we came to a port city and my grandmother marched us straight to the docks. Once there she found a man selling passage on a ship to Mardrun and passed him a small bracelet I had never seen before. He looked at it dismissively until she placed it in his hand and it suddenly shone with mana. “This will do.” is all he said, then he pointed to the ship. My grandmother started shoving me towards the ship despite my protests as her plan dawned on me. “I need to find out what happened to Vazra.” I shouted. She slapped me across the face and forcefully whispered into my ear. “Things have changed on Faedrun, it has become a place of death. You won’t be able to find out what happened if you are dead. The time to search for his fate on Faedrun has passed. If you have any chance to find out what happened, it must be in the New World.” With that, my strength left me and I allowed myself to be lead to the gangway. Good bye Aldoria, let my search begin.