Character Backstory (Optional): The leathered hands of House Conrad's trapper work tirelessly at their craft. A steady stream of skins finds its way from under his knife to adorning some of the fiercest warriors in the lands. The Hogarthe family, in the past and present valued strength and ensured that the men who enjoyed their pelts were worthy of their work. This loyalty had, in turn, been rewarded as House Conrad had found its footing, resulting in a modest plot of land that now houses the Hogarthe family and its newest hunter, Gibson Hogarthe. Although he has not been found lacking in his family's trade, Gibson has been known among the locals to harbor a great amount of youthful ambition. A kind born from inexperience and a certain kind of foolishness that could place the future of the Hogarthe family in jeopardy.
Steam Name: Lord Cutler Beckett Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:65545159 Discord Name & ID: Lord Beckett / lordbeckett. Character Name: Inquisitor-Potentate Maximilian von Brahm Character Role: Naturalist Priest
A drawn out, rust-filled creak emanates from the cell door at the opposite end of the room. In the doorway's outline, a figure stands completely still and silent. Dressed in pristine clerical robes, the only notable feature of the figure is that of the cross displayed prominently on its white robes with shadows obscuring most of the figure's face. After a brief moment's pause, the figure begins to enter the room, the footsteps making not so much as a scratch on the cold, stone floor; the figure's robes reach to the ground, giving the cloaked figure the appearance of weightlessly gliding across. The figure approaches a large, raised slab of stone in the center of the cell, upon which a hapless peasant is bound across with his arms and legs restricted with lengths of leather. Next to the peasant stands a man wrapped in long strands of black cloth, enveloping his entire body in darkened fabric. The peasant, clearly exhausted, manages to raise his head a couple inches to look at the newly-arrived figure. His eyes widen.
The figure quickly approaches the edge of the slab and hovers his right hand above the peasant's head, holding it there for a few moments. After a short while, the figure speaks in a raspy, subdued tone, "The Corruption is strong with this one. I can feel your suffering, my child. Why do you hold fast to your heretical practices?"
The peasant sputters out a response, "Y-Your Excellency... I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just a lowly peasant, hoping to bring in the next harvest-"
The figure waves him off, silencing him with the gesture. He turns to the man clad in black, asking, "What have you learned?"
The man in black grunts, responding harshly in a common tone, "Not much, your Excellency. Th' knave 'as been most resilient, er, so ta speak... Damn-near broke his arms off wit' this 'ere rack..."
The figure replies, "I know he conspires with a group of heretical filth. Shap has told me. He has instructed me to find them, and purify them. You must do better."
The torturer responds in a strained voice, "But, my lord, I don't know how much more this'un can take-"
The peasant gasps, stretching his neck to peer at the two clergymen, "Tis' true, my lord. Just let me go, and I promise to double my tithe!"
The figure turns sharply, glancing at the peasant. He quickly descends toward the slab, his face mere inches from that of the peasant's. Bloodshot eyes appear from the confines of a dark, black mask. He stares at the trembling serf for several seconds, studying him closely.
"If the heretic cannot sustain more of the physical," the figure utters, "then we must employ all means necessary to discover where the heretics hide."
The peasant's eyes dart between the two men, before speaking up, "Wh-what do you mean?"
The figure straightens his back, standing at full height once more. He glances to the torturer and says, "Parish records show the heretic has a wife and three children." He glances at the peasant before turning back to the man in black and nodding once.
The torturer nods back and says, "Yes, your Excellency. I shall 'ave th' boys collect 'em at th' next service."
The figure turns around quickly, his robes billowing as he moves; he strides toward the door, the sounds of a panicked and enervated peasant begging for mercy resounding behind him. The figure continues through the doorway, the large, metal door slamming closed behind him with a final clunk of metal striking stone.
The next day's service was conducted as usual. The priest began with a reading from the holy book, the church's seats filled with the unwashed masses of peasantry attempting to better themselves through their faith. The usual service was interrupted, however, by the surprise appearance of the Inquisitor-Potentate, who appeared at the end of the room as he walked through the double doors. The peasants turned and collectively smiled at the inquisitor. He walked with methodical purpose down the church aisle, grasping the outstretched hands of peasants and subsequently blessing them with a few muttered prayers. In addition to hands, a whole assortment of everyday items with presented to the inquisitor: stone bowls, holy books, pickaxes, cooking utensils, jewelry, potions, and various other accouterments of the peasant lifestyle. Each and every item was blessed by the inquisitor with a simple wave of the hand, ensuring no corrupting magical properties were stored inside. At the end of his procession, the inquisitor stood at the front of the church, bringing his hands together in a solemn prayer. He peered up for a moment from his prayer to look at the back of the church. In one of the rear pews, a woman sat with three children of various ages. A man clad in a black robe appeared from behind a pillar, standing just off to the side of the pews. The inquisitor nodded almost imperceptibly to the figure, before peering back down and closing his eyes, continuing his prayer.
Sir Daemon, born into the holy church and trained as a Knight has always been fully immersed in the tenets of Originalist Catharism. He was educated by the finest scholars and trained in combat by the kingdom's most skilled knights. Daemon's upbringing was marked by a strong emphasis on honor, duty and the sacred mission to eradicate the influence of Yari from the world. From the youngest age of training, Daemon showed great promise in martial training, earning respect and admiration from his peers and mentors.
At the age of Sixteen, Daemon experienced a profound spiritual awakening. During a pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Saint Audeon, he claimed to have received a divine vision from Shap. In this vision, Shap revealed to him the true nature of the eternal struggle against the Yari and tasked him with the sacred mission to take up his sword and fight for justice and to protect the holy against the forces of dark magic. Inspired and possessed by this vision, Daemon vowed to dedicate his life to the service of Shap and fight against the dark forces of Yari, protecting those who preach the words of the holy sun-god.
Daemon's training was intensified as he prepared his divine mission. Under the tutelage of many great holy warriors, a legendary knight and protector of the holy church is what Daemon was destined to become. Tensions have grown throughout history, and neighbouring nations have begun to spark paranoia into the hearts of many, the church requires protection and Sir Daemon, the Holy Knight and first sword of the Catharism church will be the one to protect and serve those who have been touched by the sun-god at the top of the pyramid of power.
He was knighted and made into the Holy Sword of the Church once his training was complete, granted the name the Divine, he vouched to never hold lands or claim a wife, he was to bastard no children, his sole purpose in life is now to protect the Holy Church. During his tenure, he was gifted his sword and armour from the High Priest, an "upgrade" on what he originally carried, told to be blessed by the stars, he carried it within his younger years, proud and filled with joy as he cut down the enemies who dared to hurt the foundations of the Church.
Daemon lived the life of the Church's Holy Sword for the majority of his life, his skill in battle and in one-on-one combat is second-to-none. He is seen as a mighty and divine warrior amongst the common folk. He spends most of his time in the current day as a guard, ready to give his life for any member of the Church regardless of the sect. However, he is currently bound to the Originalist Church with the High Originalist. Now in his early forties and filled with knowledge, wise and strong. Some would say Daemon is blinded by his teachings and the claim he was touched by the sun-god and granted a divine mission. Some accuse him of being a pretender, however, those same accusers may find themselves at the end of his divine justice.
Core Beliefs & Character Traits
Sir Daemon the Divine is a devout Originalist, believing firmly in the guiding presence of the Phones and righteousness of the Shap's blessing. He views his mission as a sacred duty to protect the realm and the holy church from the forces of evil. Daemon believes greatly in honor, strength and divine justice- he believes the will of the Phones and the blessing of Shap must be honored by any means necessary.
The Good
Loyal - Loyal to his allies, his faith and his divine mission. Righteous - Committed to upholding the principles of Catharism. Honorable - Adheres to a strict code of honor, ensuring his actions are morally sound. Determined - Relentless in pursuit of his goals, never giving up in the face of overwhelming odds.
The Bad
Zealous - Intense dvotion can sometimes border fanaticism, making him inflexible and intolerant of different viewpoints. Unforgiving - Does not forgive those that stray from the righteous path. Single-minded - Focuses on eradicating magic and the enemies of the Church, this blinds him to other issues.
Equipment
Daemon wields a sword made of hearty steel called "Purifier." Some believe it to be touched by the gods themselves. He wields this with great prowess.
Daemon wears a set of shining steel plated armour. In certain lights the common folk tell tales of it shining bright gold and depictions of Shap are seen.
Church's ring. A ring made of sunstone, a rare gem believed to be a gift from Shap to the Church for their finest protector. Daemon believes it brings him power.
Character Name:Knight Henry Fitzgerald Character Role:The King's Swords
Character Backstory (Optional):
The youthful Henry along with his brother Adam were destined by their makers to be knights, however by coincidence or not, Adam got murdered by bandits in cold blood, leaving Henry on his own at the age of fourteen, after that tradegic event, the only child of the fitzgerald family continued his path to become a knight. During his many years of journey he met countless trainers and foes, which led him to master swordsmanship along with horsemanship like no other. After his extensive training, Henry began serving under the rule of a noble family as a bodyguard, there he faced many challenges for ten long years. At the age of 34 Henry was given a choice, either continue his duty as a bodyguard for a noble family or move to a new banner...the House of Blackwood.
Steam Name:MAXYOURFRIEND Steam ID:STEAM_0:0:87834445 Discord Name & ID:maxyourfriend Character Role (To make sure I'm specific): King's Sword
Sir Mathias of Pickering Sworn Sword of House Blackwood The Old Knight
-Background-
Sir Mathias was born a simple peasant in the small village of Pickering, the only notable feature of the town being its position on the borderlands of the Kingdom of Modora and the Forbidden Lands. His early years were formulated by the terrors of reality and the folktales of what lay deep within the borders of the dark lands. As a young man, he was forced to learn to fight with sword and spear, and luckily he found he had a natural talent for the blade. Nevertheless, it seemed the young man was destined to be cast away to die in a pagan raid.
Mathias was blessed, alongside many of his local countrymen, with the hosting of a royal tournament. King Peor Hiat had personally commanded the tournament to be held in the borderlands to find suitable knights and commanders to be found for his armies from the experienced hands that were bred in the harsh lands. Mathias was able to convince his village to fund his armoring, and he was able to scrounge a horse, so like a folk hero of old, he went to the tournament to prove himself.
The truth is that Mathias was not nearly as well equipped as most of the other serious contenders, given that they were generally nobles. Mathias joined the melee, seeking his glory there. Given his poor odds, he gave a good showing, as he lasted until the last of the melee. In the end, it was himself and only a single noble left standing. Unfortunately, Mathias was defeated there, which granted the noble the grand awards of the melee.
Fortune favored Mathias, however, as he was still chosen by the king for a role many considered more esteemed. Recognizing the young man's luck or ability to have successfully lasted to the finale of the melee, Mathias was entered into the King's Swords. Many nobles present at the tournament argued against the decision, but it was silenced after Mathias kneeled before the king and swore his life to the king.
From there on, Mathias served the old king faithfully as his stalwart bodyguard. He would serve in as many battles as possible, fetching him many scars as he suffered many wounds in his service. Mathias earned his knighthood on one of these many battles, though not even he can fully recall which it was now. As he aged, Mathias became more reliant on his years of learning technique rather than his natural ability as his age slowed him. Despite it all, he still managed to keep up with any of the younger men who would join the King's Swords.
By the end of Peor's life, Mathias considered himself a friend of the King's. Truthfully, Mathias is uncertain of such, but he remains confident in it. He tried his best to remain present at the king's side, even outside of war. Of course, many times this was limited by the King's Champion, but Mathias remained undeterred in his loyalties and deferred to his superior without complaint. On the fateful day of the king's assassination, though, he was tragically absent. In his older age, he was sleeping at the time after having spent the entire previous night hunting for the attempted assassin of the king's son Leopold.
In the subsequent years after the death of the old king, this old knight has remained still in the service of the Blackwoods. The best hope that anyone has of understanding the man stays with his continued service; he remains a constant presence near the young king. Most believe that Sir Mathias carries out the final command he heard from his king to his guards after the attempted assassination of his son, "Protect my son, destroy his enemies," but others say that the old knight is lost without the man he swore his life to and that it is a matter of time before he is ousted from his position due to his advancing age.
-Personality-
Brave: In the pursuit of his duties, Mathias has never shirked away, even in the face of desperate odds.
Honest: Mathias has always kept to his oaths and also clearly prides himself in giving his unfiltered opinion to those who ask and those he serves
Diligence: Mathias never has willingly ignored his duty, he has always kept to his life-oath, even with the death of his king.
Melancholic: The loss of his king has left an obvious dampening on the mood of the old knight, without the man he swore his life to it seems he has lost much of the luster to his service that he once had. His mood is known to often swing to the dour, even on his best days.
Weathered: A combination of age and the many wounds suffered over decades of service have led Mathias to having many unfortunate moments of weakness due to sudden bouts of exhaustion or pain.
--- OOC Section --- Steam Name: Stan The Logical Man Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:29370040 Discord Name & ID: stan2626 --- IC Section --- Character Name: Erak Thunaraz Character Role: Hedge Knight Mercenary
Life in the frigid North was never a gentle one. The survival of the people living there depends on their ability to procure sustenance regularly, typically through hunting and fishing. Their continued existence is also linked to their martial prowess: the power to take from others and protect one’s home, to prove one’s worthiness to call this land theirs. All men from a young age, whether born in a remote village eking out a living on the fringes of the world, or a fortified Hundred that casts a long shadow over the surrounding tundra, are expected to hone their ability to wage war. Erak Thunaraz was one of the many sons who hoped to bring honor to his name by becoming a protector of his home and loved ones. Born in a modest village on the coast, Erak earned his place in his society by fishing, hunting, and fighting. Every able-bodied person was expected to do their part to ensure the survival of the Clan. Scant knowledge is known about the Northern Clans, their existence largely being unknown to the people of the South. This can also be said of the Northmen’s knowledge of the South, due to their isolationist nature. There is little contact between both worlds, save for the occasional adventurous trader seeking fortune.
As for the fortunes of Erak, they quickly turned sour when a rival Clan’s raiding party appeared on the outskirts of his village. The ensuing battle was fierce and desperate, with the village’s warriors being heavily outnumbered. Erak was stuck amid the chaos, fighting to keep himself alive as much as he was to protect his home. During the melee, Erak received a glancing blow to his helmet by an enemy slinger’s sling stone. Whilst only being a superficial injury, it promptly rendered him unconscious for some time. After several hours lying on the field, he eventually opened his eyes to see his village ablaze, most of the inhabitants having been slaughtered or forced to flee. The enemy had stripped the village bare of anything valuable they could carry. Erak sat on the bloodied battlefield, staring at the ruins of his life. His family had been killed, and any friends he had left were either dead or running for the hills. He lost any sense of purpose, cursing the spirits of his land for abandoning his people. He would likely have been content to sit and despair for the rest of time, if it were not for the small ship that creaked and moored itself on the village’s small jetty.
By sheer coincidence, a Southern trader who regularly stopped by Erak’s village for supplies and goods just so happened to arrive at the end of the fighting. He stepped off the ship and walked onto the jetty, surveying the scene until eventually laying eyes on Erak, sitting amongst his fallen brethren.
He called out to him, speaking the Northern language he spent much time learning throughout his years of venturing to the North, “I can see you have endured a terrible pain, Northman. What will you do now?”
Erak looked back at the Southerner, his eyes dark with the pain and anger he felt. He gave the man a slight shake of the head.
The trader waited a few moments, before stating, “I can always use a strong hand on my vessel, as humble as it is.”
Erak only took a moment to understand the implications of what the man meant. He would have to leave his home to start a new life on his own, seeking a purpose for his existence that could no longer be found in the North. He slowly rose, with the chainmail on his back, helmet on his head, and ax in hand. He shambled over to the Southerner’s ship, ready to begin the next chapter of his life.
Life on the sea was exhilarating, if dangerous at times. Erak’s skill at arms was constantly being tested, typically beating any pirate who dared prey on the vessel to a bloody pulp, or just cutting their heads off with his ax. He progressively learned both the language of the South, its history, and how life was like from the ship’s crew. After a few years working as the merchant’s personal pirate guillotine, Erak was convinced by his fellow crewmates he could put his skills to better use on the mainland. Skilled warriors were highly sought commodities in the South, both to the merchant class and the nobility. So, with the money he had made with the merchant, he set forth to the Southern kingdom to find his fortune.
Erak did not take long to make something of a name for himself. After some time working as a not much more than a hired thug, he eventually entered the ever-popular tournament circuits around the land. Here he could show off his skills for all to see, taking part in tourneys that helped earn him a respectable living. He became a moderately renowned hedge knight, traveling around the kingdom to earn a living as a fighter. If there was not a tournament for him to enter, he could always rent out his sword arm to anyone needing his “expertise.”
Life in the stadium and beating the heads in of the occasional lowly brigands slowly grew boring to Erak. He ultimately desired to fight in real battles, where his life was at risk, and where he could bring honor to himself in the eyes of the Northern spirits that observed him.
In the evening after a tourney just like any other, Erak sat on the empty stands, still wearing his armor, and looking over the rotten food and other detritus left by the masses. He felt a feeling he had only felt whilst looking at the ruins of his burning village. He felt as though he lacked purpose. He kicked a musty tankard near his boot, looking around the stands and at the gray sky above. He knew he had to make a change, yet he could not see how.
By coincidence, Erak spotted a dirty flier under one of the seats. He reached down to pick it up and attempted to read the crudely written message, smeared presumably with charcoal on the filthy parchment,
LOOKIN FER SELLSORDS LAZIC FREE COMPNY ASK FER MALARIC AT TAVURN
Erak had a gut sensation that this was another turning point for him. He had done mercenary work for merchants and minor nobility, but to work for a Free Company meant a chance for real combat. A chance to prove his worth as a warrior and make up for the shame he had for failing to save his village. He quickly stood up, made sure his sword was securely fastened to his belt, slung his ax over his shoulder and sauntered over to the tavern, eager to find his purpose.
Character Name: Belrand Tannerfold Character Role: House Arkanis Local Tanner
Character Backstory (Optional):
Belrand Tannerfold was the child of a peasant who had been convicted of theft and consequently banished from the land. for the most part of his years, he has been experiencing the humiliation and failure of his father's actions. his desire to rise above his family’s ruined reputation. Belrand works on many jobs one of them being tanning in an attempt to sustain his household. His skills caught the attention of House Arkanis who hired him for their needs.
Everard Beaumont. "For there to be light, there must be darkness."
Everard Beaumont, was originally under the reign of house Blackwood, originally a devoted Christian due to his families views. But he was sadly cursed, cursed with Leprosy at 12. Making him a disgusting freak, pieces of flesh and skin missing with molds and sores all across his body. He was outcasted from his family, considered merely a killer of the family bloodline.. He ran into the woods to die, until he heard a voice.
"Who are they to toss you out like a bastard child? Why hath your god abandoned you?" "What must I do? Who even are you?!" "Come to the screams, follow the fire, and follow the corpses of those who were not deemed worthy to be feasted upon. And join us."
His joining of 'The Followers of Satan', one of the many groups of the Occult that despise Pagans and Christians were the ones Everard joined. Their capabilities of whispering in the minds of those with the voices of the dead, death marking, and dark rituals. Everard was welcomed into this occult, primarily due to the fact many others were outcasts as well. This occult was especially unique, was due to the fact they were cannibals they were very formal about it. Making what would be considered cuisine levels of Human Cooked flesh, Bloodwines, and Human Fat Cakes. Everard was told he was destined to be a Hell Knight, due to the fact his father was a Knight under Blackwoods Reign. Thus, Everard was made the cults Knight. Knights were known to do Dark Rituals but nothing extreme. Primarily the more basic to some what advanced rituals, anything higher being within the expertise of the 'Sooth Sayers', the more experienced members of the occult.
Everard trained day and night, practicing the acts of which is considered forbidden, dishonorable, and heresy. The act of dual wielding two swords, stabbing foes while they are on the ground, and deflecting projectiles like Pilums or Arrows. The armor was always made with fear in mind. Whatever looked terrifying was made and Everard was given one such combination, 'Rattle Armor' is what it was called, a piece of armor made by the flesh and bones of victims including a mask with the face of the victim.
However, times have grown.. Special, interesting.. The King of Blackwood died, and comes in a New Young King, a Boy King. A perfect opportunity to spread corruption into the views of this king, and cause discord among the 3 families. Ripping the armor off, he departed under the permission of the Sooth Sayers.. His mission was clear.
"Spread darkness, smother the light into nothing. And force these Scum Fuckers to kneel to the dark lord. And you will be allowed into Hells Army.." "Yes, my lord."
The South Baford Trading Company was established nearly a hundred winters ago within the heart of the southern continent. A minor yet humble company under the firm grasp of a well-off family of merchants peddling goods from distant lands. Founded by their ancestor, an unusually well-travelled nomad carrying with him little to nothing of worth beyond his possession of writings. He claimed to have returned to his ancestral lands previously studying within the merchant states of Saffanaida. In a land familiar yet so foreign to him, he amassed a small fortune where work could be found. Nearly every coin found itself funneled into a vision past down. To construct a new beginning of stability for their sons and grandsons after them. And through three generations, the business was handed down, from father to son.
Now, nearly a thousand years since the Sword-Saint put the Witch-King to the sword. The company finds itself under the second generation, soon to pass unto the third. Ran by a balding grey-haired man known as Theoric of Yelufa, their caravan returns home from the Kingdom of Grappa.
What has become of this world? The greed of man knows no bounds, corrupted beyond measure. Irredeemable by all standards. Fighting amongst one another, led astray and made a puppet of Northmen spreading falsehoods across this continent. Man's betrayal was burned into the memories of our kin. We've built them cities, fed them, clothed them, provided for them. Yet, they became drunk with reckless abandon. Referring to us as heretics, demons, spawns of the devil. Persecuting and driving us to near total extinction, what remains of us today is but a slither of what we once were. The blood that once flowed through this family has withered away. The blood of my forebears, a once powerful mighty people. Left but a fraction of what our honor and prestige once was, muddied by generations of humanity's blood until it overtook our own. Our relatives forsaken us, banished to the far reaches of this world where no one may find them. Us few who were left behind sat in silence. Waiting, wondering.
Still, our family is bound to our Imperial oaths. In the footsteps of our ancestors, we dedicate ourselves to the preservation of the Empire's remnants, our history. We were once a family of Imperial Scholars during the days of the Great Empire. We never accepted to simply abandon our oaths as if it meant nothing to us. For it is foretold that one day, our legions rebuilt anew will emerge from the Forbidden Lands, and shall march carrying with them peace and prosperity. Yet, this is all a mere rouse, a fairy tale. I have travelled all across the continent. I've seen what humanity has built, what they aspire to become. The point of no return approaches our people, their inventions and minds will soon eclipse any hope of our return. We must act soon. Unite what remnants remain. To stand in solidarity with Foundation.
If not now, then never. The last moon of our Empire has passed, soon will come the last moon of our dreams.
Character Backstory (Optional): The fire rages. The steel heats. A thousand meters of wire. Wind. Cut. Join. Wind. Cut. Join. The armourer sleeps not, the sound of metal clangs a bump in the night. Wind. Cut. Join. Weave. Double the thickness. Cut. Join. Weave. Sixteen thousand rings. A war is coming. Weave. Join. Wind. Join. The mail takes shape. Serpentine. Braid. Box. The rings protect the warrior. Wind. Cut. Join. Weave. Braid.
The furnace pops. The steel cools. One ingot, then two, then three. Swing, crack, clang. The plate takes shape. The hammer swings. Children jolt awake at the sound. Swing, crack, clang. The armourer is not to be disturbed. A war is coming. The leather-worker arrives. Measure. Cut. Stitch. Tie. The plate protects the warrior. Swing. Crack. Cut. Stitch. Tie.
Your second and last chance. You will not fail your Lord. How long? Five years. Ten. Twenty. You've grown complacent, Cassyon. Rusty. It cannot happen again.
Character Name: Destrin the Black View attachment 36859 Character Role: Lowborn - Mercenary Captain
Traits:
Black Eyes - Destrin was born with dark grey almost black eyes. Something never seen in his family's history.
Loyal - extremely loyal to his comrades in arms, and to the company.
Greedy - seeks wealth over all else, why else risk your life fighting but for coin
Honor - Seeks to be honorable, especially when doing business.
Character Backstory: Born not but 30 years ago, Destrin was once a part of a long line of merchants. Based in city of YeluFa, his family had long run many a caravan from that eastern city. Once holding what is considered a fortune among the lowborn of the kingdom. However, growing up Destrin loathed his family. With his father pushing for him to take upon his legacy. For Destrin wanted to adventure, to battle, to seek riches not in some warehouse but on the road, and in the battlefield. From the time he could talk, he had studied his family trade. How to read and write. How to make a contract, how to strike a deal. He also learned to fight. The caravan guards that would come to his father for employ would teach him, after offering them coin picked off from his father. Over the years his father has slowly squandered most of the family fortune. With the death of his mother at the age of 17, and his father sick, and on his death bed. Destrin set out on his own.
Over the next 10 years Destin moved from town to town, taking any job he could find. traveling with and guarding the same caravan his had been trained most of his life to manage. He learned his new trade well. Becoming skilled in the art of fighting. After years of being alone on the road. and getting a decent amount of coin in his purse, Destrin decided to finally return to his home city with a plan. When he returned, he found his family's business on its last legs. His father had died, and with him gone all those years, his uncle had taken control. His uncle being an old fool. Destrin "convinced" him to hand over what was left, which was very little. Destrin than transformed the dying merchant businesses, into a new company of honorably mercenary.
The company under the leadership Destrin has slowly grown over the past 3 years. With the Black Eyes being a cut above other sell-swords of the kingdom. For they are not a ravaging band of criminals, and ruffians. Instead, they are professionals in their craft.
Lost Swords.
The Tenants of the Eyes
The Sacred Contract
The company works though contracts signed between the captain, and the client. These contracts are the foundation of the company. Under no terms will a contract ever be broken by the company. Or its clients. Those members who do break the terms of a signed contract shall be removed from their position, violently if need be. If a client breaks the terms of a contract, the company will hold them accountable, either by word, or steel.
Suffer No Banditry
Members of the company shall not engage in any criminal activity whatsoever. If caught, your position in the company is forfeit. And you will be turned over to the kingdom for punishment.
Profession of War and Coin
Members of the company are mandated to keep the skills of the trade sharp. They must train to fight, and to deal. Those caught lacking in the skills will be punished.
All are Welcome
The company accepts all who wish to join, as long as they have knowledge to fight or the knowledge of trade. Anyone above the age of 17, men or women. Those who commit acts of heresy against the church are not welcome and will be turned into the church.
THE RUMOR:
Over the years a rumor, a whisper has spread in the streets, and in the halls. About a mysterious benefactor. A shadow who supports the company. Some threads trace to the east, but how far?
No evidence of this has ever been found, but the whispers keep spreading.
Character Name: Aldous Alaric Character Role: Tanner & Hunter for house Lupthen
Character Backstory (Optional):
"You don't need a backstory, I don't mind." - Alessio
Aldous has been with the house for years now, borne from a Tanner family, continuing the family tradition and role. Avoiding the intricacies of politics within the Kingdom and preferring to stick to himself and his House, he has lived a relatively simple life, away from any sort of battles. Despite other houses likely providing better living standards and equipment, Aldous is devoutly loyal to his lord, recognising the great deeds and selfless nature he and the house have committed themselves to in times past.
Character Backstory (Optional): The leathered hands of House Conrad's trapper work tirelessly at their craft. A steady stream of skins finds its way from under his knife to adorning some of the fiercest warriors in the lands. The Hogarthe family, in the past and present valued strength and ensured that the men who enjoyed their pelts were worthy of their work. This loyalty had, in turn, been rewarded as House Conrad had found its footing, resulting in a modest plot of land that now houses the Hogarthe family and its newest hunter, Gibson Hogarthe. Although he has not been found lacking in his family's trade, Gibson has been known among the locals to harbor a great amount of youthful ambition. A kind born from inexperience and a certain kind of foolishness that could place the future of the Hogarthe family in jeopardy.
Character Role: Tanner & Hunter, any house is good enough for me
Character Backstory (Optional):
Marius is a simple man, he wakes up in the morning, grabs his trusty crossbow, goes to hunt a couple of elk, and then sells their pelts and carcasses at the market for a fairly reasonable price. He is well known around his community, and his reputation as a trust-worthy tanner makes him well-liked by the people of the village.
He learned everything he knew about tanning and hunting from his mother, Rayla, she was one of the kingdom's most prestiged huntresses. She was a very prideful woman, sometimes even putting her work in front of her family; Not that it made her a bad mother, in fact, Marius and her were very close. So close, that he learned how to skin and tan rabbits by the age of five.
These days Marius has been up to his usual business, always waking up at around six to go hunt animals... During one of the many trips to the market to sell his merchandise, he has over-heard a couple of folks talk about some weird creature roaming around the woods; Thing that has struck Marius' curiosity. So our hunter has set himself a simple goal, investigate this creature, and tan the fuck out of it.
Steam Name: Lord Cutler Beckett Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:65545159 Discord Name & ID: Lord Beckett / lordbeckett. Character Name: Inquisitor-Potentate Maximilian von Brahm Character Role: Naturalist Priest
A drawn out, rust-filled creak emanates from the cell door at the opposite end of the room. In the doorway's outline, a figure stands completely still and silent. Dressed in pristine clerical robes, the only notable feature of the figure is that of the cross displayed prominently on its white robes with shadows obscuring most of the figure's face. After a brief moment's pause, the figure begins to enter the room, the footsteps making not so much as a scratch on the cold, stone floor; the figure's robes reach to the ground, giving the cloaked figure the appearance of weightlessly gliding across. The figure approaches a large, raised slab of stone in the center of the cell, upon which a hapless peasant is bound across with his arms and legs restricted with lengths of leather. Next to the peasant stands a man wrapped in long strands of black cloth, enveloping his entire body in darkened fabric. The peasant, clearly exhausted, manages to raise his head a couple inches to look at the newly-arrived figure. His eyes widen.
The figure quickly approaches the edge of the slab and hovers his right hand above the peasant's head, holding it there for a few moments. After a short while, the figure speaks in a raspy, subdued tone, "The Corruption is strong with this one. I can feel your suffering, my child. Why do you hold fast to your heretical practices?"
The peasant sputters out a response, "Y-Your Excellency... I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just a lowly peasant, hoping to bring in the next harvest-"
The figure waves him off, silencing him with the gesture. He turns to the man clad in black, asking, "What have you learned?"
The man in black grunts, responding harshly in a common tone, "Not much, your Excellency. Th' knave 'as been most resilient, er, so ta speak... Damn-near broke his arms off wit' this 'ere rack..."
The figure replies, "I know he conspires with a group of heretical filth. Shap has told me. He has instructed me to find them, and purify them. You must do better."
The torturer responds in a strained voice, "But, my lord, I don't know how much more this'un can take-"
The peasant gasps, stretching his neck to peer at the two clergymen, "Tis' true, my lord. Just let me go, and I promise to double my tithe!"
The figure turns sharply, glancing at the peasant. He quickly descends toward the slab, his face mere inches from that of the peasant's. Bloodshot eyes appear from the confines of a dark, black mask. He stares at the trembling serf for several seconds, studying him closely.
"If the heretic cannot sustain more of the physical," the figure utters, "then we must employ all means necessary to discover where the heretics hide."
The peasant's eyes dart between the two men, before speaking up, "Wh-what do you mean?"
The figure straightens his back, standing at full height once more. He glances to the torturer and says, "Parish records show the heretic has a wife and three children." He glances at the peasant before turning back to the man in black and nodding once.
The torturer nods back and says, "Yes, your Excellency. I shall 'ave th' boys collect 'em at th' next service."
The figure turns around quickly, his robes billowing as he moves; he strides toward the door, the sounds of a panicked and enervated peasant begging for mercy resounding behind him. The figure continues through the doorway, the large, metal door slamming closed behind him with a final clunk of metal striking stone.
The next day's service was conducted as usual. The priest began with a reading from the holy book, the church's seats filled with the unwashed masses of peasantry attempting to better themselves through their faith. The usual service was interrupted, however, by the surprise appearance of the Inquisitor-Potentate, who appeared at the end of the room as he walked through the double doors. The peasants turned and collectively smiled at the inquisitor. He walked with methodical purpose down the church aisle, grasping the outstretched hands of peasants and subsequently blessing them with a few muttered prayers. In addition to hands, a whole assortment of everyday items with presented to the inquisitor: stone bowls, holy books, pickaxes, cooking utensils, jewelry, potions, and various other accouterments of the peasant lifestyle. Each and every item was blessed by the inquisitor with a simple wave of the hand, ensuring no corrupting magical properties were stored inside. At the end of his procession, the inquisitor stood at the front of the church, bringing his hands together in a solemn prayer. He peered up for a moment from his prayer to look at the back of the church. In one of the rear pews, a woman sat with three children of various ages. A man clad in a black robe appeared from behind a pillar, standing just off to the side of the pews. The inquisitor nodded almost imperceptibly to the figure, before peering back down and closing his eyes, continuing his prayer.
Sir Daemon, born into the holy church and trained as a Knight has always been fully immersed in the tenets of Originalist Catharism. He was educated by the finest scholars and trained in combat by the kingdom's most skilled knights. Daemon's upbringing was marked by a strong emphasis on honor, duty and the sacred mission to eradicate the influence of Yari from the world. From the youngest age of training, Daemon showed great promise in martial training, earning respect and admiration from his peers and mentors.
At the age of Sixteen, Daemon experienced a profound spiritual awakening. During a pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Saint Audeon, he claimed to have received a divine vision from Shap. In this vision, Shap revealed to him the true nature of the eternal struggle against the Yari and tasked him with the sacred mission to take up his sword and fight for justice and to protect the holy against the forces of dark magic. Inspired and possessed by this vision, Daemon vowed to dedicate his life to the service of Shap and fight against the dark forces of Yari, protecting those who preach the words of the holy sun-god.
Daemon's training was intensified as he prepared his divine mission. Under the tutelage of many great holy warriors, a legendary knight and protector of the holy church is what Daemon was destined to become. Tensions have grown throughout history, and neighbouring nations have begun to spark paranoia into the hearts of many, the church requires protection and Sir Daemon, the Holy Knight and first sword of the Catharism church will be the one to protect and serve those who have been touched by the sun-god at the top of the pyramid of power.
He was knighted and made into the Holy Sword of the Church once his training was complete, granted the name the Divine, he vouched to never hold lands or claim a wife, he was to bastard no children, his sole purpose in life is now to protect the Holy Church. During his tenure, he was gifted his sword and armour from the High Priest, an "upgrade" on what he originally carried, told to be blessed by the stars, he carried it within his younger years, proud and filled with joy as he cut down the enemies who dared to hurt the foundations of the Church.
Daemon lived the life of the Church's Holy Sword for the majority of his life, his skill in battle and in one-on-one combat is second-to-none. He is seen as a mighty and divine warrior amongst the common folk. He spends most of his time in the current day as a guard, ready to give his life for any member of the Church regardless of the sect. However, he is currently bound to the Originalist Church with the High Originalist. Now in his early forties and filled with knowledge, wise and strong. Some would say Daemon is blinded by his teachings and the claim he was touched by the sun-god and granted a divine mission. Some accuse him of being a pretender, however, those same accusers may find themselves at the end of his divine justice.
Core Beliefs & Character Traits
Sir Daemon the Divine is a devout Originalist, believing firmly in the guiding presence of the Phones and righteousness of the Shap's blessing. He views his mission as a sacred duty to protect the realm and the holy church from the forces of evil. Daemon believes greatly in honor, strength and divine justice- he believes the will of the Phones and the blessing of Shap must be honored by any means necessary.
The Good
Loyal - Loyal to his allies, his faith and his divine mission. Righteous - Committed to upholding the principles of Catharism. Honorable - Adheres to a strict code of honor, ensuring his actions are morally sound. Determined - Relentless in pursuit of his goals, never giving up in the face of overwhelming odds.
The Bad
Zealous - Intense dvotion can sometimes border fanaticism, making him inflexible and intolerant of different viewpoints. Unforgiving - Does not forgive those that stray from the righteous path. Single-minded - Focuses on eradicating magic and the enemies of the Church, this blinds him to other issues.
Equipment
Daemon wields a sword made of hearty steel called "Purifier." Some believe it to be touched by the gods themselves. He wields this with great prowess.
Daemon wears a set of shining steel plated armour. In certain lights the common folk tell tales of it shining bright gold and depictions of Shap are seen.
Church's ring. A ring made of sunstone, a rare gem believed to be a gift from Shap to the Church for their finest protector. Daemon believes it brings him power.
The youthful Henry along with his brother Adam were destined by their makers to be knights, however by coincidence or not, Adam got murdered by bandits in cold blood, leaving Henry on his own at the age of fourteen, after that tradegic event, the only child of the fitzgerald family continued his path to become a knight. During his many years of journey he met countless trainers and foes, which led him to master swordsmanship along with horsemanship like no other. After his extensive training, Henry began serving under the rule of a noble family as a bodyguard, there he faced many challenges for ten long years. At the age of 34 Henry was given a choice, either continue his duty as a bodyguard for a noble family or move to a new banner...the House of Blackwood.
Sir Mathias was born a simple peasant in the small village of Pickering, the only notable feature of the town being its position on the borderlands of the Kingdom of Modora and the Forbidden Lands. His early years were formulated by the terrors of reality and the folktales of what lay deep within the borders of the dark lands. As a young man, he was forced to learn to fight with sword and spear, and luckily he found he had a natural talent for the blade. Nevertheless, it seemed the young man was destined to be cast away to die in a pagan raid.
Mathias was blessed, alongside many of his local countrymen, with the hosting of a royal tournament. King Peor Hiat had personally commanded the tournament to be held in the borderlands to find suitable knights and commanders to be found for his armies from the experienced hands that were bred in the harsh lands. Mathias was able to convince his village to fund his armoring, and he was able to scrounge a horse, so like a folk hero of old, he went to the tournament to prove himself.
The truth is that Mathias was not nearly as well equipped as most of the other serious contenders, given that they were generally nobles. Mathias joined the melee, seeking his glory there. Given his poor odds, he gave a good showing, as he lasted until the last of the melee. In the end, it was himself and only a single noble left standing. Unfortunately, Mathias was defeated there, which granted the noble the grand awards of the melee.
Fortune favored Mathias, however, as he was still chosen by the king for a role many considered more esteemed. Recognizing the young man's luck or ability to have successfully lasted to the finale of the melee, Mathias was entered into the King's Swords. Many nobles present at the tournament argued against the decision, but it was silenced after Mathias kneeled before the king and swore his life to the king.
From there on, Mathias served the old king faithfully as his stalwart bodyguard. He would serve in as many battles as possible, fetching him many scars as he suffered many wounds in his service. Mathias earned his knighthood on one of these many battles, though not even he can fully recall which it was now. As he aged, Mathias became more reliant on his years of learning technique rather than his natural ability as his age slowed him. Despite it all, he still managed to keep up with any of the younger men who would join the King's Swords.
By the end of Peor's life, Mathias considered himself a friend of the King's. Truthfully, Mathias is uncertain of such, but he remains confident in it. He tried his best to remain present at the king's side, even outside of war. Of course, many times this was limited by the King's Champion, but Mathias remained undeterred in his loyalties and deferred to his superior without complaint. On the fateful day of the king's assassination, though, he was tragically absent. In his older age, he was sleeping at the time after having spent the entire previous night hunting for the attempted assassin of the king's son Leopold.
In the subsequent years after the death of the old king, this old knight has remained still in the service of the Blackwoods. The best hope that anyone has of understanding the man stays with his continued service; he remains a constant presence near the young king. Most believe that Sir Mathias carries out the final command he heard from his king to his guards after the attempted assassination of his son, "Protect my son, destroy his enemies," but others say that the old knight is lost without the man he swore his life to and that it is a matter of time before he is ousted from his position due to his advancing age.
-Personality-
View attachment 36973 Brave: In the pursuit of his duties, Mathias has never shirked away, even in the face of desperate odds.
View attachment 36974 Honest: Mathias has always kept to his oaths and also clearly prides himself in giving his unfiltered opinion to those who ask and those he serves
View attachment 36975 Diligence: Mathias never has willingly ignored his duty, he has always kept to his life-oath, even with the death of his king.
View attachment 36976 Melancholic: The loss of his king has left an obvious dampening on the mood of the old knight, without the man he swore his life to it seems he has lost much of the luster to his service that he once had. His mood is known to often swing to the dour, even on his best days.
View attachment 36977 Weathered: A combination of age and the many wounds suffered over decades of service have led Mathias to having many unfortunate moments of weakness due to sudden bouts of exhaustion or pain.
--- OOC Section --- Steam Name: Stan The Logical Man Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:29370040 Discord Name & ID: stan2626 --- IC Section --- Character Name: Erak Thunaraz Character Role: Hedge Knight Mercenary
Life in the frigid North was never a gentle one. The survival of the people living there depends on their ability to procure sustenance regularly, typically through hunting and fishing. Their continued existence is also linked to their martial prowess: the power to take from others and protect one’s home, to prove one’s worthiness to call this land theirs. All men from a young age, whether born in a remote village eking out a living on the fringes of the world, or a fortified Hundred that casts a long shadow over the surrounding tundra, are expected to hone their ability to wage war. Erak Thunaraz was one of the many sons who hoped to bring honor to his name by becoming a protector of his home and loved ones. Born in a modest village on the coast, Erak earned his place in his society by fishing, hunting, and fighting. Every able-bodied person was expected to do their part to ensure the survival of the Clan. Scant knowledge is known about the Northern Clans, their existence largely being unknown to the people of the South. This can also be said of the Northmen’s knowledge of the South, due to their isolationist nature. There is little contact between both worlds, save for the occasional adventurous trader seeking fortune.
As for the fortunes of Erak, they quickly turned sour when a rival Clan’s raiding party appeared on the outskirts of his village. The ensuing battle was fierce and desperate, with the village’s warriors being heavily outnumbered. Erak was stuck amid the chaos, fighting to keep himself alive as much as he was to protect his home. During the melee, Erak received a glancing blow to his helmet by an enemy slinger’s sling stone. Whilst only being a superficial injury, it promptly rendered him unconscious for some time. After several hours lying on the field, he eventually opened his eyes to see his village ablaze, most of the inhabitants having been slaughtered or forced to flee. The enemy had stripped the village bare of anything valuable they could carry. Erak sat on the bloodied battlefield, staring at the ruins of his life. His family had been killed, and any friends he had left were either dead or running for the hills. He lost any sense of purpose, cursing the spirits of his land for abandoning his people. He would likely have been content to sit and despair for the rest of time, if it were not for the small ship that creaked and moored itself on the village’s small jetty.
By sheer coincidence, a Southern trader who regularly stopped by Erak’s village for supplies and goods just so happened to arrive at the end of the fighting. He stepped off the ship and walked onto the jetty, surveying the scene until eventually laying eyes on Erak, sitting amongst his fallen brethren.
He called out to him, speaking the Northern language he spent much time learning throughout his years of venturing to the North, “I can see you have endured a terrible pain, Northman. What will you do now?”
Erak looked back at the Southerner, his eyes dark with the pain and anger he felt. He gave the man a slight shake of the head.
The trader waited a few moments, before stating, “I can always use a strong hand on my vessel, as humble as it is.”
Erak only took a moment to understand the implications of what the man meant. He would have to leave his home to start a new life on his own, seeking a purpose for his existence that could no longer be found in the North. He slowly rose, with the chainmail on his back, helmet on his head, and ax in hand. He shambled over to the Southerner’s ship, ready to begin the next chapter of his life.
Life on the sea was exhilarating, if dangerous at times. Erak’s skill at arms was constantly being tested, typically beating any pirate who dared prey on the vessel to a bloody pulp, or just cutting their heads off with his ax. He progressively learned both the language of the South, its history, and how life was like from the ship’s crew. After a few years working as the merchant’s personal pirate guillotine, Erak was convinced by his fellow crewmates he could put his skills to better use on the mainland. Skilled warriors were highly sought commodities in the South, both to the merchant class and the nobility. So, with the money he had made with the merchant, he set forth to the Southern kingdom to find his fortune.
Erak did not take long to make something of a name for himself. After some time working as a not much more than a hired thug, he eventually entered the ever-popular tournament circuits around the land. Here he could show off his skills for all to see, taking part in tourneys that helped earn him a respectable living. He became a moderately renowned hedge knight, traveling around the kingdom to earn a living as a fighter. If there was not a tournament for him to enter, he could always rent out his sword arm to anyone needing his “expertise.”
Life in the stadium and beating the heads in of the occasional lowly brigands slowly grew boring to Erak. He ultimately desired to fight in real battles, where his life was at risk, and where he could bring honor to himself in the eyes of the Northern spirits that observed him.
In the evening after a tourney just like any other, Erak sat on the empty stands, still wearing his armor, and looking over the rotten food and other detritus left by the masses. He felt a feeling he had only felt whilst looking at the ruins of his burning village. He felt as though he lacked purpose. He kicked a musty tankard near his boot, looking around the stands and at the gray sky above. He knew he had to make a change, yet he could not see how.
By coincidence, Erak spotted a dirty flier under one of the seats. He reached down to pick it up and attempted to read the crudely written message, smeared presumably with charcoal on the filthy parchment,
LOOKIN FER SELLSORDS LAZIC FREE COMPNY ASK FER MALARIC AT TAVURN
Erak had a gut sensation that this was another turning point for him. He had done mercenary work for merchants and minor nobility, but to work for a Free Company meant a chance for real combat. A chance to prove his worth as a warrior and make up for the shame he had for failing to save his village. He quickly stood up, made sure his sword was securely fastened to his belt, slung his ax over his shoulder and sauntered over to the tavern, eager to find his purpose.
Character Name: Belrand Tannerfold Character Role: House Arkanis Local Tanner
Character Backstory (Optional):
Belrand Tannerfold was the child of a peasant who had been convicted of theft and consequently banished from the land. for the most part of his years, he has been experiencing the humiliation and failure of his father's actions. his desire to rise above his family’s ruined reputation. Belrand works on many jobs one of them being tanning in an attempt to sustain his household. His skills caught the attention of House Arkanis who hired him for their needs.
Everard Beaumont. "For there to be light, there must be darkness." View attachment 36985
Everard Beaumont, was originally under the reign of house Blackwood, originally a devoted Christian due to his families views. But he was sadly cursed, cursed with Leprosy at 12. Making him a disgusting freak, pieces of flesh and skin missing with molds and sores all across his body. He was outcasted from his family, considered merely a killer of the family bloodline.. He ran into the woods to die, until he heard a voice.
"Who are they to toss you out like a bastard child? Why hath your god abandoned you?" "What must I do? Who even are you?!" "Come to the screams, follow the fire, and follow the corpses of those who were not deemed worthy to be feasted upon. And join us."
His joining of 'The Followers of Satan', one of the many groups of the Occult that despise Pagans and Christians were the ones Everard joined. Their capabilities of whispering in the minds of those with the voices of the dead, death marking, and dark rituals. Everard was welcomed into this occult, primarily due to the fact many others were outcasts as well. This occult was especially unique, was due to the fact they were cannibals they were very formal about it. Making what would be considered cuisine levels of Human Cooked flesh, Bloodwines, and Human Fat Cakes. Everard was told he was destined to be a Hell Knight, due to the fact his father was a Knight under Blackwoods Reign. Thus, Everard was made the cults Knight. Knights were known to do Dark Rituals but nothing extreme. Primarily the more basic to some what advanced rituals, anything higher being within the expertise of the 'Sooth Sayers', the more experienced members of the occult.
Everard trained day and night, practicing the acts of which is considered forbidden, dishonorable, and heresy. The act of dual wielding two swords, stabbing foes while they are on the ground, and deflecting projectiles like Pilums or Arrows. The armor was always made with fear in mind. Whatever looked terrifying was made and Everard was given one such combination, 'Rattle Armor' is what it was called, a piece of armor made by the flesh and bones of victims including a mask with the face of the victim.
However, times have grown.. Special, interesting.. The King of Blackwood died, and comes in a New Young King, a Boy King. A perfect opportunity to spread corruption into the views of this king, and cause discord among the 3 families. Ripping the armor off, he departed under the permission of the Sooth Sayers.. His mission was clear.
"Spread darkness, smother the light into nothing. And force these Scum Fuckers to kneel to the dark lord. And you will be allowed into Hells Army.." "Yes, my lord."
Character Name: Elara Character Role: Lowborn [Thief]
Character Backstory (Optional):
Elara's earliest memories are of the bustling market streets of the kingdom, where she learned to fend for herself from a young age. Abandoned as an infant, she was taken in by a group of street urchins who taught her the art of surviving in the shadows. She never knew her parents.
Growing up in the underbelly of the city, Elara quickly honed her skills in pickpocketing, lockpicking, and stealth. By the age of twelve, she was an adept thief, able to slip through the fingers of even the most vigilant guards. Her nimble fingers and quick thinking earned her a reputation in the criminal underworld.
Trust is a rare commodity in her world, and alliances are forged out of necessity rather than loyalty. Elara navigates this treacherous environment with a mixture of cunning and caution, always aware that betrayal could come from any corner. She is a loner, adept at using her invisibility to her advantage. No one notices her, allowing her to listen and know all the gossip circulating in the city.
The youthful Henry along with his brother Adam were destined by their makers to be knights, however by coincidence or not, Adam got murdered by bandits in cold blood, leaving Henry on his own at the age of fourteen, after that tradegic event, the only child of the fitzgerald family continued his path to become a knight. During his many years of journey he met countless trainers and foes, which led him to master swordsmanship along with horsemanship like no other. After his extensive training, Henry began serving under the rule of a noble family as a bodyguard, there he faced many challenges for ten long years. At the age of 34 Henry was given a choice, either continue his duty as a bodyguard for a noble family or move to a new banner...the House of Blackwood.
Character Name: Elara Character Role: Lowborn [Thief]
Character Backstory (Optional):
Elara's earliest memories are of the bustling market streets of the kingdom, where she learned to fend for herself from a young age. Abandoned as an infant, she was taken in by a group of street urchins who taught her the art of surviving in the shadows. She never knew her parents.
Growing up in the underbelly of the city, Elara quickly honed her skills in pickpocketing, lockpicking, and stealth. By the age of twelve, she was an adept thief, able to slip through the fingers of even the most vigilant guards. Her nimble fingers and quick thinking earned her a reputation in the criminal underworld.
Trust is a rare commodity in her world, and alliances are forged out of necessity rather than loyalty. Elara navigates this treacherous environment with a mixture of cunning and caution, always aware that betrayal could come from any corner. She is a loner, adept at using her invisibility to her advantage. No one notices her, allowing her to listen and know all the gossip circulating in the city.
--- OOC Section ---
Steam Name: TorontoTheInjun
Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:26003186
Discord Name & ID: boriken.
--- IC Section ---
Character Name: Ferrus Highwinter
Character Role: House Shield
Character Backstory (Optional):
SIR FERRUS HIGHWINTER THE BLACK
Born the third son of a minor lord, Ferrus wasn't destined for much at birth. He was expected to devote himself to martial matters, befitting his position as a son unlikely to inherit his father's land. He trained in the Kingdom's ways of warfare, soon becoming proficient in the forms of combat common to men of his status. Wishing to emulate the knights of legend, Ferrus strove to maintain a strict code of conduct, closely following the rules of chivalry and honor.
At the age of twenty, Ferrus was swept up in religious zeal for some far-flung crusade against 'enemies' of the faith. Leaving behind his family in the lands of the Arkanis, he set off to fight for what he believed in. He did not return the same man.
A bitter and stonyhearted Sir Highwinter returned from the crusades, a far cry from the chivalrous golden boy that had ridden off years prior. None are certain what it was he had seen during his campaign outside of the realm that had changed him so, but then again, few wished to ask lest they rouse his anger.
TRAITS
Brave - Ferrus' experiences in the Crusade have not tempered his ferocity in the face of battle.
Cynical - Left disillusioned after his time in the Crusades, Ferrus is wary of the church.
Wrathful - Ferrus has developed quite the temper. He is quick to bouts of anger.
Just - When not enraged, Ferrus maintains some semblance of his old self, seeking to deal with others in a just manner when possible.
Character Name:Henry Wilhelm Character Role:House Shieldof House Arkanis
Character Backstory (Optional):
The beginning Being from a more than wealthy noble family, with a lengthy history of knights and warriors, which resided in Grappa, where Henry grew up. There he learned the way-advanced level of attacking, but only the basics of defense, before the Wilhelm family moved to The Kingdom. Henry's knowledge and skill of combat only grew there, since his ancestors who were eager to train the youthful Henry took comfort there. After many years of extensive and what some folk would call restless training, the soon-to be warrior knew the ins and outs of combat better than the face of his own mother.
The opportunity When the time was right, Henry was sent away from home to the best trainers in the entire country. As per tradition he didn't dissapoint. Passing a few years Henry was able to cut and slice every opportunity he got at his trainers, which didn't go unnoticed, making House Arkanis impressed by his abilities, so much so that Henry was to be under special training under the supervision of the lord for a year. After a more painful and exhausting tutelage, Henry was met with a choice. Either serve under the lord as a House Shield or return back to his previous trainers. Knowing his options well, he took the opportunity to serve under the lord.
Traits
Morally Blind - Due to his extensive training, he does what he is told, no questions asked
Chivalrous - Despite his morals, henry's got a heart
"The South Baford Trading Company. Established nearly a hundred winters ago within the heart of the southern continent. A minor yet humb--"
The rest of the passage was scribbled out from the personal copy, with the text seemingly picking up in the margins. Was likely the notations of Theor the Young, Son of Theoric.
Enough of that. Enough of this whole 'Charade' that my father has built. "Theoric of Yelufa"? and- "Theor"? Is this what we've been reduced to? Our lineage. Our Blood of Imperators reduced to a meager Courier Guild? We've been 'Biding our Time' for far too long.
Damn him and his... Riddles.
It's tiresome. All of it. Having to live amongst the plebian like the savage rats scavenging in the ruins of a Marble-sewn Empire. Knowing full well we should be the ones reigning! I'm fed up in all honesty. His My-
It trails off, continuing on the other end of the page.
Father doesn't believe I have what I takes to carry on the legacy. That I'll fall short like his father, and his, and so on...
But I refuse to. I don't want to be forgotten.
Yet I merely meander.
He I think he feel's the change in the air as well. As everyone else in the Kingdom has. That the time for- This is running painfully short. I hope he sees as such too.
Steam Name: Processed Grain Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:222027191 Discord Name & ID: processed_grain Character Name: Theor the Young, Son of Theoric. Character Role: Junior Scribe/Merchant/Caravaner. Wannabe 'Great'. Imperial Restorationist.
--- OOC Section ---
Steam Name: TorontoTheInjun
Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:26003186
Discord Name & ID: boriken.
--- IC Section ---
Character Name: Ferrus Highwinter
Character Role: House Shield
Character Backstory (Optional):
Born the third son of a minor lord, Ferrus wasn't destined for much at birth. He was expected to devote himself to martial matters, befitting his position as a son unlikely to inherit his father's land. He trained in the Kingdom's ways of warfare, soon becoming proficient in the forms of combat common to men of his status. Wishing to emulate the knights of legend, Ferrus strove to maintain a strict code of conduct, closely following the rules of chivalry and honor.
At the age of twenty, Ferrus was swept up in religious zeal for some far-flung crusade against 'enemies' of the faith. Leaving behind his family in the lands of the Arkanis, he set off to fight for what he believed in. He did not return the same man.
A bitter and stonyhearted Sir Highwinter returned from the crusades, a far cry from the chivalrous golden boy that had ridden off years prior. None are certain what it was he had seen during his campaign outside of the realm that had changed him so, but then again, few wished to ask lest they rouse his anger.
The beginning Being from a more than wealthy noble family, with a lengthy history of knights and warriors, which resided in Grappa, where Henry grew up. There he learned the way-advanced level of attacking, but only the basics of defense, before the Wilhelm family moved to The Kingdom. Henry's knowledge and skill of combat only grew there, since his ancestors who were eager to train the youthful Henry took comfort there. After many years of extensive and what some folk would call restless training, the soon-to be warrior knew the ins and outs of combat better than the face of his own mother.
The opportunity When the time was right, Henry was sent away from home to the best trainers in the entire country. As per tradition he didn't dissapoint. Passing a few years Henry was able to cut and slice every opportunity he got at his trainers, which didn't go unnoticed, making House Arkanis impressed by his abilities, so much so that Henry was to be under special training under the supervision of the lord for a year. After a more painful and exhausting tutelage, Henry was met with a choice. Either serve under the lord as a House Shield or return back to his previous trainers. Knowing his options well, he took the opportunity to serve under the lord.
Traits
View attachment 37061
Morally Blind - Due to his extensive training, he does what he is told, no questions asked
"The South Baford Trading Company. Established nearly a hundred winters ago within the heart of the southern continent. A minor yet humb--"
The rest of the passage was scribbled out from the personal copy, with the text seemingly picking up in the margins. Was likely the notations of Theor the Young, Son of Theoric.
Enough of that. Enough of this whole 'Charade' that my father has built. "Theoric of Yelufa"? and- "Theor"? Is this what we've been reduced to? Our lineage. Our Blood of Imperators reduced to a meager Courier Guild? We've been 'Biding our Time' for far too long.
It's tiresome. All of it. Having to live amongst the plebian like the savage rats scavenging in the ruins of a Marble-sewn Empire. Knowing full well we should be the ones reigning! I'm fed up in all honesty. His My-
It trails off, continuing on the other end of the page.
Father doesn't believe I have what I takes to carry on the legacy. That I'll fall short like his father, and his, and so on...
But I refuse to. I don't want to be forgotten.
Yet I merely meander.
He I think he feel's the change in the air as well. As everyone else in the Kingdom has. That the time for- This is running painfully short. I hope he sees as such too.
Steam Name: Processed Grain Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:222027191 Discord Name & ID: processed_grain Character Name: Theor the Young, Son of Theoric. Character Role: Junior Scribe/Merchant/Caravaner. Wannabe 'Great'. Imperial Restorationist.
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