[Characters] The Barracks

[MalchiorTheForgotten]

This is where finished sheets go.

[jbear]

Details Name: Able Windborn Class: Inquisitor Race: Human (Seshite) Alignment: True Neutral Deity: Cain

 

Appearance Appearance: Able looks like a young teenage boy though he has just turned 30. He has short roughly cut black hair and piercing blue eyes. His smooth face is marred only by the scar that runs from beneath his chin up to his bottom lip. The backs of his hands are tattooed with divine symbols sll the way up to his elbows. He wears simple, unremarkable clothing. Able prefers to see and not be seen.

Personality Personality: Able is a zealot, his beliefs run very deep. A war is broken out in the heavens and Able is determined to restore balance and aid Cain in any way he can. He believes killing Valeshaar would go a long way towards this end as then Cain could take up her place and prove a more worthy keeper of the gates between life and death. A lofty goal but one that plagues his dreams and fuels his waking thoughts. Able lacks a sense of humour. He does make an effort to understand humour but to his frustration it seems something beyond him. Most emotions are now. Except when he rides. In the air upon his drake, Able comes alive.

Background Background: According to the village hag, Able was born upon the back of a giant eagle, during an aerial battle with a muder of harpies. His mother caught him as he was born and swooped to the ground where she dropped him causing the scar on his chin. His mother died gloriously killing most of the hideous creatures and mortally wounding the rest. She was unable to survive her own wounds and died shortly after breast feeding the child for the first time. The woman who told the story, Ragnok, was a tribal outcast living in the mountains near where his mother's body was found. Held to be a raving lunatic not much credit was given to her tale. Some even said she had murdered Able's mother herself and stolen the child. Able was taken from her and raised by Diana, the tribal huntress who had lost her son recently to sickness. Diana taught Able about balance, of the twins. A life taken, a life given. His mother was taken, and his own life taken and given to Diana who had lost her own. Grown into a man and a skilled hunter himself, Able returned from hunting in the mountains to find devastation. Diana, amongst the other horrors, had been pitted on a stake. His mind almost snapped. Taking a knife he pressed it to his neck when Ragnok, kneeling amongst the blood and ashes, called to him: "Wind born! The god of Death mocks you once more. Valeshaar's minions have torn away everything you love just like they tore away your mother when you were born. Do you fall into her hands so easily with blade pressed to neck? Or would you have revenge?" Able chose revenge. Ragnok sent him on his way smeared with blood and ash. She spoke of a war about to split the heavens asunder and when that moment should come he would need to be ready. He would need to know how to ride the winds if he was to fight long enough to have his revenge. Able left the ashes of hus people behind him and joined the ranks of the Queen's Drake Riders, an art he took to with grace, skill and passion. He now patiently waits for his chance to lay his revenge upon the followers of Valeshaar and let them know the sharp edge of the balde swinging back into balance. And he feels Cain's blessing guiding him every step along the way.

Sheet finished: http://rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=28604
Permission to edit sheet given to MalchiorTheForgotten

[BloodyDove]

Name: Madelyn Tremaine
Race: Human
Class: Cavalier
Alignment: Lawful Good

Appearance:

 

Personality: Bright, cheerful, and with a sunny disposition, nothing seems to faze Lyn or keep her spirits down. She's quick to provide a helping hand or even just some friendly words to keep everyone else's mood up as well. It's not that she's dumb or ignorant... she just doesn't seem to have any mode other THAN cheerful, what some would call a blithe spirit. That doesn't mean she's weak-willed or easy to push around, mind you. She is as stubborn and determined as a mule when she wants to, and there is nothing more infuriating than a lighthearted young girl who nevertheless flat out refuses to budge so much as an inch about her current goal or position.

Background: Since generations past, the Tremaine clan has served as one of the great stalwarts of the kingdom of Bryn. Family legend tells that it contains dragon's blood intermingled within it, and whether or not it's true, the family has had more than it's fair share of both sorcerers and Drakeriders within it. They have also been some of the kingdom's greatest heroes of old, and the present generation is no exception. Madelyn's father, Shayshal Jurgen, is one of the most respected men in the kingdom as well as one of its most famous living Drakeriders. Though old age has forced him to retire from active service, he remains one of the queen's trusted advisers. And his children are following in both his, and the family's example.

Madelyn's eldest sister Alyssa counts herself amongst the kingdom's Skyriders and is a well-respected Drakerider and commander in her own right. Her other older sister Petra is a sorcerer with the Kastyrs, the kingdom's military mages. Her brother Alistair would be a Drakerider as well, were it not for an accident while his drake was still young permanently damaged its wing and prevented them from ever flying; now he serves as a drake breeding master, helping to prepare the next generation.

Lyn was the youngest of her siblings, and though she was the "baby" of the family, she refused to be shuffled off into some safe duty, but was determined to follow her father and sister's example and become a Drakerider as well. It didn't hurt that she was a skilled enough equestrian to show she could in fact handle riding the saddle of a drake if she was given the chance.

Her father finally admitted defeat and arranged for her to train under an old friend of his, on the condition that he treat her no differently though she was his daughter. Lyn cheerfully took to her training, and soon enough had won over her master with her sunny outlook and upbeat determination to succeed. When her drake hatched and she found herself linked to this magnificent creature... well, she knew the hard training had been worth it. And now, she is determined to prove herself to her father, her siblings, her entire family, and to her country.

[Sir Alex]

Name: Gavin FitzAurick
Race: Human
Second Gestalt Class: Wizard (Transmuter)
Alignment: Neutral Good

 

Gavin is a slender young man with dark hair and gray eyes. You will often find him lost in his arcane studies, but when he is pried away and dragged into a group, Gavin is quick to warm up to others and quick to laugh in good humor. Still, there is a drive in him. His obsession with constantly improving his skills and abilities imposes limits on his personal relationships. Aside from his greatest companion, the drake Neleseth, he allows himself little intimacy or deep friendship with others. It is not that he dislikes his peers. Quite the contrary. Rather, he dislikes something about himself...and he is working to transform himself into a new man.

 

Gavin sat playing his lo-pipe, lost in a pensive daydream. A slow, sad melody drifted from his rocky perch down into the valley below. It echoed faintly off the far cliffs, mingling its notes with the wind. He came here whenever he needed time to himself. Time to think about who he was and who he wanted to be.

Gavin's dark mood set him to thinking of the first words he could remember hearing, as a small boy. His half-brother Erig had always been cruel. “You’re no Shay, you brat bastard. You’re Gavin FitzAurick. The Fitz means my father romped your mother in the servants quarters and nothing more. You are nothing.” What was a four year old boy to think? He had hardly understood the implications then, but the venomous tone had been enough. For all that his father had offered tutors and a rudimentary training in etiquette for his byblow son, Gavin had always felt a frosty disdain from his noble “family.”

The young drakerider stared down the valley as rays of sunlight burst through the cloud cover. Dappled bands of gold marched across the terrain, and his fingers moved more quickly. The music grew brighter.

It had been the best decision of his life, volunteering himself for military service. In the barracks, men judged you by your skills and your mind alone. Well, mostly. Politics were everywhere, but petty grievances that threated morale or unit cohesion were ruthlessly ironed out by the officers. And not every man or woman who rode a drake was some priggish noble. Not by a long shot.

He breathed out a final trill and let the lo-pipe fall from his lips. “One needn’t be nobly born to serve Bryn, and to make a fine name for yourself. And that’s what I’m going to do. My name is a burden, but I will find a new one. Somewhere out there,” he said, gesturing at whatever lay beyond the dreary clouds.

Gavin shook himself and smiled wryly. He extended his arm to pat the creature who sat beside him, a drake that perched on the stone like a giant bird of prey. “Come, Neleseth. It’s best we were getting back. No doubt I have a latrine to dig or tubers to peel or some such.”

He mounted up. Moments the later the pair glided out of the valley, fading away until they were swallowed by mist and only the sound of the wind remained.

[Quince]

Name: Aaron “Scar” Vurnundyth, the Exiled
Race: Shanite
Class: Barbarian (Elemental Kin)

Appearance: Aaron is a mountain of a man, heavily muscled and 6’4”. He is almost too big to be a drakerider. Aaron’s skin has been extremely damaged by the sun and wind. The windworn skin is a deep bronze. His wild blue eyes are speckled with flecks of red. His autumn coloured hair is shaggy and unbrushed. Energyborn heritage runs incredibly strong in his blood. The very tips of his fingers and his hairline are the slightest shade of blue. His body is covered in light, faded scars and a massive burn on his left shoulder. The pale burn is tinted an icy blue. His undyed leather pants usually have more than one gaping hole in them. He also enjoys walking about shirtless, which has gotten him into an awful lot of trouble. Despite his own unkempt appearance, his weapons and gear are textbook perfect. Brutal and wicked looking but perfect.

Personality: Aaron is as loud as he is big. He is incredibly opinionated and doesn’t care who knows it. Although if the situation is presented to him in a more militant fashion, he is keen enough to shut up . . . most of the time. He enjoys the company of others but enjoys the company of the drakes even more. There have been cases where the other drakes preferred Aaron to their own rider. Aaron is incredibly stubborn and will not budge once he has set his mind to it or is proved wrong in his eyes. Usually that argument is settled with a fight. He hates the country that he is bound to serve but loves his drake and the ancient call of flight.

Aaron is an incredibly honor-bound man. He views his service with Bryn as his karmic balance for his exile. The camaraderie of battle runs deep for Aaron. He will die to save the life of a deserving ally. He will fight to the last for an ally whether they deserve it or not. Whatever grudges he may hold are suspended in life or death situations. He wants their suffering to be at his hand and no other.

 

Background Aaron does not speak of his time in the Tribelands, although it is obvious to everyone that is his homeland. Aaron was like every other Shanite as a child, he dove headfirst from the cliffs and hoped to the Gods that his ancestor would save him. He learned to hunt and fight. He was good. He made a name for himself as a great warrior. By the age of eighteen, Aaron was looked upon with the utmost respect by everyone in the tribe. Seven months ago, he was given command of his first raid. His tactics weren't very subtle. His instructions were 'walk into the village and take what you can carry. Oh, and kill anyone that tries to stop you'. Needless to say, things didn't go accroding to plan. Most of the expidition died and Aaron was left cornered between three houses and nine men. He had lost his weapon during the last fight. He looked around for something, anything to use but found nothing. One lone man decided to claim the glory for himself and charged Aaron, greatsword hoisted high. Aaron slammed his fist like an anvil into the man's chest. He dropped the sword. Aaron's need for survival overcame every teaching of tradition that had ever fallen on his ears. He snatched up the greatsword and slaughtered his way out of the village. He dragged the weapon of his shame all the way to his home. When he arrived, his tribe ran him into the ocean and turned their backs on him. He swam until he reached a ship, his shame dragged him down like an iron weight the whole time. He washed up on the shores of Bryn and wandered for a couple weeks until he was drafted by the Bryn military. He refused to give his name or speak at all to anyone in the army but they saw his heritage in his face plainly enough. Since they didn't know what to call him, and didn't care what his name was, they called him Breeze. The Shanites innnate abilities were common knowledge and the military sought to exploit it. Into the drakeriders he went. He didn't respond to bootcamp well. The other men in his regiment hated him. Breeze caused them endless amounts of extra work from the sergents but somehow they all made it to the Hatching. At the Hatching, during the middle of the hatch, a fire drake burst from its shell and blasted a bolt of fire straight at Aaron. Aaron caught the gout of fire with his chest. "You son of a . . ." He dove onto the back of the drake and began to wrestle with it. He subdued the drake with an enourmous smile on his face. "I like him!" Everyone was shocked by the whole ordeal. He ate the breath of a drake and lived. He wrestled a drake . . . and won. He had spoken. It was in that ceremony, that Aaron's nickname was upgraded from 'Breeze' to 'Scar'. With the help of the drakes, Scar began to bond better with his company. Now, he wants to regain his lost honor with the very sword that took it from him.

[orangehatter]

Name: Balroga Vinn

Race: Human

Class: Monk

Appearance: Black cornrows line the scalp of the dark-skinned warrior. A well-chiseled face sets the canvas for feline-esque eyes set with smoky quartz for irises. Bushy, handsome eyebrows line his forehead, somehow managing to bend at curiosity. His nose is short and stout while his lips are full and dark. Although both his ears are slightly undersized, the left is pierced several times with small rings and gauges. A small scar marks marks the right side of his chin and another through the eyebrow of the same side. Broad shoulders and thick triceps make him seem bigger than what he actually is, but with a height of 5' 5" and 188lbs., it balances out his first appearance of threatening ability with something more of a sense of self-sufficiency. On closer examination, one can take in the thinness of his frame and realize his physique is more panther-esque than brutish. His leg muscles are also very well-developed as the result of many drills with his drake.

With little need to dress fashionably, Balroga has several sets of the same wardrobe. As a shirt he wears a deep-navy dyed henley, perfect for wearing underneath armor. The item is somewhat undersized, but he has found little reason to buy something new for himself. His baggy, canvas pants are khaki-colored and stiff. While not quite as suited for under-armor wear, one will eventually realize he doesn't wear armor at all. His standard-issued, dark red leather boots tie high as they reach nearly mid-calf. Their black laces are nearly destroyed from use. The only other accessory he keeps on his person outside his piercings is the white bandanna that is tied about his forehead. Onlookers often wonder how it remains as white as it seems, unaware that he has several kept in his possession.

Personality:
Balroga is a simple person. He is quick to listen, and just as slow to anger. His upbringing has left him suspicious of fast talkers and the fainthearted. To those who exhibit exceptional physical skill, he gives his unannounced admiration. While he is introspective and meditative, the tides of countless combat engagements have yet to break his calm demeanor outside of battle. In battle, he prefers driving his adrenaline into tactical thinking. He composes himself with the resplendence of nobility, albeit by the way of a much cruder manner of speech. Balroga does not come to grips that their are some things magic can do that he can't. As well, he considers himself a competitor against the magic that reigns over the land, challenging his physical skill against spells and magical talent. Truly, this is a silly idea, but it does keep him busy.

Socially, Balroga is very easy to find. He isn't a smooth conversationalist due to an embarrassing case of stuttering that has followed him throughout the majority of his life. Because of this trait he copes with his humiliation by keeping quiet and diving into the drink. He has just now come to grips with his condition. Most of Balroga's friends are still left behind in the knighthood of the Drake's, and since then he has found himself very alone.

Background: Balroga was the oldest son of four to a military father. Their mother was only a background to his life as his father followed the tradition of their only-somewhat-ancient family tradition as disciples to the Red Fist School of Hungry flames. The kingdom they had lived in was constantly at a state of war with the neighboring nations, and his father found it best for his sons to be prepared at all times. Life growing up wasn't hard, but it certainly wasn't normal. Most of Balroga's childhood found him doing drills with his father, and training at the school itself every other day, but he would never consider this time in his life difficult. Only disciplined.

At 14, his school and nation were put to ruins in the tides of war. His family up and moved to Bryn, where they were offered a safehaven and field to grow food on. His family reduced to farmers, Balroga's father was quite ashamed. Nevertheless, he kept his sons in training, instilling the fundamentals of their by-gone monastery deep into their souls. Eventually, time to test these skills would come.

Balroga, tiring of the farming life, enrolled himself into the military with the promise of restoring his family's name to glory amidst the back of a grand drake. It would be a new beginning for the Vinn line...