Wiki Category: Characters

PLAYED BY: Sara Bahr

CONTACT INFO: 123cowner@gmail.com

CHARACTER NAME: Abelot Grey

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 19

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Green

OCCUPATION: Apprentice

KNOWN SKILLS: Archery, First aid

APPEARANCE: Nothing unusual

NOTABLE TRAITS: Invented the description “glabber fasting” and also has quite the perception when actually trying to use it.

RELATIONSHIPS: Companion to Wren Duncan

RUMORS: “I heard he got robbed three times… in a row?!”

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Well, you see, it all started with my brother. Ever since we moved to this new world and my parents settled down, he would kiss their asses and make me do all the hard labor. Then the two wrote their wills and it got far, far worse. He even had a group of “enforcers” around the farm to make sure I wasn’t able to see my own parents! Then, in a cruel twist of fate, both of my parents died in a “barn fire”. My brother inherited all of the farm (or what was left of it), and proceeded to kick me out and sent me with barely enough supplies to even survive on!
It took three hours. THREE HOURS for someone to rob me. Then a day later, I was mugged again! Luckily they didn’t kill me for being empty handed. Instead, they took my favorite hat. Then, the next night while I was sleeping on the dirty ground, someone stole my fire starters! I was about to just give up. I walked probably a few more miles before I saw yet another shady figure. I was ready to be robbed and probably killed, but apparently I’m not good enough for death. This lady ignored me for a moment, which was kind of insulting as the last few people I have met actually spoke to me. I broke the uncomfortable silence and asked where she was headed after asking if she really wasn’t interested in robbing me. Before I got an answer, I decided to go with her anyways, and we have been travelling together ever since. After becoming a little more (barely) acquainted, the lady turned out to be a Ranger named Wren. She begrudgingly let me follow and even knocked out a bandit trying to steal the little I have left. A week or two after that she noticed my existence due to my complete incompetence at anything relating to violence. Apparently that needed to be changed, so she found me a sword from a poor bandit that was on the angry side of her sword and taught me how to “not die”. Swords aren’t really my style but hey, whatever works.
I eventually got my hands on some poor corpse’s bow and used said corpse for target practice. I missed. All of them. After a month or two of practice with whatever bow was available at the time I was more and more able to carry my own weight by hunting and gathering. Due to said bows being second or third-hand, they wouldn’t last more than two or three hunting trips before breaking.Wren started stockpiling bows. It got really, really monotonous and even more boring so I politely asked about five hundred times for us to go do something. She said no. Every time. So I told her I was going to go on my own anyways. She said no again, but then realized I wasn’t joking and followed just a little grumpily. Just a little.
We helped guard some posh merchant guy and killed and maimed quite a few mordok. It was great. They really are ugly. Like really ugly. Wow. And weird. Sitting down in front of our guards weird. Us being the guards. We held the fort we just delivered supplies to and then Wren got deathbolted. It was scary. More scary than most anything I’ve encountered. Even my brother. So I went and helped kill the shaman. It raged and shoved me into a tree, then died of its wounds. Good. She got dragged to a cleric and healed but it still scared the absolute shit out of me. If she died here I would probably lose it. But she didn’t because that kinda creepy cleric was kinda cool. We held out for the night before saying our goodbyes and walking back down out of the swamp to set up a small camp.

SECRET INFO: If I see my brother, he will die.

BIRTHPLACE: I was born on a prosperous farm in the kingdom of Aldoria, and my parents were wealthy enough to buy their way onto a ship to Mardrun when the undead began taking the borders of the kingdom. Then mY BROT—-

CHARACTER BIO: Al-Hassan Ibn Ahmad Al Saresh, or Al-Hassan.

PLAYED BY: Andrez “Peanut” Beltran

CONTACT INFO: Andrez Beltran on Facebook.

CHARACTER NAME: Al-Hassan Ibn Ahmad Al Saresh, or Al-Hassan

NAME MEANING:

Al Hassan – the Handsome

Ibn Ahmad – Son of Ahmad (Much Praised)

Al Saresh – of the City of Saresh

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Late 30’s

RACE: Human

HAIR: Black

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Seeker of Knowledge

KNOWN SKILLS: The ways of the Divine and Arcane arts, though not necessarily a practitioner of it.

BIRTHPLACE: Saresh in the May’Kar Dominon

APPEARANCE: Short; dark skinned; is typically in swathes of clothing and veiled.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Calm, never much raises his voice. Seeks to understand most viewpoints. Focuses on balance.

RELATIONSHIPS: None so much.

RUMORS: An open May’kar from Serai? Probably an Undead worshiper. All the others have been.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Al-Hassan Ibn Ahmad Al Saresh, or Al-Hassan was born in Saresh sometime prior to 230. He grew up in the City for his early childhood, but his recollections of it are sparse. He grew up with his parents who were scholars and teachers of knowledge. Time were hard as the Undead forces surrounded and besieged the Dominion. When the Bishop-King passed away, his parents lost heart. Taking an opportunity that presented itself, they left the Dominion for Vandregon.

When the Bishop-King rose, his parents rejoiced. When the Dominion turned to the Penitent, his parents mourned. They formed with the Mahsai of the True May’kar, but their hearts were broken. Both withered in the years after, becoming shells of their former selves. Al-Hassan was too young to know the Bishop-King, and only empathize with their loss.

When the chance came with the other True May’kar to make their way to Mardrun, his family took it. They followed Lord and Lady Al-Azarma to Newhope. There they settled, working in the community to teach and copy the knowledge saved.

When the settlement of Serai was found, Al-Hassan made the hard decision to make his own way there. The May’kar of Newhope we’re good to him, but were not his own. They were a past he never knew. He hoped to make a new future for himself.

The specters of the past are never far away. The great irony of Serai following their predecessors footsteps was not lost on him. He was Mahsai, and so was not one to outright reject differing ideas. The more he learned, though, the less he agreed with Al-Haddad and Bos Mezar position. He became withdrawn and sullen. The Gods no longer seemed to speak to him. His faith waned as Boz Mesar influence grew.

And then the Order of Arnath came, and his world changed in fire and death.

The Fist were strict but not heavy handed masters. As long as they were on good behavior the citizens of Serai were free to go about their normal lives. And go he did. He learned of this new God of Arnath. It was an interesting Path, but not one that naturally called to him. He listened for the God’s words in his ears, but never heard it. Over the years the words of many of the Gods grew silent to him.

When the Order Civil War occured, life changed again. More outsiders from the Fire Isle. They were an interesting bunch, reminding him of the bustle of Newhope. With that bustle brought news. The outside world had. The Lord Al-Azarma had passed. The Lady went into reclusion in Daven Hold, the Governess Katherine’s new domain. The May’kar influence in Newhope waned.

It took these visitors for Al-Hassan to realize that Serai, much as he had hoped, had not been his path. It was far too reclusive. He needed to return to the mainstream life of the colonies. When a delegation from Serai was set to go to Starkhaven, Al-Hassan went with. He had heard stories of the Order of Aranth’s library, and the Chapter of the Light even had opened theirs. Perhaps he could learn more on his trip there. The Order held no sway for him, but knowledge was good. There was a tradition much loss of the May’kar. One of service and righteousness. The Paladins. Perhaps if he sought their path he could find his way. And what better place to start than the home of Pious Crusaders.

PLAYED BY: Gabriel Hellerud

CHARACTER NAME: Martin De Paixetdoucer or Brother Martin of Arnath’s Gentle Path

GENDER: Male

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 24

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Brother and scholar in The Order of Arnath’s Light

KNOWN SKILLS: Divine Magic, Resources in Divine, Arcane, Ritual, Lore Ritual, awkward pauses, tripping over nothing, baking cookies

BIRTHPLACE: Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Small, Brown, and un-assuming

NOTABLE TRAITS: Tends to wear a pair of very large spectacles.

RELATIONSHIPS: very dear friends with Brother Dom

RUMORS: Martin would be the last to know!

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Praise Arnath! May His goodness and light guide my hand as I write these words because, honestly, I’m not sure how to start this journal. If I am writing about the Glory of Arnath or translating his manuscripts, then the pen flows quite easily. To write about myself is quite a monumental task!

I suppose I should start at the beginning of my life. Unlike many I was blessed with little memory of my homeland, Faedrun. I was only a toddler when we had left. My parents had been members of The Order of Arnath and as such, had been able to secure passage to the New World for myself and my siblings. I am very fortunate in this respect because some of my siblings are old enough to recall the horrors of that cursed land and I am glad to not have memory of the terrible things they witnessed.

Most of my earliest memories are all of Starkhaven, the building of the keep, and my little family. I learned of the brilliance of Arnath while sitting on my mother’s knee and my father would take me out into the town and point out the “little works” of Arnath. A person sharing their coin with the less fortunate, a child standing up to bullies, a woman giving out food at the market to those who couldn’t afford it were all blessings to be observed and lessons to be learned. “See Arnath’s path in all the good that you find,” My father would say, “For His is the path of righteousness, goodness, and kindness,”

Naturally I was also taught about His blazing justice. I recall seeing the Lions, the Griffins, and the Eagles all in their shining armor and scarlet robes. How could one not love them? How could one not be filled with hope? How could your heart not be set aflame with love for Arnath and His chosen defenders?

…

Forgive me, see how easy it is for me to be carried away when I think of Him? Anyhow, when I reached an age of slightly higher reasoning, I believe it was around the age of six, I asked my parents to allow me to join the order. Naturally, they were thrilled to give one of their many children to The Order of Arnath. I was a fitting gift to the god who had guided them from the blood-stained land of the dead, to the new, green world we all lived comfortably in. Of course, our parting was painful, but it was a sacrifice that both my parents and I happily made.

Upon entering into the arms of The Order of Arnath however, I learned it would be a challenge to find my place. I quickly discovered that combat was not exactly my strongest skill. I nearly killed the bow instructor, the shields were too cumbersome for my frame, I tripped far too often to be remotely successful in stealthier approaches, and without my spectacles I couldn’t even scout very well. After a few years of attempted combat training, I was shuffled off to become a scribe and it was there I found my love of books.

I learned quickly that there is nothing quite as enjoyable as the smell of parchment, the gentle rustle of turning pages, the feeling of ancient scrolls. The moment I stepped into the library I knew that was where I was meant to be. I fell under the wing of a kindly older sister while I was there. It was clear she had been delivered to me by Arnath because in her tender care my love of Our God and His knowledge only bloomed. My love and devotion for Arnath manifested itself the gift of divine magic when I was somewhat older, and it wasn’t long after that I became an official Sister in The Order.

Now for the most part, I spend my days happily pouring over dusty tomes, scouring ancient manuscripts, and squinting at crumbling scrolls. Each day is filled with His Light as I search for a way to bring about an end to the corruption magic and hunt for hidden knowledge of the undead. I really couldn’t be more over joyed. Arnath has blessed me with a wonderful path, a righteous purpose, and a holy family.

Live in His light!

Brother Martin of Arnath’s Gentle Path

Player Name: Tyler Dubey
Name: Patty McConnor O’Mulligan McHair O’Sullivan McGee Malone
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Race: Human
Hair: brownish Red if grown out
Facial Hair: Red
Eyes: Hazel
Occupation: Beggar man, hobo, vagabond
Class: Rogue
Known Skills: Lore: Survival (0), Lore: Political (1), Pierce (7), Resource: Gather Info (13), Resource: Spies
(14), Waylay (5), Sap (6), Traps and Devices (13), Break Away (8)
Birthplace: Faedrun
Appearance: Ratty green tunic, sometimes with a black undertunic, pack, and hammock.
Notable Traits: Accent and that lovable charm
Bio:
Patty wasn’t always a wandering vagabond, in fact he was once a well respected member of society back
in Vandergon. During that time, he worked the fields, farms, and helped the elderly, and many more
altruistic actions that never gained him anything other than the smiles of those around him. However,
when the penitent attacked his home village. He was left with nothing but remorse and sorrow, his
heart heavy with the grief of those lost. From there on out, Patty wandered the lands, helping those that
needed it. Whether it was just a small laugh, a momentary smile, moving their belongings, it brought
some small hope to him that the world shouldn’t be forsaken.
It was by his sheer luck and charm that got him on a boat to Mardrun, even if he had to be smuggled.
Once on Mardrun, he took to wandering the land doing odd jobs to earn coin to just eat. Some of those
jobs were to help set up traps for wild game, help a group of bandits steal some coin, help repair a sail
for some pirates, listen to the woe’s of a nobleman, split wood for and elderly couple, and the list goes
on. For during these travels, Patty has procured many wild stories and experiences that he will gladly tell
the willing, and unwilling, around a campfire in trade for some food and good drink.
And when you finally sit down and listen to a story, you too will fall under the most lovable hobo’s
charm.

Name: Morning Glory (Glory, for short)

Age: 28

Race: Human

Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Dark Brown

Occupation: Bard and Traveler

Birthplace: May’Kar Dominion

Notable Traits: Glory is afflicted with a severe stutter. The only reprieve she gets from her impediment is when she sings.

Relationships: Glory and Zeke are close friends. First meeting in her youth, they have since gone their separate ways. She hopes to reunite with her old friend in the days to come.

Rumors: It was once said Glory was named “Queen of the Rascals” by a band of thieves after gaining favor for herself and her traveling party during an intense hostage situation.

Glory was born of a union of two warriors – two traitors, who fell in love during the betrayal of the May’kar people. Her mother a healer, her father a warrior; they abandoned their duties once they became aware of their child and fled from their homeland to bring her up safely, far away from harm and darkness. Named “Morning Glory” after the flowers her mother loved, she was raised with all the virtues of their home before the betrayal and was instilled with a deep faith in the goddess Ilyara, to whom she is a devout believer. Her mother, being a cleric, was as nurturing and caring as any mother could be. Her father, being a fighter on the front lines of many battles, gave her the means to defend herself should the need ever arise.

Being 10 years old when she stepped onto the boat, Glory was only 17 when she left her parents to learn and ply her trade. She trained with anyone who would take her as an apprentice, and she spent the rest of her time traveling to any place her heart led her. There were a few sticky situations, due to her travelling alone, but she was happy and relieved to find more good people than bad. Many a warm bed and full belly was at the kindness and hospitality of strangers, something which she has never forgotten. Using every opportunity to learn stories and write songs, she spent the next 10 long years plying her craft and traveling throughout the world.

After all this time, however, she no longer felt fulfilled.

As a believer of Ilayara, Glory knows true beauty lies within creation itself. She looked back at all her books and scrolls of scribbled songs and stories and could not find one original work. Despite her best efforts, every time she would sit down and rack her brain, she could not seem to be capable of creating a work of her own. She became increasingly frustrated while looking for answers inside herself, and so, she turned her gaze towards the world. She settled on a new goal: To find a “True Hero”, whom she hopes would inspire her to create her own masterpiece.

During her travels, Morning Glory received a harsh blow to the head from a shield when fleeing from a scuffle. Taking the blow in stride, she kept running to the nearest settlement with almost unnatural focus. Her only goal: safety. Thinking back on the accident, she believes her mind may have already been damaged from the impact for her to have such a simple goal. Her wound, which was once thought small, was in fact grievous and damaging to her body, after the settlement she fled to pointed to her bloodied tunic and a large open wound on her forehead. After being bandaged and treated, Glory insisted that all she needed was water and rest. However, when she awoke the next morning, she was unable to speak without stumbling and stalling on her own words. A local doctor assured her that rest and her body’s natural healing would take of things, despite the severity of the wound.

It has been almost 2 years since the incident, and there has been no change in her stutter. Glory is still struggling with this, though she is happy and relieved her singing has not been affected.

PLAYED BY: Ezekiel Hellerud

CHARACTER NAME:  Al Shaheen Al Ghamdi Bint Batool Adilah Amtullah

GENDER: Female

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 35

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark Brown

EYES: Dark Brown

OCCUPATION: Body guard for hire, Bard.

KNOWN SKILLS: Archery, cooking, sewing

BIRTHPLACE: May’Kar

APPEARANCE: Dark skin, with a sharp hawkish nose, high cheek bones, and a slight build.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Never seen without a hijab

RELATIONSHIPS: She gets along well with Al Sydly

RUMORS: Nothing of note, other than that she is rather quiet.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:  Shaheen, sighed and rubbed her temples. Her elbows were sore from pressing for so long against her desk and her neck was starting to ache. She looked down at the blank piece of paper and gave the smallest of huffs. She lowered a hand and reached once again for her quill and ink. Writing had never been her strong suit, talking about herself even less so. “Self-reflection is necessary for self-improvement,” said her mother’s voice in the back of her mind. Shaheen shook her head, pulled the quill from the ink well, and set the tip against the parchment;

 

Anyone, who saw me would immediately know my origins. I was born in the beautiful land of May’Kar. Those that have not seen it, are fortunate. For those that have, know what beauty and majesty have been lost. As a child I was often lulled to sleep by the sound of my mother’s lullabies and the whistling of the sand and wind.

I was born on the edge of a small village. My parents felt a simple rigorous life was the surest path to humility and patience. I wish I could say that those were two things I had in abundance as a child, but I cannot.

 

My mother was a Kae’Rim and my father a soldier. Our family was technically speaking, just the three of us. But so many travelers and traders rested at our home that I had too many uncles and aunts to count. I had never lived in The Faedrun of old. I only knew the land of the dead and the struggle of the living. I cannot say that I truly understood though. I only heard stories from the traders while I sat upon my father’s knee. “Such and such has been swallowed up,” They would say. “The undead have taken this place,” They would whisper. I did not understand the fear until the day my father left. I remember in the gray light of dawn, right after prayers, he donned his old armor and left, never to return. I remember my mother’s tears as she held me and rocked me. It was my first taste of sacrifice.

For several years, it was only my mother and me. The traders became less and less. The few that stopped in had only more depressing tales and as I grew older I began to comprehend them better. My mother was a soft and kind woman. She would attempt to cover my ears or send me off to do some chore. During the nights though, I would tip toe outside into the desert and practice with my toy spear and bow. I would run to our well and back or do the exercises I used to watch my father do.

With the dwindling of traders, the coin slowed to a trickle. I quickly learned to be useful to my mother. I traded out my toy bow and spear for real ones. I took over my father’s duties as provider for the family and began farming. When the few traders would come, I sold my toys and pretty dresses. Any trinkets that I had were traded for rice, oil, and information. Our lives were hard, but with my mother, I wanted for nothing. I was perfectly happy to live with the little we had in our small house on the edge of the stars and sand. When I turned 13, that all changed.

 

One day I went to gather water from our well. The day started out as any other. The sky a lapis blue and the sun was a golden disk in the sky. Its hard to believe that I had been in a good mood. That something did not warn me… When I returned, there were two camels tied to the post by our door. It was only then that a foreboding feeling crept into my heart. I don’t remember dropping the bucket of water, I don’t remember stringing my bow. I only remember stepping through our broken door to see The Penitent and my mother.

 

Shaheen laid down her quill and buried her face in her hands. The candle on her desk spluttered for a moment and cast a dark shadow across her hands. She lowered her them and picked up the quill once again.

 

After strapping our meager possessions onto the camels’ backs, I burnt the bodies of the men in our home. My mother recovered neither in body or spirit and staying there would have only deepened the wounds. I swore that day to never wield a sword, to never harm an innocent creature, to actively seek to protect the weak, and to strike down all undead I came across.  We journeyed to Aldoria where I set up lodging for my mother with other May’Kar refugees. I did odd jobs here and there to earn any money that I could. When I became older, I fell in as a body guard. The money was decent, and I greatly enjoyed the work.

 

Life in Aldoria was better in regard to possessions and money, but it was grim, very grim. My skin and my cloth immediately marked me as a May’Kar. We were all traitors to many and were treated as such. Some shops would speak coldly to my mother and I and our trips out were seldom. Most days though, my mother hardly had the strength or will to rise from her bed. During my eighteenth year, my mother’s soul left the world.

Things became considerably darker after that. It seemed that my mother’s fire had been one of the few things that was holding back the sea of strife and despair. I began to partake in unsavory activities. I drank and fought. Many a tavern brawl was caused by a slight (real or imagined) on my person. When I discovered that ships were leaving for the new continent of Mardrun, I immediately booked my passage. There was nothing for me in Faedrun.

 

When the ship touched down on Mardrun, I immediately fell in with the few other May’Kar. My martial skills set me apart as someone useful. It wasn’t long before I became a guard for the settlement of Serai. It was there that I began to tame the fire in my heart. Being around other May’Kar was comforting. We all had a place that we could be ourselves. I learned to quell the ever-present rage and divert the energy to more useful activities. I continued to train with my bow and spear. I also came across a new love, music. The nights around the fire with my brethren were some of the best nights of my life. We would sing and talk of many things and sometimes when I looked up at the sky, I thought I could see the desert stars. I grew into full adulthood in Serai. It took some time, but I gave up the drink (although a friendly tussle was occasionally had).

 

When I reached the age of thirty-four, there was talk of a new order and it wasn’t long before The Bos Mezar were formed. I won’t lie to you, I found them very attractive. They seemed to embody everything that I held dear and believed in. Their armor was bright, and their colors were of our beloved home. I would have fit in well with them and yet… Perhaps I did not feel worthy of joining their ranks, perhaps I wasn’t sure how I would do under authority, but I decided to put it off for a time. I trained often with them and considered many to be my friends. Which only made their betrayal so much worse.

 

 I remember when the undead shambled through my new home. I remember doing what I could to aid in their destruction. I remember the burning shame as once again; all eyes fell on the May’Kar. I could not understand the Bos Mezar’s reasoning. I still do not. More importantly, I do not understand how I had not realized what was going on. Perhaps I did not wish to see? Perhaps I was too comfortable to search for the truth. Now I know that a painful truth is far better than a pretty lie.

 

Over the period that The Order of Arnath occupied Serai, I became interested in them. I learned more of their God, his hatred of undead and his love of justice and goodness. I could not help but fall in love with his ways. I decided at once to become one of His own. I am certain now that Arnath had set me away from the Bos Mezar to become a servant of His will. I now serve as an instrument of his goodness and mercy to the people of Mardrun. I atone for my sins and the sins of those in Serai who either actively experimented with the undead or were merely complacent. I wish to become a lantern for all. A light in the darkness which they may follow onto safe paths.

 

I cannot say for certain whether I will join the Order in any official capacity. I have seen firsthand what happens when groups mindlessly follow. While I believe that Arnath is a force of goodness and strength, I know that the hearts of man are quite fallible. For now, I seek only the best way to discipline myself and help those who cannot help themselves.

 

Once again, Shaheen put down her quill. She picked up the papers, leaned back in her chair, and propped her feet onto the desk. She frowned as she read it her customary furrow present between her brows. It was rough writing for certain. Nothing to be proud of. But then again, she gave a smile, it was really meant for her eyes only. It would make an excellent start to her new journal.