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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 Newhope 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 Newhope 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 Newhope. 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.”

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…