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Serena Oesel

Serena Oesel (nee Galladir)
Player: Manda Rossenbach
Age: 28
Eyes: Hazel
Height: 5’ 3
Known Relationships: Ronin (Son), Thallan (Brother), Uthyur (Brother)

Serena Galladir was born in Vandregon on Faedrun and has two older brothers named Uthyur and Thallan. Uthyur is 13 years older than Serena and Thallan is 5 years older. They were very close growing up and she was always wanting to sword fight with Thallan when she didn’t have her nose in a book. Her thirst for knowledge was great and soon she was needing to travel to nearby villages to find new things to read and learn. Thallan trained her just enough so that when she was out running around, she would be able to defend herself. When Serena was 15 (Year 254), Uthyur, Thallan and she took a day trip to a nearby city and when they returned, they found their parents dead. Serena was devastated as she had been close to her parents as well. After looking around, they realized that their parents had been slaughtered by the undead. They boarded the next ship and travelled to Mardrun.
Once there, Thallan joined a group of fighters in Newhope determined to avenge their parents’ deaths while Serena turned to books and other artifacts to learn as much as she could. Uthyur, being 28 when they arrived, went off on his own to continue to fight. He had been closer to their father than he was to his siblings. Serena hoped that she would be able to find answers to how best be able to protect herself and her brothers from an unnatural death in the books and artifacts that she researched.
Three years after they arrived in Newhope, Serena met Kyse Oesel and fell in love. They married shortly after, with Thallan giving her away. Serena moved to Kyse’s farm just outside of Newhope and they worked the farm. In year 258, Serena gave birth to a baby boy named Ronin and Kyse was ecstatic. They were the perfect little family. They worked the farm together and Ronin loved playing with his dad. This happiness only lasted five short years however. The three of them were out playing in the field by their house when a group of bandits showed up. Kyse was able to fend them off long enough for Serena and Ronin to get away. Serena ran with Ronin to Newhope and left him with Thallan before going back to the farm where she discovered Kyse had been slain. She tended to the body, packed a few things up and with a broken heart, she left the farm, never to return.
She returned to Newhope with the few items she had and turned to the closest family she had, Thallan. She explained the situation and Ronin and she moved in with him. They continued to stay there while Serena worked on research for the mana construct, in hopes of finding a cure for the corruption. Now that Ronin has started as an initiate of the Order of Arnath’s Light, Serena decided to move to Starkhaven with her son and she is also working on becoming a member of the Order.

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Naveeve Mashultulam

PLAYED BY: Gabriel Hellerud

CHARACTER NAME: Naveeve Mashultulam

GENDER: Female

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 23

RACE: Human

HAIR: Dark Brown

EYES: Dark Brown

OCCUPATION: Naveeve was originally a companion under the employ of Marrah, the owner of The Brown Chicken, Brown Cow. She recently has given up that life and is now training to become a healer under Reyna Longfang

KNOWN SKILLS: First Aid, singing, dancing, harp, ocarina, flute

BIRTHPLACE: May’kar

APPEARANCE: Naveeve is small and willowy. She is about 5’2 (though she likes to say 5’2 and a half). Her skin, eyes, and hair, are dark. They are a testament to the desert that was her birthland. She has a rather soft face but a hawkish nose.

NOTABLE TRAITS: According to Brynja Blackpaw, she is utterly adorable.

RELATIONSHIPS: Brynja Blackpaw is Naveeve’s mate.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

I do not recall much of my early childhood, perhaps that is because I do not wish to. I was originally born in The May’kar Dominion. I am told that once it was a beautiful kingdom in the heart of the harsh desert. It was once the center for the fine arts. Perhaps that is where my love of music and beauty came from. I hardly recall my parents but I remember the warmth of kind hands on my face and their smell of ginger and incense. They loved me quite dearly this I know. When I was young, my family and I were forced to flee May’kar after the Vandregon army wiped out the city. We became refugees in the kingdom of Aldoria. We were never rich and most of our possessions had been left behind so that we could travel quick and light. When we arrived in Aldoria we were exhausted, confused, and quite poor. I recall that we rented a very small room for all three of us with other refugees. It was only meant until my mother and father could find work. However, it seemed that no sooner had we arrived, fate would uproot us once again. The undead plague that had washed across the land was tightening its noose around all the human kingdoms. Aldoria was sending ships across the sea to save as many citizens as possible. One of my most vivid memories was of my mother and father shoving me onto one of the ships heading to Mardrun. The meager amount of coin that was left was sent in my pockets. I have not seen my parents since. I know that they now wander a ruined land with milky eyes and lipless faces.

I knew no one on the ship, but there were a few sympathetic people that were willing to keep an eye on me. However, when we landed in Newhope I was quite alone. The pittance that I had come with quickly dwindled and I fell through the cracks to become a street child. I did many things that I am not proud of. I stole and lied to survive. When I became older and attractive enough, I taught myself to dance and sing from other ‘ladies of the night’. They taught me how to smile and flash my teeth for coin. I learned to give compliments, to make a person feel wanted. I found that selling my body and my pretty words was a much steadier income than stealing though sometimes it was just as dangerous. I gained a certain amount of steady clientele and was able to afford to eat properly each day. When I was about twenty, I learned of a Syndar with a growing business in Newhope. I was told it was a mish mash of a place. Both a brothel, a shop, and a pub. Intrigued, I searched for the shop and met the enigmatic Marrah Faile. She offered me a permanent place of employ with the assurance of food and safety. I agreed to become one of her girls and wore her mark proudly. Marrah was quite kind to me. She gave me lovely clothes and jewelry. She also gave me a place to rest my head each night that did not leak. She was not only my madam but a very dear friend. I was quite content to spend my young adulthood as a companion and perhaps work my way up to a secretary of sorts for her. But that all changed when I met Her.

I had traveled with Marrah in the heat of summer to The Wolf’s Hackles. We had set up a tent to offer comfort and supplies to the warriors there. Many of them were ulven. I had serviced a few before but they were not a common client for me. It was interesting to see so many. One in particular caught my eye and when she did, all thought left my head. Her name was Brynja Blackpaw. A fearsome warrior with eyes that shone like gems. Despite my duties I found myself drawn to her as if by an unseen force and she to me.

We fell madly in love and in that madness Brynja purchased my freedom. Now I travel with her, learning the Ulven ways. Each day I am training and learning so that I may prove myself to the pack that I am worthy of being part of it. But truth be told it is more about proving it to myself. Each day I work hard to become stronger, braver, and wiser. My path has finally become clear to me. I feel that a new dawn in my life has come and I wish to show The Great Wolf that while I am not ulven by blood, I can be ulven in spirit.

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Ylva Geirmundson – [Renowned] – [The Lifemender]

Name: Ylva Giermundson
Player: Rachel Hannes
Class: Cleric
Age 24
Race: Ulven
Hair: Red
Eyes: Blue

I am Ylva Giermundson, though I was born Ylva Thorandottir. I was born into the Stormfang pack of Clan Axehound in year 245. I made the decision to leave after the death of my younger sister, Kari. Her death was my fault, and it broke me. My sister was my closest companion, and though I often resented her for her weaknesses, I loved her dearly. Our parents were deemed unfit to fight for the pack and were forced to farm the land instead. My father strived to have his children bring honor back to our name. When my sister and I were young, he begged a great warrior to take us as apprentices to learn to fight. Kari and I were constantly pushed past our limits; I thrived in it. My sister did not. It was decided that because she was so beautiful, she should not need to learn to fight, she would make a prospective wife for the warrior’s eldest son when he came of age. This was how we would repay him. I, on the other hand, continued fighting and learning new skills.
That winter we suffered from great hunger and Kari and I went out to hunt. We found ourselves running rapidly through a rough terrain in the forest. We were in pursuit of a kill that would bring food to our family for several days. Kari begged me to slow down for her, but I snapped and told her that if she couldn’t keep up and pull her own weight in the family for once, our deaths would be on her hands. When I finally killed the beast we were hunting, I asked its soul for forgiveness and turned to my sister to share my pleasure. But she had let herself fall behind and was nowhere in sight. I carried the burden of the creature myself, angry that I had to do it alone. I came across Kari. She had tripped over a root and cut her leg deep over some jagged rock. She begged me for help to bind her wound and bring her home, but in my anger I denied her. I hoped she might learn to do something for herself. We walked home together and I watched as she poorly bound her own wound without cleaning it or applying any salve. I knew better, but I let her do this. It was not much longer after that I was burying her.
I chose to leave Stormfang by my own accord and seek a new way of life. I heard rumors of the location of a warrior, Toralf Grimmsvulker, who left our pack 13 years ago in search of a better life, and decided to seek him out.
As long as I live I will never forget the pleas of my sister and the cries of my parents at her passing. And I will never live this down. When the Great Wolf turns to judge me it will find that I turned my back on my own family when I could have helped. So, from here on, I vow to lay down my sword unless it is for the necessary defense of others. I must learn to become a cleric and I will give every moment in search of redemption in the eyes of the Great Wolf.

****

Luck would have it that I would find Toralf. After months of traveling on my own I now had a new companion. Many more months passed and we decided to be life mates. Toralf discarded the name that he gave himself when he was a mercenary and took back his fathers name and would be Toralf Giermundson. And being mates, I took it too.

UPDATE:

Year 273.

I am now more commonly known as Ylva the Lifemender of Clan Stormjarl, Bane of Undeath, Daughter of Gaia. Honorifics and titles granted to me by my found family, the Einherjar of Stormjarl. I’ve worked incredibly hard these last 7 years to become a great healer and surgeon. With Gaia’s blessings I have been able to save many lives.

In the Spring of 272, while participating in an expedition patronized by our ally Prince Aylin, I traveled to an island north of Clans Whiteoak & Axehound. We knew it may be dangerous, being so close to the Outlands, but we were not expecting to find undead. This was my first experience with them. A scout that went out to scope the island was killed before we realized what was happening. Horrifyingly, I was the only healer on the island able to tend to the plague-riddled bites inflicted on many of the party. We managed to avoid any additional deaths after that, but it was such a close call. I suffered night terrors for a while after returning home. This experience is what sent me on an obsessive hunt to find a way to heal people faster. The rush of dying patients all looking to me lit a fire under my ass. It took a full year of dedicated work with assistance from friends, but I was able to create a device – the syringe – that would allow me to heal people more efficiently by pushing medicines into their systems.

Due to these efforts, my mate Toralf jokingly started to call me “Bane of Undeath”, but I wouldn’t start referring to myself that way until after his capture at the Ulven Moot of 273. I cling to anything that reminds me of him as we work towards finding him and returning him home.

With another war launched, I’ve begun teaching others my craft, working hard to bolster healing forces and help cut down on lives lost. I pray to Gaia that if my mate escapes himself before we find him, he may find healers anywhere he goes.

While I’m able to train people now, there have certainly been those who have taught me as well. After several years of training under Jarl Fritha Stormjarl, I was finally ready to become a Daughter of Gaia. It is through Gaia and this training that I was able to access both channels of magic. I cherish this honor of being able to perform needed rituals and rites for my people. I will continue to do all I can in the name of saving people. And when it is my time, I hope the Great Wolf will know my name.

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Alana Alice Tallstag

CHARACTER NAME: Alana Alice Tallstag
PLAYER NAME: Kit Shortridge
RACE: Ulven
CLASS: Warrior

In 266 Clan Riverhead was destroyed by Mordok, leaving very few survivors to rebuild the community. One 12 year old ulven girl survived the attack by hiding in a hollow tree outside Daggerford. Alone, scared, and with no home to run back to she sat there for weeks, cold and hungry living off the shriveled and sour leaves that her mother had shown her so long ago. One misty morning she was woken up by the sound of people passing by. She quickly rushed over and saw three men and a woman walking along a little dirt path. She ran out to greet them and realized she recognized one of the men. “Dorn?!? Is that you!?!” she cried. “Alana! You survived. I was sure someone your size would have been burned along with the others” he said. “Well I guess I’m so small that I wasn’t noticed when I ran away!” Alana said. She remembered her mother standing in the middle of the commotion saying “Alana! Run!! You GO! GO! RUN AS FAST YOU CAN!” And she had. Leaving everything behind her. Her family, home, friends, andthe market where her father sold barley. But now that Dorn had found her, she was safe.

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Halvar Longfang

Played By: Brandon Potter
Name: Halvar Longfang
Gender: Male
Class: Warrior
Birth Year: 247
Age: 18
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: 2
Occupation: Longfang Warrior
Birthplace: Onsallas Village, Longfang Territory, Mardrun
Relationships: Alive: Reyna Longfang (Mother), Ranmir Longfang (Cousin), Rill Longfang (Cousin)
Deceased: Fareth Moonfury (Father), Harlok Longfang (Cousin), Solvig Longfang (Great-Great Aunt), Yawn Longfang (Cousin)

I was born in the fall of the year 248 to Reyna Longfang and Fareth Moonfury. My mother had met my father while she was visiting Moonfury territory and they grew close to each other throughout my mother’s visit, My father accompanied my mother back to Longfang territory knowing she was pregnant with his child, in hopes to become her mate but my mother would not allow it until she finished her studies under her Great-Aunt Solvig Longfang and became a Daughter of Gaia. During my first 6 years of life my father worked on making a place for himself within Pack Longfang as a warrior, while I stayed in the kresh with the other Ulven pups. It wasn’t until about my 5th year of life that I began training with the retired warriors of the pack.

I wanted nothing more than to be like my father and the great Longfang warriors, I had hoped to make my father proud and to have a name worth being heard by the Great Wolf so that someday I may hunt with him in his great hunting grounds. When I turned 6 in the year 254 my mother finished her training under Solvig and officially became my father’s mate in a joining ceremony. 3 years after my parent’s joining my father met his fate in battle and found his place among the Great Wolf’s pack. I had always admired my father and his death left me mourning. It had also left me more determined to be a great Longfang warrior so that someday I may see him again in the Great Wolf’s hunting grounds.

Soon after my father’s death my mother consulted with the Runeseer Solvig Longfang and decided she should leave me to the pack and travel alone to find her own path. I was fatherless and abandoned by my mother to be raised by the kresh. After my mother’s departure I continued training to become a warrior. I enjoyed fighting with a sword and shield and although throughout my training I practiced with many different weapons I excelled with using a dane axe and with sword and shield.

In the year 262 I met and befriended a Daughter of Gaia from Stormjarl by the name of Ulana. She was only a year older than me, she had come to Pack Longfang with her father who was one of the honor bound Stormjarl. Around this same time my mother made her return to the pack with open arms from all except myself. I became very close to Ulana over the next couple of years and I was sure that someday we would become mates. This dream of mine was put to an end when she came with myself and the other warriors on a mordok hunt, she met a cruel fate and was impaled by the spear of a Mordok. I had failed to protect her and I forever blame myself for her death. I realize the true threat to my family, my pack, and the rest of Mardrun is the Mordok and I seek to help put an end to the threat that comes from the dirge.

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Darren Thunder-Hammer

Player Name: Truman Shortridge
Character name: Darren Thunder-hammer
Character age: 16
Gender: Male
Class: Cleric
Race: Human
Occupation: Lion-in-Training of the Order of Arnath’s light
Known Skills: Armor prof, Improved armor prof, Shield prof, Improved shield prof, Divine casting 1, Meditation
Birth Place: One of the last ships from Faedrun

Backstory…

Darren was born on one of the last ships leaving Faedrun. His father, Joseph Thunder-hammer died fighting on the dock as their ship sailed away. He was a well respected cleric and commander for the Order. When Darren was born few members of the Order knew that he was the son of the great warrior, who had just died for them, and that his mother was a Syndar. His mother, Arya Darkwater, who hated the majority of the order, was fierce and led a mutiny against them for the poor conditions she felt her son and brethren didn’t deserve to live under.
While the ship carrying the infant Darren, and his mother arrived on Mardrun they were met by several Lions. But just before their ship was captured Arya strapped a visored helm to her head to hide her ears. The battle was long and hard, however the mutineers were tired from the long voyage and the angry lions had fresh armor and weapons and butchered everyone except Arya, who told them that Joseph was Darrens father and in an effort to save his life gave him to the Lions. Then she slit her own throat and threw herself overboard, and let her chain mail drag her to the bottom of the harbor, Or so he was led to believe by an eagle that was aboard and saw the whole ordeal.
The Lions brought Darren back to Starkhaven where they trained him in the ways of Combat and divine magic. Darren was a very quiet obedient recruit, while the rest of the boys in Starkhaven his age would be getting into trouble and getting flogged for it, Darren would be quietly brooding over books and scrolls. Since he was old enough to pick up a book Darren studied hard and read as much as he could. He would spend days in the library at a time and on more than one occasion he would have to be reminded to eat. Only when it was time to learn to fight would he leave the library. He was not as good at fighting, and the other recruits would mock him for this. Until one night when Darren and the other boys were eight, the other boys decided to sneak out of the keep and go steal some cupcakes from the local market outside the walls of Starkhaven. This was a normal thing that they would do, however they never invited Darren so this night Darren decided to follow them and see where they went. On this very night a group of Mordok had the same idea as the boys, however they weren’t there for cup cakes, and pastries. Darren followed the boys to the bakery where the baker had left the door unlocked, Darren watched from behind a barrel as the four boys snuck in and out of the shop giggling and stuffing their faces with cake. But their glee soon turned to looks of terror as three fully grown Mordok jumped from the roof above them and surrounded the boys. Darren watched in terror as the three massive axe wielding beasts closed in on the four boys who had tormented him his whole life, but he couldn’t sit there and do nothing. In a blinding flare of holy light one of the creatures was sent reeling as Darren leapt over the barrel, hammer in hand and threw himself into one of the Mordok and took it to the ground. As the two grappled they battered each other, although Darren managed to prevail. The four boys surrounded one of the two remaining ones and stabbed it to death with knives then ran back to the keep as Darren fought the last remaining one.
The next morning Darren’s body was found barely alive amidst the three dead Mordok, none of the guards had seen them enter the settlement and the four recruits said nothing about the night before, but they knew that they were alive because of Darren. The clerics were able to nurse Darren back to life.

Six years later Darren Thunder-hammer has redoubled his devotion to become a Lion of the Order of Arnath’s Light. He has since been given a full suit of plate armor and tower shield and has pledged to rid the world of all evil, all he knows of undead are just stories, but he swears to destroy everything that destroyed his father…

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Uthyur

PLAYED BY: Mike Hale
CHARACTER NAME: Uthyur
GENDER: male
CLASS: Warrior/mage
AGE: 41
RACE: Human
HAIR: brown
EYES: hazel
OCCUPATION: hunter
KNOWN SKILLS: sword and shield, archery, scanner magics
BIRTHPLACE: unknown
APPEARANCE:
NOTABLE TRAITS:
RELATIONSHIPS:
RUMORS:
SECRET INFO: uses arcane magic defensively and will do what it takes to survive unless it would cause the loss of innocent life.

Uthyur was raised by a warrior father and mage mother. He was brought up in both disciplines, but favored the warrior. He did however do quite well with the magic side as well. It is mainly defensive reactive though. His mother wanted to make sure he had an edge to safe guard his life.
The warrior teachings of his father taught him the meaning of the words courage, honor, and justice and it had become a huge part of his life today, so much so that these words are engraved into the cross guard of his sword.
Because of this teaching, he will follow his conscience and what he believes will let him follow those beliefs, even if it looks as though it isn’t the smart or popular choice.
He isn’t from an overly wealthy family but they were not peasant class either. He will work for his money, but does not fight for it if he believes it to be dishonorable. Mainly he hunts for his profession and is proficient in many types of arms. His father’s teachings oft times left him in the woods to survive by his own devices from an early age. Because of this he is very at home in the woods as well as the city.

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Caius Vallenar

Name: Sergeant Caius Vallenar

Age: 33

Race: Human

Hair: Dark Brown

Eyes: Hazel

Occupation: Former Vandregon Lieutenant – Present Newhope Sergeant, Blacksmith & Bartender

Known Skills: Blacksmithing & Professional Soldier

Birthplace: Kingdom of Vandregon, Year 232

History

Caius Vallenar hails from a minor city-state housed in the Kingdom of Vandregon. His father, who was born a mere commoner, dedicated his entire life to the service and protection of a local lord. In exchange for his service he was rewarded with the official bearings of knighthood, and used his noble status to provide for himself and his son. While Caius had the build and untapped skill for combat, his true passion and calling came from the smelting and folding of steel; it surprised all around him when his natural talent for the craft surfaced early on. His father glowed with pride at Caius’ skill, refused to push him towards the life of rank and nobility, and was eager to learn blacksmithing along with his son. Misfortune would not look kindly upon the young smith, however. A large group of cutthroats and bandits invaded their hometown, looting and pillaging anything they could. As the town guard was caught entirely by surprise, initial resistance was scattered and disorganized at best. Upon hearing the screams of his neighbors, Caius instinctively picked up his smith’s hammer and a nearly-finished blade, and ran to their aid with no hesitation. They discovered him kneeling with a great wound to his right shoulder, without making a sound. Upon closer inspection, it seemed he was surrounded by two of the brigands: both were dead, his right hand still holding fast to the forge hammer’s grip.

After some much needed rest and training to restore his shoulder to full strength, his father, recognizing his true potential as a fighter, immediately inquired his opinion of becoming a soldier and protecting those in need. As Caius was already fascinated with the weapons and tools of martial combat, his decision was firm; within months his combat prowess instilled great respect from his peers and set him apart from other members of the military, despite his young age. Caius took training to the utmost importance in addition to honing his skill as a smith. His aspiration: to forge the finest of armor and weapons for himself and those around him; that they may provide the finest protection during their time of need.

At the age of twenty-one, Caius was wed to the love of his life: Silvetta. The two were described as amongst the most honorable and devoted a couple seen throughout the land, and they bore two children in only a few years’ time. Caius, now with a fatherly conviction, continued his life in the military and soared through the ranks, while his wife took care of educating their children and continuing her role as a talented leatherworker.

Little is known of Caius’ life between the years of 255 to 260, save his arrival to Mardrun on one of the few ships successfully completing the voyage from Faedrun in the year 261. Upon landing, he immediately setup his small forge to accommodate the incredibly high demand for a local skilled smith. With the addition of bartending in a local tavern throughout the week, Caius was able to quickly and efficiently establish himself on the new continent. While none would dare speak ill of his work, the locals who know him best are aware of one hard fact:

..The smith came to Mardrun alone.

Caius seldom speaks of his previous life, though no one would dare fault him; people are known to block out the most traumatic and horrific events they have endured. Those who maintain relations with him have tried to appeal to his past; any attempt has been met with silence followed by a cold, hard stare. He maintains a calm, collected demeanor with a hint of ice to his personality, and the local populace respects his trade and his moderately well-known status throughout the city-state of Newhope. While none can say for certain, rumors and theories circulate aplenty: Caius’ family was killed or lost during The Fall, and he shoulders the blame alone for failing to protect what mattered most; for failing to possess the strength to make a difference. Despite his prestigious ranking inside the Vandregon military, he requested to be discharged upon arriving to Mardrun, relinquishing the titles and influence he had earned from years upon years of service.

Over time Caius’ opportunities improved, as he was offered membership in the Vandregon Trade Guild. His duties: mending armor and tending to weapons for the volunteers of Vandregon; individuals who kept the colors alive in the new continent. His duty-bound soul was somewhat at ease, for he was able to supply the Vandregon units with much-needed equipment, and the soldiers frequently spoke to him or petitioned him for advice while he repaired their armor and weapons. Known for his excellent service, Caius accepted a different bartending situation at a tavern in Baroness Catherine’s district of Newhope, though taking care of those who’ve had a bit much to drink would always be in his duties.

Years went by. Soldiers came and went. Stories circulated amongst the soldiers, and then to Caius’ ears. The colors of Vandregon were still at the forefront of battles. Their leader: a knight by the name of Sir William, commanded great respect from his men. However, it was not to last: the once-compelling stories heard at the tavern eventually turned to stories of worry and dread from the locals stationed at the nearby barracks.

Vandregon was dying.

The last embodiment of order and solidarity was strung out, low on supplies, and its people beginning to starve. Dismissing such tales at first, Caius would settle the locals, retelling with vigor and pride the stories of prowess he had heard about the Vandregon forces on the continent; the stories of Sir William leading the way, of lighting the ever-darkening path for his brothers and sisters in arms. The travelers and locals always left reassured; perhaps not from the stories themselves, or even the manner in which they were told. Something about the look in Caius’ eyes inspired them; it made them believe.

As time continued to pass, so, too did the tales of worry; this weighed heavily on the smith’s mind. For as the rain heaped down upon the roof of the forge one night, it was simply mirroring the arm of the smith, blow after blow raining down upon the cherry-red steel. Caius’ mind was restless, and the forge was the only place he could collect his thoughts. He worked faster, taking half the time he normally used to heat and pound the steel into its final shape. The hammer soared through the air, resounding with a plethora of ringing throughout the structure. Faster and faster he forged, until finally he made his mistake.

With one final strike of the hammer the blade itself broke in two, shards of metal scattering across the floor of the smithy.

Looking down at his work, he examined the broken half of steel. He wasn’t angry; he was empty. Staring into the distance, his mind could think of nothing but Vandregon.

Picking up the broken piece of metal, he held both halves of the blade in each hand. It was at this moment the zeal returned to him – His brows furrowed, and his eyes were set ablaze. Placing the metal pieces next to each other, he heated them in the forge and began his task; for this next blade would be his own.

For too long had he carried the burden of his family’s fate. He abandoned his pride and his post in Vandregon. He had become the one brand of individual he despised above all others: a coward. As the night went on, each hammer blow to the blazing orange steel further solidified this newfound purpose.

Caius renewed a vow to himself alone: he would reenlist with Vandregon. He would assist in their struggles, protect them from harm, and regain his lost titles. This would be how he honored his family. If they were alive, he would work to find them. If they were dead, he would become a man, a father, and a husband they would be proud of.

Filled again with conviction and purpose, Caius ran out in the middle of the night to reenlist.

Upon his arrival at the Vandregon Headquarters, Caius was astounded by what lay before him: The survivors of the battles were packing up the offices and structures of the Vandregon Headquarters…

The rumors were true in their entirety, and worse than previously imagined.

The people were rioting. All of the supplies were gone; Sir William of Vandregon vanished without a trace. The overwhelming stress and high expectations of his performance had finally bore their way to his mind. Without his guidance and presence, the soldiers lost faith and began leaving the ranks of Vandregon in order to find work elsewhere. Vandregon, and the entirety of its influence on the continent of Mardrun, was dissolved.

Caius stormed back into the smithy, picked up his hammer, and cleanly threw it across the room into a wooden pillar, the scraps of wood splintering across the floor of the workshop. The fire burned deep within him, but now it had changed: a fiery vengeance against one who betrayed his people. How could the one man he could look up to in these dark times, the one whose stories turned fear on its heels in the hearts and minds of the people… How could he turn his back on his own men? Caius gazed across the room, blankly staring into the smooth stone wall. Despite trying desperately to push it from his mind’s reach, the thought finally settled upon him:

He, himself, was no different.

His own men…his own battalion of soldiers; he had abandoned them. The honor, devotion, loyalty and integrity he once stood for meant nothing because of his cowardice.

Kneeling down and firmly grasping the hammer, his will was finally tempered. Fueled now by a reformed sense of purpose and a fury against his previous self, Caius left the Vandregon Headquarters and set his path upon the military barracks of Newhope. Knowing his previous training and rank would never transfer, he refuted the doubt from his mind: he would rise in the ranks and prove to his family, himself, and to the citizens of Mardrun a truly noble cause was still worth believing in.

Caius enlisted as a soldier in the Newhope Army and thus began volunteering for duties and additional training whenever the opportunity presented itself, tackling every challenge or obstacle presented to him; he would become a leader to the people of Mardrun, and shine his light for others in the dark times ahead.

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Freya Rev Anda

Played by: Sarah Larson
Name: Freya Rev Anda
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Race: Ulven
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown/orange
Occupation: Warrior -Combat archer/Sword & board
Known Skills: First Aid
Birthplace: Cliffs of the Eastern sea
Notable Traits: Wary of any and all magic. Loves nature. Thinks all Syndar smell funny. Very curious and fierce when need be.
Relationships:
Kragen Bloodmoon- Feels a strong bond with Kragen, as a mentor, fighter, and friend.
Pack Graytide- Ill at ease around pack graytide. Recently fought an honor duel with a member over the death of his brother due to her falling asleep on watch.
Character History
Freya was born in a large village on the cliffs of the EasternSea, into the Sjóúlfur pack. Despite the large size, her Ulven pack was very close knit. Every member of the village was considered family, and supported each other through life’s troubles. They were devoted to worshipping Sjóúlfur, under The Great Wolf, and their clan was named for it. The men and women were treated equally, and all of them were combat worthy in some aspect or another. Each member of her pack was gifted with a Guardian Spirit by Sjóúlfur at birth. This Spirit was believed to shape their character, and protect them throughout their lives. Freya was gifted with the Guardian Spirit of the Fox, and was thus named Freya Rev Anda.

True to a fox’s nature, Freya was always getting into trouble. She was very sly and mischievous, always going where she was told not to and getting into things she should not. While her father was a great warrior, Freya was not built for melee or hand to hand combat; though she was dexterous enough to hold her own or escape if necessary. Her mother taught her to arch in hopes of sidetracking her from causing trouble in the village. She was a natural at it, and practiced every day to please her father, who she looked up to.

Life was quite peaceful in her village. Since it was built into a cliff overhanging the ocean, it was difficult to raid and the Mordok left them alone, for the most part. Freya was an adept swimmer, and her archery skills improved greatly every day [though she often got into trouble for wasting arrows on sea birds]. Eventually, her father started taking her on hunting missions. This was generally a large excursion, where many of the Ulven men and women would travel miles away, into dense forests to track and kill wildlife to later dry and store for the long winters. Mordok became a problem during these excursions. As she grew older, the Mordok became more and more prominent, and grew bolder. Several times they managed to kill some of her pack, and she watched them pass on to the spirit realm. She learned to hate them with a passion, and rightly so.

One night, Freya was perched on a tree stump near the campsite on watch. The fire was low, and most of the hunters had fallen asleep. She was exhausted from the days work, and trying very hard not to doze off. As she sat there nodding off, a Mordok snuck up behind her and grabbed her by the neck, clasping its filthy hand over her mouth. It started dragging her back, but only managed to get a few feet before Freya clamped her sharp teeth around one of it’s fingers and bit it clean off. Screaming with rage, the Mordok threw her to the ground, where she managed to roll back and start crawling back towards the campfire. Gasping for breath, her windpipe nearly crushed, she tried to make it back to camp to warn the others –but the Mordok’s scream had done it for her.

It grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her backwards. She watched as it raised its wicked blade, glinting in the moonlight, and was ready to accept her death. As long as the others made it, that’s all she cared for. Thankfully, one of her pack members ran towards the scream and got there just in time to save her. He slaughtered the Mordok and dragged her back to the safety of the pack.

It was a large Mordok raiding party that was passing through for unknown reasons. The Mordok are filled with hatred and kill without cause. They were eventually dispatched, but many Sjóúlfur were lost. Freya lost her father in that fight. His body was completely surrounded by slain Mordok. The number varies from story to story, but many say he killed around 30 of them before he was overrun. His body was a mangled mess. Some say his spirit still wanders that area in the form of a bear, protecting wanderers from the Mordok, and that the Mordok now fear that place.
Freya was overcome with grief with the loss of her father, and blamed it on herself for her lack of vigilance on watch. Though her pack tried to reassure her that she had woken up the entire hunting party through her valor, she knew the truth. If she had stayed awake, nobody would have died; or at least that is what she told herself. From that point forward she was restless with village life. Her father’s death had changed her.

She packed a small bag of essentials and her bow, and left the village. She was determined to prove to herself that she was strong, and could hold her own. She has spent the last few years roaming Mardrun and killing Mordok. She keeps a string of Mordok teeth with her, one for each Mordok she kills. She has matured greatly while living on her own. Freya is very observant of others, and slow to trust humans and Syndar. She is more at ease with Ulven, but still wary. She is also quite feral, and distrusts magic users, as magic is unnatural to her. At times her mischievous nature shows when she is in a settlement or colony. Most of the time she prefers to stay alone, but her curiosity often overcomes her in town situations, where people are interacting. She tries very hard to maintain a hard outer shell, but the truth is she misses her pack, and having companions, and that shows with her interactions with others. The only thing that is steady with her is her hatred for the Mordok and willingness to work with anyone to kill them.

Character notes:
-Freya speaks in a low, raspy voice since her windpipe was nearly crushed by the Mordok
-Freya is Illiterate. She can not write or read.
-She hates nothing more than the Mordok. She is wary of Syndar and magic users.
-Rev means Fox, and Anda means spirit in Old Norse language.

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Azra Steelfang

Played by: Shelly Sonsalla
Name: Azra Steelfang
Gender: female
Age: 19
Race: Ulven
Hair: dark blonde
Eyes: blue
Relationships: Dria Northwind– traveling companion

Bio:

Ulven are warriors from the day they are born. They fight coming into this world, and they most definitely fight going out. That is, if the Great Wolf wills it. And my only wish is to join the Wolf—after taking out as many as I can of the Mordok who inhabit our lands.

I was born in the spring of 18 years past. My parents, Crewger and Rasaleane Steelfang, and my brother Sathenus, welcomed me into this world, vowing to make me the greatest female warrior in our small but very fighting-oriented village. I did not disappoint them. As soon as I could walk, I began to train, first by just going on long hikes with my brother in the mountainous terrain surrounding our home. Then, once my coordination improved, I began to fight. In the beginning, I was only allowed a small, wooden dagger that I could spar with. And although my father and brother were very patient with me, I did occasionally end up with minor injuries from our sparring sessions. These bruises, scrapes, and the occasional broken finger were treated by my mother, who was so skilled in medicinal herbs and procedures that most of the village turned to her for help with their ailments. Mother always got annoyed at me though, for no sooner would she get me bandaged up and I would be back at it, fighting with all my might against my older and far more skilled opponents.

Over the years, I graduated from my wooden sparring sword to a cheap steel sword. This sword wasn’t the best of quality, but being such, it helped me be able to overcome any barriers I may face in my battles. It wasn’t long before my father and brother had to use their full skill to keep me from defeating them in our mock battles. It was around this time that I earned the weapons I carry today—a silver shield with a golden dagger etched onto its surface and my mother’s sword.
The shield was made for me by my brother, who spent countless hours forging it in secrecy so that it would be ready to give to me on the day that I became the strongest female warrior in the village. That day happened to be only a week after my 15th birthday. It was a tradition in my village that any child must challenge the town’s strongest fighters as soon as he or she reaches 15 years. This was used to evaluate the child’s fighting prowess and to try and find who the strongest fighters are.

My first fight was against a boy I grew up with. He was but 5 years older than me. As I readied myself for battle with him, my hands shook with anticipation as they gripped my unbalanced sword and small, buckler style shield. I knew I had it in me to beat him, the only question was if I could focus or not. I took a few calming breaths to steady my nerves and stepped up to him. We saluted each other, grim faced, stood ready. He was dual wielding, so I held my shield at the ready, prepared to block an attack from any direction. He struck, rattling my shield with his left hand sword while striking with the right. I blocked the sword and used the momentum it gave me to swing for his arm. He twisted out of the way just in time so my slice fell short. At this point, adrenaline was pumping through both our bodies, sharpening our vision as well as our reflexes. I could see every minute change in his body’s position before he attacked. And he could read me just as well. It became a game of trying to fake the other out, trying to get them to lower their guard. And he won. I had been watching him closely, intent on every movement, when I was blinded. He had used the edge of his sword to reflect the sunlight into my eyes. My temporary confusion created an opening for him; he sliced with both swords. I was able to block the first with my shield, but the second sliced open the skin on my leg. I hissed with pain. He had gotten first blood. That meant that I had to land two hits on him before he touched me again. Otherwise, it was all over. I lunged forward with an overhead strike, changing my direction of attack at the last moment with a flick of my wrist. The feint worked and he blocked with both weapons, leaving himself open for my blade to flick in and slice the front of his shirt. A thin trail of blood made his way down his chest as he glared at me between long black bangs. The pressure was on now—whoever landed the next hit would be victorious. My next attack was parried by one of his swords, and while he had my sword trapped out of the way, he struck. My only option to escape the attack was to react in a way he would never expect. So instead of blocking and dodging back, I pushed his sword away with my shield before dropping my still entrapped sword and quickly reaching into my sword belt for the small dagger I always kept hidden there. One quick swish of my wrist opened a shallow cut on his cheek. We stood there for a few seconds, unable to believe the battle was really over, before stepping away and saluting each other. Only then did I hear my family screaming their praise for me. Only then did I realize that I had actually won.

The next few hours were a frenzy of activity, of fighting, blocking, dodging, and lunging. I couldn’t even begin to tell how long I was fighting–all I knew is that Ihad been fighting for a long time….and it was beginning to take a toll on me. I felt my attacks becoming sloppier, my blocks coming up slower and slower, until it got to the point that they barely managed to block the oncoming sword.

Finally, I turned to meet my enemy and found none other than my brother, his 6 foot, heavily armored frame seeming to take up all of the space. I took a deep breath before letting it out in a snarl—a snarl he eagerly returned. Then, just like that, it was on, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me a new-found energy.. Unafraid, Sath charged toward me, slashing viciously. I dodged nimbly back, avoiding every one of his slices. But he gave me no time to counter, lunging forward to bash me in the face with his shield. My head snapped back, my ears ringing in my head. Before I could recover, his blade slashed out once more and sliced open my upper armor. I hissed with pain before launching a fury of attacks, using my light weight and slender build to my advantage. And finally, finally, I landed a hit on his leg, opening a cut barely big enough to bleed. But it did, so we were tied. Before that thought could even fully enter my head, he feinted high before smashing me with his shield and full weight, knocking me back and off balance for a millisecond. It’s the only time he needed to slice open my calf. I hissed, knowing that that cut will scar, adding to the dozens of small scars I already owned. I bowed before he pulled me into a hug and half-carried me over to where our parents were waiting.
As I neared them, I was surprised when Sath picked up a small shield—silver, with a golden dagger inlaid in it—as his shield already works so well. My confusion was soon answered when he held it out to me. “good fighting, sister.” He told me before turning to Rasaleane, who I saw was holding her sword before her. I took it and looked at her questioningly. She nodded and smiled, so I stepped back and swung it a few times. The balance was amazing. I quickly dropped my old sword and shield, sheathed my sword, and slung my new shield on my back.

After that, life went mostly back to normal, except that Sathenus left a few weeks later without a word and that now I was allowed on the front lines if there were any mordok attacks or if we wanted to go scouting for mordok. Once I even led a scouting party that found a mordok camp. We decimated them and brought their heads back to camp for all to see.

And so continued daily life until 3 weeks ago, when word reached our village of the missing caravan and Daven’s Reach. Seizing this opportunity to explore Mardrun, I went straight to my father and requested his permission as clan leader to leave. He granted it without a second thought and I headed off the very next day, without my mother and father giving me blessings of fortune and their word that they would let my brother know where I went.

My journey was mostly uneventful, besides acquiring a companion at one of the taverns I stopped in on my way. I had walked into the tavern in the dead of night, and much to my surprise, there was a Mordok hunting party just leaving. Realizing that I would have plenty of opportunities to kill Mordok when I wasn’t hungry and tired from travel, I let them go on their own. Instead I stepped up to the bar and ordered some mead, soup, and bread with venison. I glanced around the tavern and chose the table in the farthest, darkest corner. I sat with my back against the wall, watching the crowd warily. The majority of the tavern’s patrons were men—extremely intoxicated men. But sitting at another table, quietly drinking her mead was an ulven who appeared to be not much older than i. The next time she glanced up, I nodded to her, then waved her over. She looked hesitant for a moment before coming to sit across from me.
“my name is Azra Steelfang,” I told her.
“Dria Northwind of the Beothunk Clan,” she replied, before telling me her story. Her village had been destroyed by the Mordok, so she was searching for a newhope. She believed that Daven’s Reach was the place where she could find that hope, so I invited her to travel there with me. She accepted, and so after a partial night of sleep, we left early the next morning to continue our journey.

And now I’m about to arrive at Daven’s reach. The party lead by Kragen Bloodmoon had already left for the outpost, but there were rumors of a Mordok camp nearby. So Dria and I decided to meet up with the party of adventurers now residing at Daven’s Reach. Who knows what monsters we’ll encounter after we arrive….