Post your character bio here

[Faeble]

Work in progress! More to come.

Name: Aviana Sterling
Age: 27
Race: Human
Height: 5'6"
Build: Athletic
Hair: Rich chestnut
Eyes: Mixed-Matched. Her left eye is a pale green while the other is a steely grey.

Physical Description:

 From afar, Aviana is a woman of fairly average size and build, though her armor often makes it difficult to see her curves. She dresses for practicality although from time to time she may be caught eyeballing an elegant gown as if wondering what she would look like in such attire. A longsword is strapped to her hip and a large shield is slung over her back. She moves with the calm and collected gate of a soldier or at the very least someone who has had military training. Her armor is a mixture of blues and blacks with a royal blue cloak wrapped around her shoulders. The garb looks well worn, almost as if a second skin and even though it shows it's age, it is quite clear that the woman takes care of her gear meticulously.

Once a person catches a good look at her face, however, it becomes clear that the woman is rather striking. Her features are alluringly beautiful though she seems utterly unaware of this. Rich, chestnut colored hair is pulled back in a pony tail with a few loose curls (that always seem to be in the way) framing her face.  With large, almond shaped eyes she watches those around her with concern and genuine kindness. Should one pay close enough attention, the would notice that her eyes are, in fact, two different colors: the left being a pale green and the right a silvery grey.

Across her nose and cheeks is a light smattering of freckles that accentuate her high cheekbones. She never seems to wear jewelry for ascetic purposes, save for a bracelet around her left hand that looks to be made out of two intertwining pieces of metal.  

When she is around people, a bright smile is almost always present on her features. However, should someone catch her by surprise, her expressions are solemn and grim as her mind wanders.



Background:

Aviana and her twin brother, Aren, were born to a world on the brink of war and with unending hardships. Few families were able to provide for themselves and those that were able to live comfortably spent their time bickering and drinking at the Grey Emperor's court in the Black Spire City of Sarlen.

Her parents had wept the day they learned that they were to be having twins for they would never be able to feed two additional mouths, not when they already have six other children to tend to. But what they had originally thought a curse soon became a blessing. Before the brother and sister were even six months old, an old priest of the Twins knocked at the desperate family's door. He offered their parents an egregious amount of coin for the pair, along with a small herd of cattle to make up for their troubles. Aviana and Aren's parents had all but thrown their infant children at the priest's feet.

And so, the siblings were taken to their new life at the Twin's Circle the largest monastery of Lilliana and Vahkar, the Twin Gods.

It was there where their lives truly began. 

[Kebab Removal Unit]

Name: Leonar Arndon
Age: 21
Year of birth: 1348 DR
Race: Human
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 178 lbs
Build: Athletic
Eye color: Light gray
Hair color: Light blond
Alignment:Lawful Neutral
Class: Cleric
Deity:Formerly Helm, currently Ezra
Location of birth: Neverwinter area
Land of origin: Faerun, Sword Coast

Appearance:

Leonar is usually seen wearing a heavy plated armor of dark green colour, adorned with linings and segments of silver material. He wears a long green cape with a thin white trim, which signifies his affiliation with the Church of Ezra. He wears black leather trousers with plate thigh guards on outward sides, belted with a leather sash.

He appears approximately around his late twenties, possibly early thirties. His face would be best described as rugged, bearing a few minor lash scars, with a strong jawline and with a slightly prominent chin. Almond shaped, Leonar's eyes are of light gray shade, having a certain indefinable sparkle to them, while his gaze could be described as alluring, yet stern and harsh. His lengthy light blond hair is in a long ponytail, kept together by a ribbon. He speaks in calm and controlled, yet arrogant manner, although even when speaking normally, he's not deliberately trying to be overbearing.

Biography/Background:

Orphaned since his birth on one of the cold nights of Alturiak, year 1348 DR, Leonar Arndon was left and abandoned as a mere babe on the footsteps of Helms Hold, a magnificent temple/stronghold located south of Neverwinter, dedicated to none other than The Watcher himself. Finding salvation in the pity of a few Helmite Novices who had discovered him and brought to Clergy representatives, the decision was brought swiftly - the child will be trained to be one of The Watcher's faithful servants and guardians.

As the years have passed by, Leonar was taught in the arts of martial combat, systematic instructions of discipline, obedience, vigilance and fairness. The child would grow to develop a rather strong, stern and obedient, yet somewhat unapproachable persona, usually shunning contact with even his faithful brethren. Two universal forces, Fate and Lord Helm were governing, guiding and influencing the course of his life and he was more than aware of the fact,and as such, purpose and meaning of his existence revealed to himself since early stages of his life.

Due to excelling in primary attributes of Helmite Faith and dogma, Leonar was rather quick to rise in ranks over course of numerous years, from the title of Novice to join the ranks of Alert at the age of eighteen. He was designed, born and shaped to become and rise as a Protector, a Guardian of all those who could not provide such merit to themselves. During Ceremony of Honor to Helm, on Shieldmeet year 1369 DR, a great honor was bestowed upon young Arndon, for he was ordained as one of Helm's Watchers, his duty now bearing even more responsibility and burden. For so many a year, he would stay true to Helm as the Helm stayed true to himself, until the very worst thing imaginable occurred.

During one of the warm, fiery days of Summertide, the wretched Mists would snatch him in between a short trip from Helms Hold towards the city of Neverwinter. His very worst fear and nightmare, made crude reality for he stood alone and without The Vigilant One, abandoned and powerless in a new completely unknown and deadly world. Days and weeks have passed by, most in prayer to the Watcher with no answer whatsoever,as Leonar still stood in great delusion that the Fate or some even greater evil force is playing tricks upon his mind, conjuring but a world of illusion to sway and test the endurance of his faith and devotion. As the time passed on, he would for once realize how powerless he stood against reckless forces of evil and chaos that were the Legions of Night. With no deity at his side, without an ounce of power to uphold and continue his sworn duty, he now knew for the second time what it feels to be utterly and completely abandoned, albeit far more conscious and aware of the cruel fact now.

As the time marched on in the Lands of the Mist, Ezra's Anchorites and their designated duties, beliefs and powers, or rather Ezrite faith in general was quick to catch his eye and interest. Perhaps for once in his life, an idea, an option to make a choice has been laid down before himself. Will he renounce Helm for the sake of upholding the purpose granted to him by the Fate? Will he become an Oathbreaker and Renouncer, the very idea of it which he abhorred his entire life, for the sake of rising as a Protector once more? For better or worse, the choice was made. A void which was left in his heart, mind and soul, the feeling of being powerless and without purpose... All that had to be corrected in one way or another.

Being of keen and receptive mind, while under the tutelage of numerous Anchorites of the Refuge of Fifth Light congregation, Leonar Arndon became one of Ezra's faithful, and shortly afterwards  - an Acolyte, Anchorite in training. For once in the weeks, a void which filled himself would slowly begin to fade. He was once again, able to manifest powers of divine magic, this time granted by Ezra and albeit in far lesser magnitude to the ones possessed before, he has come to understanding with the path he has chosen, or rather - the path he had started to walk upon. In the First sect of Ezra - Home Faith, he would find numerous similarities with his former Helmite Faith, which altogether made the crisis easier to overcome. He might have utterly lost his connection with The Great Guard, but the one inside of him, one which defined his very purpose and life has never left his heart.

As before, he would continue to excel at his designated duty, although at the great expense of his attitude towards other aspects of life and people in general. Life held neither pleasantry nor even time to think of such. There was only duty, time for it's fulfillment, and an urge and will to strive towards it - a manner of living which Leonar was quite well, already used to. As the weeks have passed, he was once again, rather quick to grow in divine powers bestowed upon him, and after completing his Acolyte training, and even being tempted and tortured by the Mists at occasion, he would finally become worthy of Her Shield, rising to become one of Ezra's Anchorites.

Months flew by, and Warden Arndon would finally endure upon his very skin, the saying he would frequently pass out to others: "Such is the nature of these lands, you either bend or break". His stay of mediocre period in Core would make him bitter, cynical, disrespectful and prideful. He would once again, know and reach the stages where his fears become reality, for he has adapted the characteristics of very monsters he sought to put down. His weariness grew in proportion with his disappointment, be it the one he felt towards his faithful brethren, or humanity in general. For once he had asked himself: "Are we worthy of any protection at all?" "Are we in reality the same monsters we seek to decimate?". He witnessed betrayal, numerous injustices, schemes and falsehoods unveiling before his very eyes, and the fact that many were designed and brought by his own kin and brethren, did not make the fact easier to cope with.

Such questions did not matter. His duty and purpose was clear as daylight and he would stake his life at each given opportunity to uphold and fulfill such obligation. As always, time marched on, and Warden Leonar Arndon would come to know the other sides and aspects of life which he had so neglected in the past. He would come to learn the true meaning of unconditional love, and with it, to actually care for the well being of those he sought to guide, heal and first and foremost - protect.

[Xarnata]

Name: Nerein Kazan
Age: 18
Race: Human
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 145 lbs
Build: Mildly Athletic
Eye color: Blue/Green at day, Red at night
Hair color: Crimson red
Alignment: Chaotic (Prone to hormonal changes) [Classified as Evil for sins on his soul]
Class: Wizard
Deity: None
Location of birth: Eltabbard
Land of origin: Faerun, Thay

(Will fill out when I find his spreadsheet)

[Tsarenir]

Name: Leif Hallvardrson
Age: 27
Race: Human
Height: 6'0"
Build: Semi-Fit
Weight: 175 lbs
Hair color: Light Blonde
Eye color: Yellowish white, similar to his hair
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Class: Cleric/Fighter
Deity: Thor

Leif is decently strong, but not greatly toned. He wears armor that both suitably protects him and is pleasing to his eye. Most often, a greatsword can be seen slidden into a long metal scabbard strapped to his left side, just above the hip. If he's around one or more people he's unfamiliar with, rain or snow falls, or he is traveling alone, he will have a dark brown hood pulled over his head. If instead his face is uncovered, it will rarely show more than a tired, neutral expression, other than the occasional smirk following a quiet chuckle.

He will not often approach someone standing in a group, as he holds a dislike for impersonal conversation. He would either be found at the front of the front line, or dragging behind in a sizeable party, and if he did speak aloud, it would be short and to the point. If however approached one on one, he speaks freely, and to a friend, comfortably, perhaps even becoming long-winded on certain topics.

He is protective of those weaker than him, or those in trouble, and extremely so with his friends.

Background

Leif hails from a fair-sized, isolated village that sits deep in a large, beautiful, rich forest. Through the forest ran a river that split the village in two, with a small, simple wooden bridge crossing over. The inhabitants never ventured far from the village other than to gather food, and very few in its history have ever left the forest. Really, they had no reason to. The village was prosperous; there was no poverty, everyone did their share of work to live as well as they desired, happiness was prevalent, and on occasion they would celebrate their simple lives with feasts and parties. The villagers were free to do as they wished within reason, and the village had only a small list of written laws that almost never was broken. Very rarely outsiders would find the village, by way of following the river that ran it through, and often they were welcomed and celebrated, sometimes sharing short stories of the outside world with those that would listen.

Leif, under his father Hallvard, and his mother Arif, did enjoy his life in the village. He was not oblivious to the outside world, for his father was a retired warrior that stumbled upon the village in his travels and decided to stay, but he did not often question his father of his past, nor did his father talk much of it on his own. Leif did approach the outsiders that would sometimes stay overnight for shelter and rest, listening to their stories and inquiring of their lives. He would on occasion be shown or gifted books and journals of short history, and even some religious texts, most of which he did not understand, but read with delight.

When he wasn't busy with simple chores, his father would train him in the use of various bladed weapons. When he was not training with a sword, he was hunting with one. Eventually, however, Leif saw the forest become slightly stale. He told his parents he would be leaving, in order that he might see what contrast the land holds, and that he may experience more than the forest. They did not try to dissuade him; his father wished him well, and told him that when he returns, they would share words of their experiences outside the village. With a nod and some heart-felt words, he left his home.

He was gone only a year, and he did not travel far, seeing only few small villages, and briefly the edge of a desert, before the mist took him to a land far different than his own. A measure of contrast he could never have expected.

[Tycat]

Statistics:

Name: "Melanie Marcellette", literally "Dark one of the Sea"; formerly Amelie Micheaux, of the minor Noble house Micheaux of Dementlieu, Port au Lucine
Age: 25
Race: Human
Height: 5'9'' / 175.3 cm
Weight: 116 pounds / 8.2 Stone
Build: Wiry, Lithe, Delicate
Eye Color: Sea Mold Green
Hair Color: Dyed: Black / Natural: Unknown publicly.
Alignment: Neutral Evil, a very selfish woman with a heart as dark and unforgiving as the misty seas
Class: Bard
Deity: Unknown if she prays to anyone or anything other than the Sea
Location of Birth/Origin: Port au Lucine
Current Origin: Blaustein

Biography/Background:

     Amelie as a child was the youngest and the most wild of four children: Stephen Micheaux, Melisande Micheaux, and Odette Micheaux. She was born from a scandalous affair between her mother, Lady Micheaux, and a dashing gendarme, Javier Marcellette, and was often reminded all her life long that she was a bastard child. Her father constantly blamed her mother for her unruliness and and cavalier free spirit, and so deemed her a blight on the Micheaux family name.
     Lord Micheaux blamed Little Amelie for everything one could fathom that happened ill in his life. He blamed her for the spice trade being low, blamed her for the collectors, blamed her that he was unable to rise in status, blamed her that his wife cheated. He even once blamed her for a storm sinking one of his vessels, and with it, precious cargo of pepper and safflower. For this act of the misty sea, he beat her with a riding crop the day before her debutante ball - for her sixteenth birthday. Amelie was always the focus of Lord Micheaux wrath, and always would he take what ever problem he had out on her. Her elder brother and sisters looked the other way, and even her cousins wouldn't dare be caught sympathizing with her.
     The day of her ball, she had to wear her hair in an unfashionably lopsided do to hide her blackened eye. Make up only did so much to diminish the bruises and cuts, and she tried her best to strive for excellence and grace. But when a baker caught a glimpse of her face, he accused her of being a street rat who had stolen the gown she wore. Jailed, her father refused to pay her bail. She sat there, bitter and jaded, harrowed and cold. She vowed to become the blight in any man's eye who would cross her, and she took her father's accusation to heart. She became as cold and unforgiving as the misty sea of Sorrows.
     Deep in a dark night, a dashing gendarme turned the key to her cell. He stole her away to a ship heading for Blaustein, giving her what little he had to see her safely there, where she could make a new start.
     "Why would you do this?" She beseeched.
     "Because it is the right thing to do." He responded, hurriedly looking about.
     "I don't even know your name," she was terrified to step onto the skiff with the boatswain.
     "It is best you do not. Now go, mademoiselle! For you are the dark one the guards will seek.
     Those words clung to her as she stepped into the boat, and they drifted away to the barge. "Marcellette!" A gendarme called down to the docks. The dashing rescuer answered, and vanished, "No, no sign of her here!"
 
     For you are the dark one the guards will seek. And it was from the moment she stepped onto the unforgiving shores of Blaustein, that she called herself Melanie Marcellette, The Dark One of the Sea.
Appearance:

She is wiry thin, and tall. She could be called sickly if not for her healthy legs, strengthened by time spent at sea riding the ships with sure footing. She tends to "walk from the hips", meaning that she leads from them, her back straight and back in a lounging posture. Her shapely form ends at her legs, while her bosoom consists of small athletic breasts - suppose an A cup - that rob her of curves. But she does not let this deprive her of femininity. Draped in an assortment of fine silks of varying patterns over form fitting suede trousers, she tends to favor golds, olives, burgundies, sienna, and other rich hues, and adorns her garments with royal blue gems, sapphires, emeralds, what ever she can get her hands on that sparkles. Her lips are painted rich wine red, and she is seen applying it again and again to maintain perfection.

Her hair is wavy and long, the ends brushing just the top of her buttocks. She keeps two french braids along side the crown of her head to keep the wisps of hair out of her face in the wind. Her skin tone is olive, lightly speckled with freckles across her nose. Her eyes can only be described as a pale green the color of sea mold, and over her right, a slashing scar that just barely did not blind her. She wears this scar, and any other she bore, like badges of gold and jewels. She seems to pride herself on her rugged elegance, with little shame of it.

She is often seen in song and dance, and her voice is a strange mixture of accents from Port and Blaustein.

Theme Song:
[youtube=425,350]EOrE2Qr1FMU[/youtube]

[Faeble]

Name: Lierra Lunora
Race: Elven/Fey
Age: Unknown, given that she is an elf an estimate is difficult to make and she herself does not know.
Build: Lithe and athletic
Hair: A dark auburn
Eyes: A warm honey brown, almost golden.
Religion: None
Land of Origin: Midarin

Physical Description:

Lierra is a creature built for grace and dexterity. She wears faded leathers that conform to her small frame and makes movement easy for the elven woman. More often than not, she will keep the hood of her aged green cloak up and tugged low over her face to prevent others from getting a good look at her. Across the bottom part of the right side of her face and running down her neck is a wicked looking scar that was seared into her flesh long ago. The scar mars her other wise pleasing features.

She has large, honey brown eyes that are nearly golden in color and that when cast in firelight would seem to glimmer if one could catch her with her hood down. Her auburn hair is shoulder length and cascades downwards in loose waves. Careful to always keep herself mostly covered, she never bares her wrists which would reveal scars etched around both of her wrists.


Biography: ((Will add at a later time))

[WhenTheSunGoesDown]

Name: Sharde E'lin
Race: Wood elf
Age: 98
Build: Slim
Hair: Auburn
Eyes: Grassy green
Religion: Solonor Thelandir
Land of Origin: Semberholme Faerun

Description:
Sharde tends to be on a taller side, standing at 5'4'' above the ground. Shoulderlong auburn tresses are often tied in a ponytail on the back of her head. Grass green eyes are almond shaped and fringed by long thick lashes. Sharde has an expressive face. Her features are delicate and finely chiseled. The cheeks are adorned with little freckles. Winged brows, and a pointed chin lend her features upward movement.

The woman seems very slim; her steps are soundless, silent. When she hunts out in the wilds, she paints her face with juice of berries and plants, as if following some odd ritual. Her bow is always within her armreach, two blades resting in sheathes upon her back. Her neck is adorned with an arrow-like charm.

Background:
Sharde was born in the depth of the ancient forest of Semberholme. Her childhood was nothing out of ordinary, happy and carefree in a village hidden upon treetops, away from other races. Yet at the time passed, the young elf had grown more aware of the dangers her beloved forest held. She trained to use her bow and short swords from the early age, eventually joining scouts of the settlement to protect her kinsmen from possible threats.

Despite the reclusive nature of her kind, she used to join her father in his visits to human cities to conduct trade there. Such trips taught her some tolerance toward other races. Yet while big cities made her curious, her heart was always with her forest. The mists found Sharde as she was returning from her scouting mission with a very important report - she located an Auzkovyn warband moving toward her village. The report was never delivered...

Music theme: Time's scar

[ThePwush]

Make the outfit red overall.

Name: Rhetra'Bushion, aka "Sunshine" aka "Petal" aka "Spazz" aka "Damn, she's fast" aka "Damn, she's not right"
Age: 127
Race: Visually, an elf.
Height: 4 feet, 11 inches
Weight: Equivalent to that of a wet sock
Build: Petite structure, though top heavy.
Eye Color: "Blind"
Hair Color: Natural green with flower blossoms of red and white
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class: No class whatsoever. Kind of unbalanced. Oh, that class. Sorry. Monk.
Deity: None, though she has an understanding with many types of "Powers", particularly Ilmater and Sune.
Location of Birth/Origin: Sigil and the First Layer of Celestia are the lands she knew before
Current Origin: Based in Vallaki and Degannwy.

Biography/Background: Not. All. There. Dat should do it Just kidding. I'll fill out later.

[MatticusCaesar]

Remo Fenberry

(not exactly a full bio, but this is the version of the in-game character description I wanted to use but was prevented by a character limit.  It is similar to what you will see in game, but this is a bit longer.)

Height: 3'7"
Weight: 83 pounds
Eyes: Green
Hair: Black
Age:  Appears late 20's to early 30's by human standards

This halfling appears to have been the subject of more violence than an entire Shire's worth of his kind might ever experience in total.

His armor bears signs of heavy road wear and displays the marks of many beatings belayed, cuts countered, and piercings prevented.  Even his tassled helm looks as if it has been crushed and hammered back into form several times. 

When in his armor, he sports a sextet of kukris: two slung in criss-crossed sheathes over his shoulders, two vertically on either side of him hanging from his belt, and two horizontally affixed on his lower back.

He's an unusually well-built member of his species: being muscular and hardy, yet still spry.  He's not particularly handsome, but it would also be unfair to call him ugly.  His beard, such as it is, consists of two thin dangling "ropes", purple beads woven in along the lengths.  The ends of each length appear slightly frayed.

What he lacks in looks, however, is made up in his apparent ability to work with others.  As he interacts, you note his speech conveys a sincere friendliness, and his words are rife with humor, witticisms and sarcasm.  He seems to genuinely care for those around him.

He does seem to carry himself with passion, eagerness, and confidence.

Trickster?  Champion?  Thief?  Adventurer?  Difficult to say, but perhaps this is someone your group could use...

[Syl]

Monica O’Sullivan (more to come )

Race Human

World: Earth

Attire: Old celtic attire kilt and very bright colors

Monica O’Sullivan is ah celtic las raised in a village with her mother and father and four other siblings. Being the oldest of five her father who was hoping for a boy taught her how to hunt track and a few other survival skills needed in the world they lived in to help provide for the family. Her mother taught her how to cook and work the hides they brought home from the morning hunts.

She is a very energetic girl and kind hearted as well. Always offering to help others when she is able to and Loves to explore since she was a wee babe, she despises the thought of killing someone for greed or just because to kill them. a bit squimish at times and is easily freaked out at the sight of too much blood or a brain in a jar. Also not very keen of spiders or dead things calling them gross smelly and just down right creepy, she can usually be seen with a smile on her face a heavy crossbow on her back a quarterstaff attached to her pack with a dagger hilt sticking out of the top of her boots one in each boot. She is also very friendly but is prone to speaking her mind from time to time which can land her into trouble if she is not careful. She is a nimble one normally using her quarterstaff to vault her over bodies should they be to close together or blocking a door and when she is forced to fight humans dwarfs elves or anything else that is human looking she can be seen aiming to more weaken them then kill only adding to her disliking of killing folks letting them get away, rather then hunting them down.

She is not a warrior or someone who is use to the hardships of death.  She is just a young girl who enjoies the simple things in life, friends family and finding the hidden beauty in places where most others wouldn't. While she is a simple girl and can be feared and scared of things she offten has the strength to face her fears as best she can. be it facing down a killer vampire with nothing but a dagger to defend her friends. or facing a nightmare of seeing someone burned alive infront of her just to get a sword. she will always find her courage to face her fears as best she can.

She would rather see people smile and work together then see them at each others throats, a fast learner though life lessons seem to come slower to her then most slightly accident prone normally showing up at camp a bit bruised or some small cuts on her.

Likes: Adventure, exploring random caves always looking for something new, traps, Fancy papers (scrolls) making friends, cooking, drinking, and hunting, star gazing, story telling. walking through the woods.

Dislikes: having too much money, killing people (big no no for her people being anything from human elf dwarf gnome halfling begger darkling anything that is willing to talk first before attacking) people insulating her mother. Spiders undead things ( mummies especially) to much blood and gore. Isenduril Mel'fesef (Izen as she calls him) Not being able to help those she cares about.

[Xarnata_Mobile]

Severo Aruno Jacca

World: Unknown (To be determined based on where one could 'buy' a memory wipe)

Attire: Outfits to blend into whatever society/group around. Most often used: Nude (Until a shadowing becomes deeper)

Themesong:

Spoiler: show

[youtube=425,350]n_LR5XHyFSc[/youtube]

"What would you pay to wipe away everything? A clean slated mind. Free of worry and petty emotions. Love. Hate. Fear? What would you do with this.. freedom?"

[Chaoshawk]

.

[Xarnata_Mobile]

Name: Telxar Raxis
Origin: Unnamed World (Final Fantasy 2: Pre-War)
Age: 21
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 138lbs
Race: Human
Profession: Craftsman, Locksmith, Clockwork Engineer
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Dirty Blonde, Short, Frazzled

Always carrying a pickaxe, a hammer, and tools of his trade. Defined but not bulky, he has the physique of a man proud of his labors.

Background
A miner from the town of Salamand, Telxar was a typical boy with typical aspirations and parent pleasing hobbies. He liked to tend to the livestock, aid in the fields come harvest time, haul shipments of Iron, Copper and Mythril down the snowy mountains. He even took to the books in his spare time reading on the tumblers of doors, the intricately designed cogs of a clock. A few weeks after his twentieth birthday he began taking up the pick on his own, and rarely ever came down from the mountain for more than the usual aid to the others of his townsmen in harvest and planting season. He always sent iron and Mythril back to the town to stay, but requested for bundles of copper bars to be shipped to his tunnel. He filled the tunnel with the ticking of hand made clocks bulky as they were without proper tools, several geared crossbows and even empty chests just made to test his locksmithing and 'home security'. The day he disappeared his tunnel collapsed, the ticking of so many clocks so suddenly silenced shortly after he had finished creating his newest contraption. A geared box that, when wound, would build pressure within itself until it burst in a spray of metal shards, needless to say.. it was wound too tightly. Such a horrid misty night, his clocks ruined, all his security measures either sprung or disabled, his contraption a pile of scrap metal, but no body to return.

[Zwickelfaust]

Name: Vladimir Albescu
Origin: Vallaki, Barovia
Age: 19
Height: 6'2
Weight: 210 lbs
Race: Human
Profession: Locksmith, scout, aspiring Garda
Eyes: Brown
Hair: short black with a stubble beard



Background: Born to a loving family in Vallaki, Vladimir lived in a household of strict discipline. His father, Cezar was a Vallaki Garda and was strict but fair to Vladimir and his little sister, Sorina. He and his father often butted heads against Cezar's strict rules. This lead Vladimir to fall into the wrong crowd, learning the art of stealth and lock picking, never to steal anything, only for entertainment. When Vladimir was only 17, Cezar was killed in the line of duty, leaving his mother, Madalene to take care of Vladimir and Sorina alone. She was so wrapped in grief that one day, she left the house in the dead of night and never returned. Vladimir had no choice but to finally grow up and become a man. He tried to take care of Sorina as best he could, but he couldn't make the coin to sustain them both. He ultimately ended up putting her in the orphanage so she had a chance at life. He then picked up the sword and halberd his father used to train with and began to master the weapons. He donned his fathers civilian armor, getting used to the weight of the heavy armor. He decided to return to Vallaki after spending a great deal of time outside the walls, improving his skills. He now dwells in the outskirts like a common outlander, hoping to find a Garda officer to sign up and serve. He believes that his father would be proud that he is trying to follow in his footsteps. He wants to send all his pay to his little sister to make sure she is taken care of.

[GreatPigeon]

Name: Sakhr Bakari
Origin: Mulhorand, Mishtan: City of the Dead
Age: 26
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 170 lbs
Race: Human - Mulan
Profession: Slave - Temple guardian
Eyes: Light Green
Hair: Shaved

Biography:
Born a slave to a family of slaves in the slave intensive agrarian and theocratic society of Mulhorand.  Of Anhurran slave stock and stationed in the city of Mishtan to guard the temples of the dead- it is all he knows.  Placed under decree to the authority of the Osirants, he was a rebellious sort. His early teenage years full of the same angst as others, though instead of rebelling against his parents, he rebelled against the authoritarian rule of the theocratic state. Only by his lack of acquired years was he spared the gallows.  The rebellious spirit in his was beaten out, instead of the first interface- that being  guarding the temples against the grave pillagers and cleaning them above for the use of the priests he was sentenced below.  Below the temples he was instructed to put the restless dead back into slumber, it was a day in and day out affair and not one that was rewarding. The only reward was keeping his own life.  Some several odd years passed in the dark crypts below and one day he fell into a sarcophagus and could not escape, the heavy stone lid falling on top of him.

It was to no avail attempting to lift the lid, what seemed like days passed... When the lid was finalyl lifted, mists swirled about him, the torches long since out around him he wondered around in the thick blackness and cloudy swirls ending up in the Vistani camp...

His new world had begun.

[bidocks]

5'11"
Medium Body type, but well defined muscles.
Hair:  Brown, cut shorter than he used to wear.
Eyes:  Baby Blue, sparkling bright eyes.

By most human standards, he would be considered quite attractive, though of course, everything is subjective.  He is quick to smile, and his emotions, mood and some of his thoughts are given away by his facial expressions that he has difficulty hiding.

Chance gew up a relative commonor in Waterdeep, who became a Tymorran Priest.  He then set out for Amia Island, Cordor in particular to find his own way, and his fortune.  Secretly, or not so, he is just a romantic, and really wanted to find love.  After some failed relationships, he moved to Ruathym, and swore service to the Jarl and First Knight of Wiltun.  His first duty was the care of the First Knight's daughter, the Lady Viola.  He eventually was named Court Cleric of Wiltun, and a Jarl Warden of Wiltun.  He began to court the lovely but troubled Lady Viola.

His duties included both acting as advisor to the Lord of the House and as bodyguard to his daughter.  He also sought ways to clean the curse off the land of Caraigh, which he swore to protect. The Wardens make routine patrols of Caraigh, a place known to harbor evils due to a curse placed by Lord Blackmoor half a century ago.  Undead roam the night, Skeletal Knights being especially dangerous, along with Hags that can rip a man to pieces with a spoken word. 

During one of these patrols, Chance and Viola came upon a hag.  Not unusual, and they prepared for battle.  It was nearly the witching hour, and mists poured into the area.  Chance raced forward to attack, and found himself flat on his back in a land far, far from home.  Nearly a day later, his love, the Lady Viola found her way through the mists as well.

His Journal:  http://www.nwnravenloft.com/forum/index.php?topic=39679.0

[mf_hansen]

Name/Aliases: Gender/Age: Race: Profession: Languages: Accent: Weight/Height: Body build: Skin type: Hair style: Scars: Tattoos: Colouring: Philosophy: Deities/Beliefs: Personality: Gear/Jewelry: Habits/Hobbies: General Health: Favorite Foods: Weaknesses: Character Build:

Miklos Varga, Miko, Markhov Male, 20+ Half-Vistani, Gundarakite Mercenary Balok, Luktar, some Common Sporadic Luktar curse words 210 lbs, 6' 0" Stocky, muscular Greasy, with clearly visible pores Very short, with beard stubble Healed scars on back, castrated "Half Blood", written on right forearm Brown hair and eyes, slight skin tan "Trust in others will kill you someday." The Morninglord, when convenient Direct, calm, rational, humble, private Chain mail, mace, shield, greatsword Basic herbalism, trapping, code writing Average endurance and immune system  Roast pig, cold water, avoids alcohol Low self-esteem, trouble sleeping Rogue/Ranger/Assassin

Spoiler: Backstory • show Miko was the product of a brief love affair between his mother Ingrid Varga and a Vistani traveling past their farm outside Zeidenburg. She managed to keep this a secret from her husband Fredek, and Miko grew up alongside his Gundarakite sisters Antonia and Mariska, learning to hunt and set traps from his father while his sisters herded sheep and grew crops with their mother. Refusing any involvement with Ardonk Szerieza's rebels, the family lived peacefully until 759 BC when Fredek discovered Miko's secret. His father cut a deal with Vasili, an old merchant friend in Tancos, marrying away his oldest daughter Antonia and trading sheep furs as long as Vasili took Miko under his wing as a student, taught him to read and write, and kept him away from his father. Vasili kept his word on most accounts, but sent Miko off in secret to Curriculo, to train under Markhov as an Invidian mercenary. Vasili also helped Markhov castrate his new Half-Vistani pupil and brand his forearm so Miko would forever know he was a half-breed. Only Antonia knew of this mistreatment, but they were both told to keep it from their family or the other would die in a horrible way. Reading and writing became part of his training, and the two were permitted to exchange letters to keep Miko motivated for working. On a rehearsed family visit Miko finally managed to deliver a cipher to his sister, allowing them to write secret messages to each other. As a child, Miko always had an interest in riddles and puzzles, and finally it paid off; the two could communicate privately again. Antonia was miserable and expecting her first child, but found strength in the Morninglord's teachings, and it rubbed off on Miko. Eventually his training was over and Miko was sent off to Vallaki with the Fiery Hearts mercenary group, to gather information on the local Vistani. They had been all but eradicated in Invidia, but Markhov's thirst for Vistani blood extended much further. For reasons unknown, the Fiery Hearts suddenly vanished. Miko had earned some trust with the local Vistani, but not enough for them to reveal their involvement. Markhov ordered Miko to investigate, but after little progress he eventually arrived in Vallaki to take matters in his own hands. Miko had planned for this; a hint to the Vistani took care of the guards, with only Markhov left for Miko to deal with.

[Master Librarian]

Portrait:

Name:                              Jacques Martel
Race  & Nationality:        Human, Dementlieuse
Date & place of birth:     10.3.745 BC - Dementlieu, Chateaufaux
Languages & Accent:      High Mordentish(Predominant accent), Low Mordentish, Balok (Borcan dialect)
Profession:                      Anchorite (Warden) of Ezra (Third Sect)
Weight & height:             5'9", 174 lbs (79kg)


Background:

Spoiler: show

Born in 745 BC as the third child to Dominique and Charlotte of the Martel family in Chateaufax. Jacques's father - Dominique, held a position of a travelling/caravan merchant in a renowned trading company, managing over the years to accumulate enough wealth to start a family business in form of an armor & weaponsmithy - "Le Bouclier Rouge". In the year 741 BC, Dominique Martel had married a simple village girl from Edrigan - Charlotte, who had shortly enough born him their first child and Jacques's elder sister - Élise. Charlotte, despite managing the first pregnancy with great and severe difficulties, by miracle alone, gave birth to male twins in 745 BC, albeit tragically paying the price with her very own life due to health complications.

Death of Charlotte hit Dominique the hardest, crushing his heart and mind, but leaving him resolved enough to raise the trio of his children. The older twin - Edgard, and the younger one - Jacques, grew steadily over the numerous years under the keen eye of both their father and the elder sister.  Unlike his older brother, Jacques had over the time, shown little-to-no interest at all in his father's craft, or the management and inevitable inheritance of family business itself, which tempted Dominique's patience and ultimately infuriated him.

At the age of 9, like a drop which spilled the cup, Dominique had passed the raising of Jacques to none other than the Erudite Anchorites of Ste. Mere des Larmes of Port-a-Lucine, which effectively set Jacques upon his path towards priesthood and servitude to Ezra and her church. It was not until then, that he would discover his passion and love for reading, learning, history, politics and generally - all knowledge which lied upon the reach his fingertips.

Unlike his rather distant brother Edgard, Élise - who herself bore great resemblance to their late mother - would despite her father's demands and wishes, continue to periodically visit and support Jacques by her frequent travels to the capital of Serene Republic over the entirety of next decade. Drawn by the lust for knowledge herself, the two would form a strong sibling love, becoming rather inseparable.

It was not until a day after Jacques's ordination as an Anchorite, that he'd experience the single most tragic and agony-inducing event of his life.

On the summer of 764 BC, the younger twin had finally manifested Her Shield at the age of 19, effectively becoming one of Ezra's chosen Guides & Protectors. In the act of euphoria and jubilation, he had sent a written message to Élise, scheduling a celebration for the day after. Seeking to surprise Jacques by her earlier, unexpected presence, Élise had began a journey during the late night, only to experience the consequences of it shortly afterwards. Ambushed by a band of drunken brigands in the countryside, Élise's book of life was closed in a flash, after brutish violation and endured horror by the hands of intoxicated brutes.

Ignorant of the event which had transpired, Jacques made his path out of the capital on the following day, in pursuit of his beloved sister, only to stumble across the Gendarmerie patrol, exporting the lifeless, abused body of Élise, followed in footsteps by a weeping and broken brother and father on the way to mortuary.

The young Anchorite did not know what devastated his heart more - the fact that his sister suffered a gruesome death, or the presence of unrestrained hate and disdain set upon him by his own brother and father due to arbitrarily perceived responsibility and guilt over Élise's death.

Regardless, the young Martel knew that there was nothing left for him in Dementlieu. He couldn't anymore endure a single moment of torment which chained him to the place. In his meager wisdom, he knew that both his mind and heart had to be tempered, calmed and sharpened ; lest his own guilt trip and anger consume him.

And who other would provide better assistance with just that, than the Pure Heart Anchorites of Mordent - he thought, and thus began his life of a wandering Warden and a scholar, carrying nothing else but his trusty literature collection and heavy, guilty conscience.

[Zwickelfaust]

BIO update

Name: Vladimir Albescu
Origin: Vallaki, Barovia
Age: 19
Height: 6'2
Weight: 210 lbs
Race: Human
Profession: Private of squad III, Vallaki Garda (scout/investigator)
Eyes: Brown
Hair: short black with a stubble beard



Background: Born to a loving family in Vallaki, Vladimir lived in a household of strict discipline. His father, Cezar was a Vallaki Garda and was strict but fair to Vladimir and his little sister, Sorina. He and his father often butted heads against Cezar's strict rules. This lead Vladimir to fall into the wrong crowd, learning the art of stealth and lock picking, never to steal anything, only for entertainment. When Vladimir was only 17, Cezar was killed in the line of duty, leaving his mother, Madalene to take care of Vladimir and Sorina alone. She was so wrapped in grief that one day, she left the house in the dead of night and never returned. Vladimir had no choice but to finally grow up and become a man. He tried to take care of Sorina as best he could, but he couldn't make the coin to sustain them both. He ultimately ended up putting her in the orphanage so she had a chance at life. He then picked up the sword and halberd his father used to train with and began to master the weapons. He donned his fathers civilian armor, getting used to the weight of the heavy armor. He decided to return to Vallaki after spending a great deal of time outside the walls, improving his skills. He has since joined the Garda, becoming an important member of Squad III.

Personality: Etremly loyal to those he respects, often showing obvious favor. He is hard on those who show no respect for authority, often bullying those who oppose him. He is easy to get along with when he is off duty, but on duty, he is serious and cold. His loyalty to Vallaki has no end. He would proudly give his life for the city.

[lashdragon]

Name: Lash
Race: Caliban
Age: 18
Height: 5'6 (Hunchbacked)
Weight: 200 lbs
Hair: Small patch of blonde.
Eyes: Blue
Profession: Caretaker (of his mother)
Unusual features: slightly pointed head, red facial hair, tusks, left shoulder overdeveloped creating a hunch, claws on hands and one foot, left foot is a hoof.
Born to one of Doktor Markovs spellcasting accomplices and her dwarven husband, Lash was a Caliban from the moment he was conceived. His birth crippled his mother, and so he cares for her as much as she does for him. While Lash is shy, he is far from passive and is a good friend to those who are kind to him and a dangerous enemy to those who are not. And though he does suffer from some mental retardation, He is quite clever, and is always willing to give his all, be it in combat, or in education; an education no caliban has been gifted with before. Seemingly out of sympathy, but really to study the child, Markov took him under his wing and personally tutored him in everything he knows. As such he is wary of strangers, but his naivety and loneliness often get the better of him, especially when adventurers come through town...

[SebastianDeMontfort]

Name: Tiran Moreyn
Origin: Athkatla, Amn, Toril
Age: 24
Race: Human, Amnish
Profession: Warrior-monk of Lathander
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 150 lbs
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Dark Brown

Bio: Born and raised in Athkatla, Tiran more or less learned to survive on his own. He fought with other boys, earning a reputation as a pugilist. At the age of ten, however, that all changed.

Slavery isn't entirely unheard of in Amn, though it is not generally public. Tiran found himself bound in service to nameless masters, spending the next seven years as a slave. He grew strong and quick in those years, both physically and mentally. Still, it took a party of adventurers to free the young man, who fought alongside them when freed. His prowess impressed the group, and the cleric of Lathander pointed him towards a nearby monastery, where he could hone his body and mind further. He spent years traveling, learning, and fighting, eventually joining the Order as a lay brother.

He was on a journey of self-discovery when the Mists took him... Can our young hero brave the Domain of Dread, or will he fall to his old, savage ways?

[MatticusCaesar]

Bjarna of Tribe Blitzthorn
Cerilian Rjurik Halfling

Height: 3' 4"/102cm
Weight: 70 lbs/31.8 kg
Eye Color: Violet
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Age: Young 20's by human standards



Bjarna, or "Bee" as many in the lands of The Core have taken to calling her, is the very definition of a misfit. 

Hailing from the mountains and snowy forested wilds of northern Rjurik in Cerilia (the focal continent of D&D's Birthright campaign world), she grew up in a hard place with hard people to help her.  She is definitely tribal, but to say she is feral would be neither true nor fair; she understands and lives by the social order of her tribe.

Originally named Petunia at birth, her halfling parents were killed in a violent raid when she was barely a month old.  Having been left to die of the elements and starvation, she was found by human scavengers of the Blitzthorn Tribe who took her in.  It became clear after a few years that Bjarna was some manner of runt, and that she would never grow to full human size.  Despite this, she grew up determined to fit in, never knowing she was even a halfling among tall folk.  She would participate in the warrior games with the other children of the tribe, often being abused and bowled over due to her small size, but this only stoked the fires of her determination further.

Bjarna found fighting to be her real niche, and despite her small size she took to it as a duck takes to water.  She learned the ways of "the boys" - skirmishing, hunting, running, climbing, jumping, wrestling, and the like.  Eventually, she was even able to best some of them in tribal sparring tournaments, ultimately earning her the tribal name "Bjarna", or "Little Girl Bear", from the elders - and her place as an accepted warrior despite her midget status.

Uneducated and simple, Bjarna does not understand that she is no longer in her home world - the concept of "another planet" is simply beyond her ability to grasp.  She believes she is simply lost in another part of Rjurik, though she isn't quite sure how she got here.  The Barovian climate, particularly in late fall, winter, and early spring, is not unlike her home and thus only succeeds in strengthening the illusion of where she believes she is.   Being a denizen of northern climes, Bjarna is not bothered much by colder weather.  This is not to say she is immune from freezing to death, but where others may be pulling cloaks tightly around themselves Bjarna may stand barefoot and underdressed in the cold and simply utter "Is brisk". 

Bjarna grew up speaking Rjurik (something of an offshoot of the Norse languages with perhaps a sprinkle of Celt) and has managed to learn enough of the the local common trade tongue to interact, albeit in a broken and inelegant form.  She doesn't put sentences together well and most words with more than a couple of syllables will cause her grief.  Bjarna will, however, make an attempt to learn others' names and more complex words by sounding them out slowly and deliberately.  She has an unfortunate drooling problem that she simply can't control, and sometimes she "loses her place" and can be caught staring blankly at a wall or into the distance.  All of these things together make her less than an ideal diplomat or ambassador.  Still, Bjarna is both friendly and extroverted and is unafraid to approach a stranger and introduce herself and then "inspect" them in her own way.  Social fear is not a trait that exists in this halfling girl, even if a lot of the more subtle nuances of conversation and interaction escape her and she might make a delicate situation awkward.

She is messy and doesn't pay much heed to her overall appearance, though her physique is an anomalous masterwork for her species: muscular, toned, shapely, spry, and hearty.  Her femininity and beauty, if one can call them that, are of an outdoorsy, rugged nature.  Her clothing and armor are a mismatched assemblies of whatever cloth, furs, hides, leathers, chains, and plates she has been able to cobble together.  She would rather run about naked than be wrapped in the fancy clothes of Port-a-Lucine.  The couple of times people have tried to "domesticate" her there often ended in trails of fancy shoes and torn silk dresses strewn about in her wake as she fled.  While she may let herself go for days at a time as the adventuring life often dictates, she will at some point attend to her hygiene with a dip in a stream or lake.

Bjarna is the embodiment of a free spirit and does not take orders well.  She has no issue with destroying things that are in her way; Bjarna would smash a door to bits as often as she might pull it open with the handle.  She loves combat and is always itching for a fight, whether it be against a real foe or just a good-natured spar.  She can, however, become unpredictable in a fray.  Many have witnessed her start a melee while strategy is still being discussed.  She brings her own brand of battle smarts to a fight; she's got little mind or use for formal tactics, but she adapts well to most combat situations.  She would just as soon try to overwhelm (which often appears comical given her size) an opponent than outsmart it.  Bjarna carries many weapons, but her current go-tos are a dwarven waraxe that looks almost too big for her to wield, or a mace and shield or large hammer when she is battling the undead.  Like any other halfling she is a natural with a sling, and her unusual build, strength and upbringing have provided her expert proficiency with a throwing axe. 

For all her faults and shortcomings, her heart is generally in the right place.  Despite her penchant for fighting and periodic, unnecessary destruction, she'd always prefer to see the "good guys" win.  Those who have traveled, adventured and fought with her know she is a stalwart companion if treated well, and she will fight to the death to protect those dear to her. 

[MatticusCaesar]

 >>deleted duplicate post<<

delete this entry from the entire thread if you wish

[Barovian Beggar]

Moror Morohog (NCE Oct 2015)
Miner and clansmen of Dvergeheim.
A belligerent alcoholic with a short temper.

Recently after working a double shift in the deep mines, Moror had one too many pints of rotgut in Old Althof’s tavern and started a brawl with some off duty soldiers, (Dwarven Guards). It didn’t end well for Moror.

When he finally awoke he was beaten, bruised and hungover standing infront of the king’s throne having to answer for his actions. The damages to Althof’s establishment totaled 1000 gold coins, a sum that sadly Moror could not pay. Upon King Moloch’s judgment, Moror has 30 days to raise the sum and make restitution to Althof’s property or face exile.

Having heard that a group of his kinsmen are setting out on an expedition he has decided to tag along and is hoping for a change in luck and to earn the sum needed to pay for the damages, oh and maybe some whiskey to boot!

[Barovian Beggar]

József Szabós (NCE Oct 2015)
Gundarakite Woodsman and Hunter (Ranger)

Born in 740 b.c.e, his birth place was a small village north of Zeidenburg called Volgy, simply meaning “Valley”. He was raised by his mother Szabina, a priestess who tended a small shrine to the Morninglord. His mother made sure he was a literate man as well as he was taught algebra, history and rudimentary natural science (Herbalism). Uniquely József has a talent in charcoal drawings. He keeps a sketch book with him and can often be seen making sketches and taking notes while he travels.

As a young man József was caught poaching on a local boyar's land and was severely beaten by the militia. He has since harbored ill feelings towards the abuse suffered and the oppression inflicted upon his people.

His path has led him to Vallaki, the last known residence of his mother's brother, Uncle Zeteny.

Despite the hardship he has experienced in his life, József is still optimistic and believes deeply in the teachings of the Morninglord. He prays that one day his people will be delivered from their plight and justice will be served upon his cruel “Barovian Masters”!