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PLAYED BY: James Sampers

CHARACTER NAME: Jadd Hatchen

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 25

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Raised and trained to be a blacksmith.

KNOWN SKILLS: A skilled and well trained blacksmith who is willing to repair both everyday items as well as armor and weapons.

BIRTHPLACE: Born in Aldoria.

APPEARANCE: Average height and weight, plain to look at.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Nothing of note.

RELATIONSHIPS: None, seeking to restart after the loss of his family.

RUMORS: “He’s lived a hard life, but his work is good.” “A man of his word, because that’s all he has.”
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Jadd was born 10 years prior to the trip across the sea to the new lands. His father was a good blacksmith as his father before him. His mother helped to brew some of the local ales and other alcoholic beverages sought out at the local inns and bars. But this did not last. The war against the undead came and Jadd’s mother died. He and his father sold all their possessions and booked passage on ship to the new world. Following that hard trip, Jadd and his father setup a small business as a blacksmith for a time in New Aldoria. Once they had enough money, his father had plans to move elsewhere to establish himself in a new settlement. They went north towards Starkhaven and ended up settling near Daven’s Reach. Soon after this, his father succumbed to sickness and died that winter.
Jadd took over the smithy and eventually married. He had both a son and a daughter. Then during the Ulven Civil war, Starkhaven requested help with an expedition to secure a pass in the Wolf’s Hackles Mountains. Jadd agreed to go and left his family and smithy. The expedition was assisted by Clan Nightriver. The way was difficult and the expedition ultimately failed. Upon their return, Jadd found that Clan Grimward had raided his smaller village while he was away. His entire family (and the village) was killed in that raid.
Jadd is now on his own with no ties. After burying his family and his sorrows, he has decided to go further east, away from Clan Grimward. Perhaps he may yet help out another settlement now that a truce has been worked out.

Name: Marcus Clearbrook
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Born: 240 in northern Aldoria forests near a farming village called Arkus

Proficiencies:
-knowledgeable in forest survival
-adept at gardening
-hardworking
-knows how to read and write
-knows way around a farm
-has decent relationship with Ulven
Occupation: Hunter/woodsman…. looking to possibly be trained as a guard

Marcus sat in the tavern looking out the window at New Hope. The sun shone brightly, melting snow from the previous winter, bringing hopes of an early spring. Which everyone would love to get the crops planted as soon as possible in hopes of a bountiful crop. Finishing his dark ale, he turned back to ask the innkeeper for another tankard of this bitter, but pleasing brew. Marcus felt good. He and Brodin made it to New Hope without further issue after nearly dying outside the Hidden Gem inn. Thanks to Fritha and her ulven companions for saving their lives.
Since he and Brodin made it to New Hope, it has been a flutter of activity. Well mostly for Brodin. With him completing his task for the Pheonix and now has set up a small stall with his silver smithing shop to make some coin during their stay. Marcus, well he has helped out with some tedious paperwork for the Phoenix, went hunting a couple times and a few fishing excursions. But mostly it seems like he just goes from tavern to tavern, sampling beers and learning what gossip or information that he can. A great many people suggest groups that he can join up with to find direction and purpose. One shady individual with an affinity for whiskey suggested that a pirate group might be interested. Ha, the notion Marcus Clearbrook being a pirate. The notion felt so absurd that Marcus noticeably chuckled out loud.
At the other end of the small tavern sat a man with a shiny dented breastplate that reflected light, which shone through a nearby window. “Is something funny, Sir?” he asked pointedly. Marcus turned to face the man and sized him up briefly. The man was of a large build similar to himself, short cropped beard and an assortment of scars that patched his face. This wasn’t a man to fool with, Marcus thought, I’m sure that whatever caused those scars didn’t live very long to tell the tale. “Nothing at all, just happy for the prospect of an early spring. Care for a tankard of this interesting dark ale?” Marcus asked kindly. “Aye, I have tried the innkeepers brew before, but this is definitely his best batch.”
Marcus retrieved another tankard for the stranger and went to join him at his small round table. As he sat down he sized him up even more. This man had a very odd assortment of clothing, Bright red and black clothes with all different patterns, and his helm was decorated with multiple red feathers. Marcus thought it was odd, but he wasn’t about to point it out to this gentleman.
“Where are you from?” The stranger said.
“New Aldoria recently, Aldoria before coming to Mardun.” Marcus said.
“Oh really? How did you end up here?” He asked before Marcus could ask his own question.
“That is a pretty long and drawn out story. It would take us deep into the night.” Marcus stated matter of a fact.
“I will take the abbreviated version if you have one. I have to check up on my troops in a little while.” He said glancing outside
“Well, I was born in little farming community called Arkos. My mother taught me to read and write, and keep a garden. My father taught me to hunt and hold many of the morals and standards that I have today. My family was killed by the undead advancement into Aldoria, when I was 10 or 11, I can’t remember. I narrowly escaped with my life. Caught a boat bound to Mardrun, settled in New Aldoria for the next 10 or so years. That is where I learned how to inventory cargo and keep a tight schedule. I developed a love of beer and a hate of many greedy and selfish people. I also honed my skills for skinning and butchering for an elderly tanner. Eventually, I was forced to leave, because of corrupt guards and people who didn’t stand up for me after I helped them out more than I should have. I fled toward New Hope during this last winter, which wasn’t easy. I saved a now current friend of mine from a group of bandits. We nearly died in last month’s horrendous blizzard, but we were narrowly saved by a band of Ulven. Which makes me really appreciate them all the more. After that…. experience. We made our way here, where he has traveled for the Phoenix, for now. Me, I am still looking for my calling.” Marcus said as he looked thoughtfully in his dark beer, no reflection or words of wisdom in the cold brew.
The flamboyantly clad stranger looked at Marcus sternly. “Have you killed a man?” He asked without feeling.
“Yes, to save those I thought needed help. I don’t kill for pleasure, or because they have something I want. I am of a mind to work hard for whatever I want.” Marcus said with passion.
“And what do you want?” He asked while looking at Marcus with intense blue eyes.
Marcus looked out the window to see a man hauling wood in a hand cart, a couple small kids happy to be outside without fear of being horribly cold or getting sick. Then he met the stranger’s gaze. “I want to help people that can’t help themselves. I want to make this place a better place for Ulven, Syndar, and Human alike. I don’t have much money and don’t have a lot of training in a trade. I would rather know a lot of things do them fairly well, than to be an expert at one thing. I want to help, like I have been given help. I want direction without someone taking advantage of me.” Marcus broke the man gaze and thought that either this is a very strong brew or it has been a very odd couple of months. He never used to be this open with strangers.
The stranger looked at him and then outside. He finished his tankard with one long chug and got up. “I must be off; I thank you for the great brew and the abbreviated tale. I must get going to review my troops, I will see you tomorrow.” The stranger turned to leave, his rapier clanging the chair as he turned. This sudden statement left Marcus flabbergasted and wanting.
“Wait! What do you mean that you will see me tomorrow? And as a matter of fact, where? Marcus said excitedly and confused.
The stranger turned. “Oh didn’t I tell you? Silly of me. I am going to train you to fight; I have need of people like you. We will be leaving in the morning. Be there at dawn and we will draw up papers of your enlistment. And if you do not show, then I will assume that you decided to enjoy your life as a futureless drifter in a land that is neither his and becoming more inhospitable by the season. Now is the time for you to learn how to fight, so you can be either a valuable asset or a worthy challenge in the shaping of Mardrun. Good day” The gaily dressed warrior, opened the door, donned his flamboyant helm, and strutted down the street.
Marcus watched him leave, drained his tankard, got up and walked to the thin innkeeper whipping down a wine goblet.
“I will take another tankard of this fine brew, and then I must be off. I must tell my friend that it is time for our adventure to continue!”

Played By: Keith Duckman

Character Name: Sarmion

Gender: Male

Class: Cleric

Age: 25

Race: Human

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Occupation: Wandering cleric

Known skills: He received standard training with weapons and armor under the Order, though they have mostly fallen into disuse. Low level divine magic ability, along with knowledge of how it is used at higher levels, was picked up during his Order days. His Lion training taught him the basics of battlefield tactics to prepare him for battle against the Undead.

Appearance: A tall man, over six feet, with a muscular but not bulky build, Sarmion carries himself like a warrior. Brown hair is cut short then allowed to grow until it becomes bothersome, before being cut short again, resulting in hair length varying throughout the months. His blue eyes are restless, constantly flitting about, missing little. While his bearing may be that of a warrior, his garb is not. He is usually clad in simple boots, pants and a tunic, with a simple hooded cloak over all of it. A walking stick is typically carried rather than a sword, and he rarely finds himself armored.

Relationships: As Sarmion has been wandering about the human settlements since his arrival on Mardrun, he has formed no strong connections with anyone, though he hasn’t made any enemies, either. The few that bother to remember his name probably only know him as the wandering cleric that was kicked out of the Order of Arnath.

Rumors: While most don’t bother themselves with talk of the wandering cleric, they occasionally speculate on the truth of why, exactly, he was expelled from the Order of Arnath, despite him making no secret of the story.

Bio/Background History: Sarmion was born in the year 239 in a small village in the foothills of the Celestial Mountains, not far from the High Fortress of the Order of Arnath. At a young age he showed what his parents believed to be an aptitude for divine magic, and so they promptly gave him to the Order. Sarmion was trained no different from any other, taught to be a warrior and to defend the weak. In time, he proved his parents right, for after several years with the Order and much study he did indeed develop a small knack for the divine.

He was quickly made a Lion, which should have led him to greatness, or at least the possibility to rise above his humble beginnings, but instead turned out to lead to his great shame. In the year 259, he and the rest of his squad were on the march to reinforce the Order against the hordes of Undead when they came upon what their commander assumed was a group of bandits. He quickly gave the order for the supposed bandits to be dispatched, and Sarmion did the unthinkable: he refused the order on the grounds that the men had not committed any crime that they knew of. When Sarmion turned and walked away from the commander, his commander flew into a rage and ordered Sarmion shackled and brought back to the High Fortress to be tried as a deserter.

The ensuing trial was over quickly; Sarmion’s entire squad saw him walking away from the commander, and that was enough for the judges to condemn him. Stripped of arms and armor and branded, Sarmion was cast out from the Order. Sarmion’s faith in Arnath was severely shaken; he found the idea that his religious leaders would condemn his refusal to attack men they stumbled across deeply troubling. Rather than stay in a land that he believed would rather have him serve as an unthinking soldier than a shield for the weak, Sarmion sought passage to the continent of Mardrun, where he has been ever since, a cleric in search of a god.

Played By: Ian Loebl

Character Name: Lord Suroth Dōro

NOTE: This name is written with the surname preceding the first name.

Gender: Male

Class: Warrior

Age: 23

Race: Naran Human

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Gray

Occupation: Head of House Suroth

Known Skills: Wields a warhammer, and is extremely intelligent in matters of governance

Birthplace: The island of the Narans

Appearance: Tall, and wearing robes or rarely armor. Rarely shows emotion except in certain cases.

Notable Traits: Has an accent, and is very devoted to honor and to contracts.

Relationships: Travels with the monk Kyoshin Shi, and the priestess Lapis Rae

Rumors: That when loosed, his temper is enough to level mountains.

Bio:

My story begins in my grandfather’s time, when the Nara Pentare were a strong people. Isolated within our mountains, we lived our lives with honor and dignity. At least, so I am told. That all came to an end when Nara was attacked by the undead. They fought, without honor, and killed many of us, raising them from the dead to join them. We might not have survived. But, so my father said, our leaders were wise, and had constructed a fleet of ships, which carried some of our people away, my grandfather and my infant father among them. They sailed for quite a time, eventually finding land, and settling down. There, we began to rebuild. On that land, my grandfather died, and my father became the head of our House, eventually creating me, his son and heir. My childhood was full of learning, about war, and about our culture and history, rich and full of honor. I could have learned the sword, but I chose to honor an old tradition of our family, and I learned the warhammer instead. On Faedrun, our small but prosperous lands were known for their smiths and small metalwork. As a consequence, generations of we who ruled honored the smiths by using hammers. When I turned twenty, my studies and practice were brought to an abrupt end when my father died, and I took leadership of our house’s establishment on Mardrun. The next few years were filled with administration and papers, but one day, an interesting piece of news came to us. Evidently, there were Narans on the mainland of Mardrun, among the Colonies. This caused a stir, and debate began at our highest levels as to what to do about it. It was eventually [[#|decided]] that they should be tested, to see if they had kept to our ways, or if the outlanders had corrupted them with their undesirable influences. Those corrupted would be cleansed, to [[#|ensure]] that the Naran people would remain pure and uncorrupted. I was selected to accompany the monk Kyoshin Shi and the priestess Lapis Rae on their expedition to do so. As we arrived, we discovered that, as was wont to happen, the foolish outlanders had gotten [[#|involved]] in a war, and Mardrun was gripped by chaos. This made our task even more difficult, but no less vital. A failure will not be tolerated. To cleanse the Naran people is a great and honorable duty, and I embrace it, no matter what the cost will be.

Name: Nikiri Umbra
Player: Aaron Pfeffer
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Occupation: Mercenary
Religion: Unknown (seems to hear a voice in his head)

Bio: It’s a stormy night as a soldier runs through a small remote town, the sounds of battle in the distance. He runs up a set of stairs, throws open the door and sees a man leaning over a table with a helmet, a spear and a shield next to him. He quickly walks over and says, “Commander Nikiri, the men are barely holding the Undead at the gate.” The man looks over his shoulder at the soldier and says, “What about the town’s people? Have they been put on the boats?” The soldier replies, “Yes Sir, they’re just waiting on us.” Commander Nikiri, “Hmm, good. Get to the boat. I will go to the gate and have the men fall back.” Soldier, “Yes Sir.” As the soldier runs out of the building, the commander puts his helmet on, picks up his spear and shield, takes one last looks around the room, then walks out into the rain.

Commander Nikiri Umbra is the Commander of the town guard of a small Vandregonian town named Valdell. The people of the town always greet and treat him with kindness. He is a strong willed man who has made the oath he took when he joined the guard the focus of his life. To guard and protect the people of the town and people who are in need. To do right wherever he can. He was raised to treat people with respect and honor, but he hates the dishonorable. Those that would take advantage of the weak. He only tells his name to the people that have truly earned his trust and respect. As a result of his personality, he rose quickly through the ranks of the town guard and became the youngest commander the small town has had.

As Commander Nikiri runs up onto the gate, he sees the men manning the watch towers firing arrows down into the undead ranks. Men on the ground are bracing against the gate, doing their best to hold it shut. One of the soldiers notices Commander Nikiri and shouts “Commander, they will break through any moment now.” The Commander shouts back, “Everyone pull back and board the ships. Move it!” All the soldiers shout “Yes Sir!” and start running back to the docks.

Just as they reach the street to the docks, the gate breaks open and Undead start to pour through. A soldier shouts, “Oh crap. They broke through!” Commander Nikiri shouts back, “Double time to the boats people!” Right as he turns to start running, something hits him in the back of the head and he falls to the ground. He hears a soldier shout, “Commander! Come on guys pick him up. We need to get him to the ship.” He feels them start to pick him up then he blacks out.

He starts to hear noises and feels like he’s rocking. He manages to open his eyes and sees he’s in the hold of a ship that appears to be getting thrown around by waves. He hears wood crack and someone shouting for a bucket, then blacks out again. He awakes again but this time he’s lying on a beach. As he gets up, he sees wreckage all around him. He looks inland and says to himself, “These are not the shores of the mainland.” He starts walking down the beach in search of supplies and equipment. He manages to find a spear and shield but nothing else. He decides to head inland to see if he can find some food or maybe a town.

Over time he manages to find food and a town, but he has never seen these people before. He manages to get some supplies. He couldn’t get any information from the colonists since he felt like they didn’t want him there, so once he got his supplies he left town and started wandering. Through his travels, he gathers plants to make food with and eventually he was able to make more than he needs. He now sells the extra food he makes and hires out as a short time mercenary for some extra money. He keeps wandering and exploring this land that he has washed up on in peace, occasionally stopping to talk to someone that isn’t there.

He hasn’t found any trace of his people that came with him from Valdell. How could they all have disappeared? What are the odds that he would be the only survivor when he wasn’t even conscious when the boat wrecked? During his wanderings, he always keeps a sharp eye for a familiar face and is determined to find out what happened to his people.

Yet it seems he cannot escape war. In his travels he has heard whispers of battles and a growing war and he feels that he will be swept up in it at some point. If he is forced to join in the battle, he would join with the side that is in need, but also honorable and just.

Played By: Lisa Mork
Character Name: Umm Haidar
Full Name: Umm Haidar Atifa Bint Baqi Al Mo’alej Al Saresh
Translation: Mother of Hadir, Atifa, Daughter of Faraj, the healer, of Saresh
HAIDAR حيدر m Arabic
Means “lion” in Arabic
ATIFA عاطفه f Arabic
Feminine form of ATIF Means “affection, kindness” in Arabic.
BAQI باقي m Arabic
Means “eternal” in Arabic. This was the pen name of a 16th-century Turkish poet.
Race: Human
Class: Cleric
Occupation: Mercenary healer
Notable Traits:
Dislikes Penitent
Religious Zealot (of Mahsai)
Strongly believes in the sanctity of life
Dislikes fighting
Willing to heal all

Backstory: What are you searching for? Have you ever really thought about it? You have spent your whole life chasing experience. Why? You can use the experience you gain to better yourself if you try, but is that your goal? Are you merely trying to amass skill, wealth, and power? Like some sort of parasite, competing with the rest of your kind to see who can be the fattest, while your host languishes under the combined weight of you and your ilk.

I know my answer. Peace. Not the peace of nations, or two people settling a feud. I care nothing for the pains of others. Inner peace is my aim. The peace of balance, of stillness, that lets your living mind feel the silence of the grave. I am no tick to take the life blood of those around me for my own uses. I must make my own spiritual sustenance, for I will be eternal.

I remember when our King rose again. I recall the terror when he ordered the gates opened, and the confusion when we were not killed. The Penitent walked through the city as if they were on parade, they looked so proud. I still sometimes wonder if they thought they had conquered us. The undead merely walked. Corpses (even walking ones) have no need for pride although it could just be that they knew the truth. I was still a girl when the gates were opened, but I had lived my whole life trying to conquer my fear of the undead and their followers. When I was suddenly confronted with the reality of living side by side with my nightmares and the worst did not come to pass, I was forced to look at the “enemy” in a new light.

The Undead were not what I expected. They were gruesome, sure, but they just didn’t do very much. Most of the time they were just still. I was surprised to learn that despite their formidable power and martial prowess they are actually quite fragile. Most of the times that I did see them moving they were engaged in activities to preserve their bodies. The Undead with flesh did things like stitching together cuts and oiling their skin like I would care for leather armor. Those without would pad their joints with leather to prevent the bones from wearing. They seemed particularly concerned with preventing rot, I imagine they found the dry desert air of Saresh comforting.

It turned out that the real monsters were the Penitent. I am not sure if they felt entitled, were stupid, or had just never spent time in civilization. Within the May’Kar Dominion, everything has a price and nothing is free. I remember on that first day when the gates were open, seeing a group Penitent arguing with an innkeeper about having to pay for a room. One of them became so enraged at the idea of having to pay, they struck the innkeeper. A passing lesser Undead shambled over, and the group of Penitent started to grin. I suspect that they thought they were about to see a show, it turned out that they were right. The lesser Undead grabbed the hand that had hit the innkeeper, pulled it and the arm from the Penitent and beat him with his own arm till he stopped moving. Then it just walked away as if it had been window shopping and decided the price was too high on the item it was looking at. I had thought that the lesson was clear, that violence against the May’Kar would not be tolerated. I was wrong. The next morning the innkeeper was found on the spot the Penitent had fallen, her body parts had been “cleverly” rearranged to form the distinctive teardrops that the Penitent had tattooed on their cheeks. The real lesson was that violence against the May’Kar would not be seen… I knew many people who tried to leave Saresh for the villages or even the other nations, but every time someone would try to leave there would be “tears” on the road when the gates were opened in the morning. While we were no longer under siege from without, the siege from within was much worse.

It wasn’t long before the Vandregonians came and it was not just us that were trapped within the walls of Saresh. The Penitent numbers quickly dwindled since they seemed to prefer fighting the Vandregonians head on to letting the desert do the fighting for them. Perhaps they were bored. Perhaps they had something to prove. Perhaps they just didn’t understand the patience required to weather a siege. I was almost happy. The Vandregonians laid siege to Saresh for 17 years before they finally broke us as a people. I don’t know how they broke our walls. My husband and I had found a way out of the city before it fell, but that isn’t the part that matters anyways. What matters is what the barbarians did once we were defeated. They lined my people up and asked them if they would fight to stop the Penitent and their undead gods. As if they didn’t know that we follow Mashi… I wonder if they phrased the question that way on purpose. I could almost overlook the genocide, if it weren’t for Saresh itself. You would think that it would be enough to destroy our people and scatter us, but no. They burned Saresh and toppled anything that was left. They destroyed our libraries, poisoned the wells, and desecrated the statues of the gods. The Vandregonians made sure that we could never rebuild the glory of the city that was heaven on earth.

After Saresh fell everything was different. I was 25 and on the run with my husband through the great forests trying to find a safe place. It was the first time I had been outside the walls of Saresh and the outside world may as well have been another planet for all I knew of it. It was years, and a lifetime, before we found ourselves on a ship bound for Mardrun. By that time we had found other May’Kar and it almost felt like we had a real family again. All of us were infatuated with the idea of saving our culture from annihilation. We decided to settle in secret far away from the other human colonies, and to try and rebuild the best we could from memory.

Afric Camden

Age 23

Class: Rogue

Starkhaven. In spite of the high walls and marching soldiers, young Aifric knew that this place was no more a haven to her than any of the other towns and settlements where she’d lived before. Every city was supposed to be the start of a new life, new scenery, a way out. And then they’d draw her in again, promising her money, promising her freedom, and every time, she fell for it. She let herself slip. It had always been this way, since she was little. The parents who’d exploited her were long gone now – she was on her own – but it didn’t matter. Impoverished in the war-torn colonies meant you had to do anything to survive. There was no escaping the danger.It was winter. She didn’t know what it was she was supposed be smuggling – Mordok weapons, or stolen wine, perhaps; it didn’t matter, because when she arrived at the drop-off point, they were missing. Stolen from the thieves. Unfortunately, this didn’t mean she got to take the night off. She was already running late, thanks to some side-jobs running long, and had an employer to report to. And they wouldn’t be happy – this very simple job had just become very dangerous. There were consequences for failure. She bit her lip and shook nervously. This was routine – these things happened, and it hadn’t killed her yet – but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.The wind bit through her rags as she meandered back to his house. She knew she shouldn’t stall for time – it would only make the punishment worse – but she couldn’t help it. She was scared to so much as see his front door. She circled through town a few times – past the old library she liked to sneak into after dark. Past the armory where she taught herself swordplay when no one was on guard. She didn’t see the soldier who’d noticed her suspicious behavior.She remembered arriving, and what happened next was a blur. It went poorly. He was drunk and enraged. When the sounds of violence echoed in the street, the soldier – a battle cleric of the Fists of Arnath – burst into the house, sword in hand. He was strong, but too hasty.Aifric awoke, her head surging with pain. The front door was still open, and the sun hadn’t come out yet. There was frost on the pool of blood she was swimming in. Her body was numb and frostbitten, her muscles weak and quivering. The gaping hole in her abdomen didn’t look real – her vision blurred when she saw it. The battle cleric lay dead – beheaded – by her side. But somehow, she was still alive.Coughing up globs of red and black fluid, her hands trembling, she ripped the knight’s armor and clothes from their body. He was about her size – it fit, roughly. Aifric stood up, clutching her wound but clad in mail. Wrapped in steel and wearing Arnath’s symbol, for the first time in her life, she almost felt safe. All at once, she knew – she had to get out of here, forever. She was already planning, plotting, thinking of the refugees fleeing the crumbling city. She would go with them, serve as their guard. She wasn’t a real knight, much less a priest, but she could pretend. This was her last hope.Upon arriving at the Archon’s Spire, a new settlement filled mostly with refugees from Starkhaven, she took up a position in the town’s militia. The refugees were people like her – peasants, laborers, runaways. When she was young, no one had been there to protect her. But if she could help it, she wouldn’t allow anyone else to go through what she did.Aifric had always been fascinated by history, by culture, by language. She spent half her time among the books – it was a small collection, but growing, little by little. It was there that she met them – the sorcerer Vazra, and the other Archons as well. Intent on learning more magical and historic lore, as well as mastering the divine magic she’d read so much about, she elected to join their ranks.She felt reborn. Although the Order was unaware of her existence, upon dedicating herself to the god who saved her, she was blessed with power nonetheless. But she never spoke of her past – the life of crime and depravity – she promised herself the others would never know. Bent on living as a true and legitimate knight of Arnath, she tried to forget the life she’d left behind. At last, she could begin anew. But the wars would rage on, and danger was always at the door…

PLAYED BY: Rydge Craker
CHARACTER NAME: Oak Harrison
GENDER: Male
CLASS: Rogue
AGE: 25
RACE: Human
HAIR: Shaved
EYES: Green
OCCUPATION: Alchemist
KNOWN SKILLS: Alchemist, Dual Wielder, Brave, Loyal, Business Man
BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria (Childhood), Crows Landing (Adulthood)
APPEARANCE: Tall, built, charismatic man.
NOTABLE TRAITS: Addicted to food, enjoys spending time with and talking to animals, slightly crazy.
RELATIONSHIPS: Rangers
RUMORS: Greatest Alchemist of All Time!
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

The first memory I have is a grim one; ten years old and yet enough trauma to hurt just about anyone. Clearer than any other memory I have. It was raining the day my parents were brutally murdered by the attacks of the penitent. We had heard screams coming for what seemed like hours before they finally attacked. My mother, Marie, and my father, Torvald, hid with me in the small inlet beneath the stone staircase that connected the basement to the rest of our house. Moments passed like hours as the beads of sweat on my forehead slid down my face. I could feel my heart pounding on my temples. I knew something was about to go wrong the moment I heard our door slam to the ground. My mother cupped her hand around my mouth to try and silence the imminent terror that was about to overtake me. I could hear footsteps tracing their way across the floor upstairs. Each one caused my stomach to sink lower and lower. After a few more thuds, my father finally stood up. He turned around with a look in his eyes—A look that I was not familiar with. I know now that it was the look of utter defeat, but back then I just thought it was fear. He nodded and without saying anything, he brushed our cheeks and walked up the stairs slowly. After he left, Mother stood up and started covering the area we were hiding in with rags and sheets in an attempt to camouflage it. She settled back in next to me and went silent. A few seconds of unbearable silence passed before I heard the unforgettable schlik of a sword sliding through the flesh of someone’s neck. There were no screams… only laughter—a laugh that most certainly didn’t belong to my father. The footsteps of the invader began making their way down the stone steps. Mother kissed my head, held her breath and pushed her way out of the hiding place. A few tears ran down her face. To this day, those moments still haunt me. If she hadn’t gone out there and distracted the man, he would’ve found both of us. I bit my lip as my mother’s scream pierced the silence, followed shortly by the thud of her decapitated head hitting the floor. I still don’t know why the man didn’t check the area more thoroughly, but he left shortly after killing them. I really try not to question it. Perhaps it was a favor from the gods. I don’t know. All I knew at the time was that I was a newly orphaned ten year old living in the house where my parents were murdered, in a city that had just been raided. I knew I had to get out, and with no family and nowhere to go, I sought refuge in Vandregon, knowing that a country with a larger army would stand a far better chance against whatever it was that had raided us.

The trek took me many days. My mother, being an alchemist, had been teaching me her art since I was about five years old. If I hadn’t known how to make basic medicines and poisons, I don’t think I could’ve made it there by myself. I’m still not sure how I did it. I was a resilient child.

I arrived just in time to see that Vandregon wasn’t doing as well as I had hoped. They were at war and the raids were already happening. I had heard speak about ships leaving out of the port for a new continent. Knowing it could very well be my only hope, I stowed away on the first ship I could find.

On the ship I made very few friends, save one: Elijah Cole. He helped me stay hidden and in exchange I showed him my knowledge of alchemy, while I claimed that I was the thing I had always strived to be: the greatest alchemist of all time.

When we finally made it to Mardrun, Elijah and I parted ways. I began working on my alchemy, hoping to make a career out of it. Over time I picked up a few sword-fighting techniques to help me get by when times were tough.

After about 15 years I asked to join a faction called the Rangers as they were in need of an alchemist and I was in need of a stable job. They seemed like a tight family that would watch my back as I watched theirs. It was then that I was reunited with Elijah, the one whom had actually pulled some strings to allow me to join. I was hoping this would start a new leaf in my life.

PLAYED BY: Brianna Novy

CHARACTER NAME: Mia Tellistri

GENDER: Female

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 23

RACE: Human

HAIR: Blonde

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Herbalist

KNOWN SKILLS: Cooking. Archery. Herbology.

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Petite. Medium height.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Friendly. Chatterbox.

RELATIONSHIPS: Rangers.

RUMORS: “Was she in Oaks tent again?”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: I was very young when the wars started. So young that I hardly remember much of what happened back then. Of what little I do remember, my father was a politician and my mother stayed home to watch over my younger brother and myself. I also remember my father coming home from work very stressed and angry. My parents would fight while they thought I was asleep in bed. I heard their murmurs about the war and undead attacks. I knew my father wanted to leave, the king had already abandoned us and so too did others. However, we stayed for my mother’s sake. She was born and raised in that small, one story house. She was always telling us that there were too many memories floating around for her to ever want to leave.

Eventually, the war got too close to home and we were forced to evacuate. I remember seeing my mother screaming with tears in her eyes as father dragged her away from the only place she knew. Father put us on a boat, saying we were going on an adventure to a faraway place. The journey started out fun and exciting for my current eight year old self, but soon turned into the worst days of my life. Sickness spread around the hall and soon my brother and I became sick. I still can only remember being so sick, and mother’s teary eyes, as she told me my little brother had gone to a better place.

Finally we made it to land. I was still recovering from the illness when we landed and everything after that is hazy to me. When I came to, I was at a small town that went by the name Crows Landing. The people were very accepting of us and we fit in well at first. I was a fragile young girl that had just lost her brother at the time, but over the years I learned to become the woman I am today. The winters became increasingly hard for the town and for many years we struggled to get by. The government at Crows Landing became corrupt and started spending money they didn’t have for reasons nobody understood.

This led my family to turn inwards for help and we mostly relied on our own resources to get by during these troubling times. I started to develop a liking to herbology because it was the only way my parents would let me help at the time. I would take long walks into the woods and pick herbs for the family to get away from everything happening in town.

Finally relief came in the form of visitors wearing red and green. They saw the state of our little town and decided to help us for reasons I cannot even explain. They brought us the resources and materials we desperately needed and soon our town was thriving once again. Now that I am older and my parents are being taken care of, I have a strong urge to spread my wings. I met some people on my adventures into the woods. They called themselves the Rangers. One even told me that if I learned to fight, I would make a good asset to their group because of my Herbology background. I went home that day and picked up a sword. When that had failed because of my petite stature, I found a bow and arrow. Ever since then I have been honing my skills in archery, so that I could one day join the odd men I had met long ago.

Shortly after creating our troop of misfits Oak came to me with the notion that he wanted to go on an adventure. He felt that playing militia for the Phoenix, though rewarding, was not where he had wanted to be at this point in his life. I agreed to go with him if the day came that he decided to leave. We tried to convince Elijah to come with us on our adventure, but he chose to stay with the group that we had created.

So after a few short months, Oak and I were packing our bags. We decided that we would travel to the Syndar islands. Elijah was a Syndar and would spend many a night telling us stories of his people. I was enraptured with the culture and beliefs they had and Oak had heard of a place that created beautiful, powerful weapons.

For five years we traveled the continent, exploring new towns, foods, and cultures. We met up with a small tribe of Syndarians deep in the forest that believed in the power that the natural world possessed. We stayed with them the longest on our adventure. I was fascinated by their beliefs. They didn’t have a god or goddess per say that they called to, but instead they prayed to the natural way of the world – though it can’t be said if there was someone behind the scenes that came when they called. They believed everything, from the grass you walk on to the trees swaying overhead, was alive and had powerful magic deep within them.

I learned a lot from the tribe. They taught me more about natural medicines and the reagents that were needed for them. They showed me some new techniques to harvest reagents more effectively. And eventually after long hours of working with them and by them, they began to teach me their prayers. They would pray to the mother bear that protects their cubs with ferocity and might. They would pray to the butterfly for its wings of flight. They would pray to the river currents for its ebb and flow.

They had a prayer for every single living thing in the forest and each new prayer that I witnessed was accompanied by a beautiful set of hand movements. Oak had tried to join in on the prayers a few times, but his body was so stiff and rigid from the years spent sword fighting that he never truly got the movements. He seemed to focus more on the analytical side of magic anyway, eventually picking up some of the secrets to arcane magic.

I can still remember the first time I was witness to the magic of the world. A small Syndar boy had jumped out of a tree and broke his arm in the fall. He had wailed and wailed in pain, but the moment the shaman opened her mouth he was entranced. That day she prayed to the sky for the light it brings. And before my very eyes the boy’s arm had reset itself with little more than a snap.

It felt like a lifetime living among the Syndar people, but before we knew it we were saying our goodbyes. We had decided that our adventure was over. We had been sent word from Elijah of a group he had met on his travels seeking to recruit a couple of fighters. Soon enough we were making our way to Shieldhaven to meet up with the Guardians of the Wall. I had continued to practice the prayers of the Syndar tribe as we traveled. Letting the way of divine nature guide me in my movements and honing my magic. I hope that in time, I may become as powerful as the syndarian shamans I met so long ago. But as for now, I will continue to practice my craft and aid the Guardians for as long as I am able.