[System]
Age: 16

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Appearance:

A bright eyed girl from the Steppes of the Northeastern highlands, she carries with her a brightness and optimism that would lead one to believe her a simple runaway girl with dreams of adventure. Her complexion is tanned from her time spent under the open sky, and she seems to be in a perpetual good mood, judging from her omnipresent smile. She is of a lithe build, and has a slightly bowlegged stance from her life spent riding on a horse. Her arms and legs are fairly toned and muscular for her frame, making her a lot stronger than your average girl from a farm.

She is almost perpetually seen with her hair in a ratty mess, the only restraint to it being her hairband that keeps her bangs from blocking her vision entirely. Her outfit usually consists of a traditional tunic of the Steppe, with large sleeves that give her arms free movement, a black long skirt that has been ripped at the sides to allow her legs more freedom, and a pair of leather sandals. When adventuring, she wears a leather breastplate beneath her dress for added protection.

Height: 5'7"
Eye Color: Amber
Hair Color: White

Personality:
A little ball of sunshine and happiness, there doesn't seem to be much in this life that can get the Steppe Archer down. She carries with her an almost infectious energy that brightens up the room, seemingly always in high spirits.

Her optimism is matched by her keen observation skills. In just a few minutes, she can identify the people in a room at a glance, and tell how someone is feeling by their expression. Despite her perceptive nature, she herself is very blunt, and often unable to think before she speaks. It is not uncommon for something she says to come across as harsh due to her lack of common sense compared to most other people.

Likes: Horses, Sweet Meats, and Flowers
Dislikes: Enclosed spaces, Negative thinking, and Insects
Hobbies: Leather working, Cooking, and Stargazing

History:
On the large rolling plains of the Northeastern Highlands, one is born, lives, and dies on the move. There is no pause available to the nomadic people, with each waking moment spent with focus being on procuring food, supplies, and, once those begin to run low, the focus shifts to uprooting the camps and moving elsewhere on the Steppe. Their society is organized by numerous small "tribes" that have banded together to form a Confederacy, overseen by a leader who rules for a period of ten years after a martial tournament is held between the greatest fighters of the tribes.

Before she was born, her father was heralded as the mightiest man on the Steppe, unbested in archery, and a master of wrestling. On the second year after she was born, he was dethroned and retired to his previous life of being a hunter to provide. In the time she spent with her father, she would learn the art of the hunt, and come to grow into a young girl. Life would proceed as it did, the circle of life in an unending loop, marching onwards with the beat of the people who's lives were spent chasing life. It wasn't all bad, not in the slightest. The meat was plentiful, the hunt was thrilling, and the life lead was one far from purposeless.

Eventually however, the decade-held tournament would be held, and with the rise of a new chief came new and bizarre laws. One of which being that a "bride" of each tribe was to be offered to his son, as if they were pieces of meat to be handed out. And quite unfortunately, she was "selected" as the delegated bride. Rather than accept some impish demand for her virtue and hand in marriage to some spineless whelp, she would instead flee the Steppe with her father and mother's blessings, figuring that she could eek out a living as a mercenary or adventurer.

With no military willing to accept such a young girl despite her demonstrated skills, she was left with no avenue but to become an adventurer, arriving in Palisade town on the Frontier due to its closeness to home.

Adventuring Rank: Porcelain

Equipment:
Nomad Bow: A composite recurve bow of Steppe Archer's own making, made out of horn, wood, and sinew. It is well used from the years that Steppe Archer has spent hunting. Due to its smaller overall size compared to a normal bow, it is ideal for shooting on horseback and while moving, while not sacrificing the power of a full bow.

Nomad's Sword: A steel curved sword resembling a slightly less curved scimitar. Ideal for slashing things apart, or gliding past something with a slash. Has a large enough grip to be two-handed.

Torchfire: A beautiful mature auburn colored horse that Steppe Archer rode into town on. Despite the fact that she isn't able to bring it on many adventures due to the danger, she still insists on keeping it stabled up in Palisade Town, just in case she needs it. She is Steppe Archer's pride and joy, and her greatest asset in battle on a more open plain.

Skinning Knife: A small knife that's sharp enough to cut through flesh. Usually used by Steppe Archer to skin the beasts that she slays, in order to sell the pelts for a sizable sum. Steppe life taught her never to be wasteful.

Steppe Ensemble: Steppe Archer's protective leather breastplate beneath her folk-style dress. Her clothes keep her cool in just about any climate, and the leather armor beneath provides enough protection to shield her from light damage.

Porcelain Adventurer's Tag

Skills:
Horseback Riding: There are few that can match the riders of the Steppe when it comes to equestrian based combat, and as a proud Steppe child, Steppe Archer can ride with the best of them.

Trap Setting/Disarming: Much of the Steppe's hunting is done using traps to catch prey. As such, Steppe Archer is proficient in finding the perfect spots to place traps, whether that be to aid her friends, or harm her foes.

Handy Woman: On the Steppe, work is divided amongst the men and women equally. As such, Steppe Archer is skilled with physical labor, capable of many tasks that many in the realm would consider "men's" work.

[User]
Steppe Archer winced as she saw how painful the bites looked. Guard Lady really was tough if she was trudging around while acting like she was perfectly fine. Still, she hoped that they wouldn't become infected by anything down here. After all, filth and disease bred in sewers...but so long as she didn't expose them to raw sewage, it was doubtful that she'd contract anything after giving them a clean wash and chugging down an antidote.

At Guard Lady's signal to stop, as well as the loud squeaking, Steppe Archer's footsteps came to a halt as she drew a hand towards her blade. There were so many...and they had to kill three of these nests!? Various thoughts crossed Steppe Archer's mind, namely that this was...far too much for novices. They'd have had an easier time cleaning out the ditch, at this rate...but, now, another thought made its way into her. As she cast a glance from the lamp to the rats, an idea brewed in her head. "We can use fire to take them out. It'll um...stink. Really bad. But if I can shoot an arrow covered in cloth and oil and fire, then the fire'll spread fast with all that fur and...poop," the archer suggested, still trying to think of other side plans.

"We could also try and lure more roaches this way. But...I doubt that'd work unless we got every single roach in here to attack. Worst comes to worst though, we could cut our losses and leave."

[Assistant]
After listening to the archer's idea, Guard Lady put her balled fist to her own chin. It was indeed a much safer bet to try and burn the rats and not engage a massive group like this with only three people - but at the same time, wasn't that very risky? They'd already plugged their noses with branches, well herself and Steppe Archer - the boy had not done so - and if things were on fire, wouldn't that cause smoke or something that could it dangerous to breathe? Guard Lady wasn't very knowledgeable about things like this, but she knew that if you stood near a campfire for too long and breathed the smoke, it was bad for you.

"Could be dangerous." The boy suddenly said, having been quiet for a long while now. The halberdier's head swivelled to look at him surprised. "Fire could spread in ways we don't want. Rats would get spooked too, flee in every direction" He added.
"But there's no way we can take on that many with just us." The young womn stated.
"Agreed. We should pull back to the surface." The hooded one confirmed the archer's suggestion about leaving.

Honestly, it was there best choice. The Guild, or the one who had made this request, had woefully underestimaed both the danger and the sheer difficulty of this quest. There was no way a single group of freshly-out-of-the-oven adventurers could handle this! Maybe if they had a mage or other spellcaasters who could take out large swathes of enemies at once, or at least put them to sleep or soemthing. But with their compisation as it was, there wasn't any safe way for them to handle this task. As such, Guard Lady let out a sigh and nodded.

"I think that's for the best too. My carelessness also left me less useful in a scuffle now... I'm sorry, I'll be more careful next time." She said, giving a sheepish, apologetic smile to her two allies.

Still, now they had to trek all the way back to the manhole they had entered though. Since it was unlikely their hooded friend could pick a lock from inside the actual sewer, and upside-down no less... But the coast had been clear last time they were there, so surely it was just a bit of walking and they'd be safely on the surface again.

... And in dire need of baths and clothes-washing...

[User]
The soft tap of claws on floorboards rung out as Lizard Fighter entered the Guild. Yes he had a name, everyone did, but it seemed in this line of work saying ones name was taboo. Maybe it was an attachment thing? Whatever, the pink race was weird. Yawning widely, displaying those sharp nearly serrated teeth of his, he approached the counter. Lizardfolk weren't common to see and even some of the higher ranks were openly eyeballing the enormous being. About as common as seeing a pure-blood high elf outside of the forest it felt like.

The Guild-girl behind the counter stared at him before clearing her throat. "Are you looking to sign up?" She asked, which earned her a simple nod from him. "Wonderful! Please read this form and fill it out." She said, putting on the classic businesswoman's smile. Lots of teeth, closed eyes, tilted head. They were lucky he knew common, how to speak and write it. Taking the piece of paper, and a quill, he went off to one side so others could do reports or whatever else. He wasn't an Adventurer he didn't know what they did.

Looking the form over it was fairly simple. It essentially spoke of the dangers involved in the career, payment, not liable, blah blah blah. He signed his name and what class he essentially was. A Fighter, very general in the combat area. Sure he specialized in certain weapons but a good portion of the dealers of death had the same forms. With the form filled out he waited only a few minutes to turn it in. Another group had sidled up to give their report. Bandits, so they didn't just go specifically for monsters? Good to know.

Stepping up again he handed her the paperwork she had initially given him. A quick speed read and she gave that beaming smile again. "Alright, it's all in order! Here's your Guild Tag, please keep it on your person at all times." She said, sliding the porcelain tag over to him. Blinking he scooped it up and put it on, it almost blended in perfectly with his chest plating. "Thanks." He rumbled out quietly, his voice like distant thunder.

"If you'd like to start immediately, there are jobs posted on the board right there. Or you could just browse and wait for more experienced Adventurer's to go with." She said while gesturing to the job board. Nodding his head he shifted quietly over to the board to give it a good once over. He kind of wondered if there was any overlap at times, did people forget to take a posting down? And what kind of job was cleaning a ditch? That didn't sound very adventurous at all. But it was the easiest money he could see of the three jobs. To wait and potentially get combat experience with giant rats or goblins, or get easy money cleaning up ditch corpses? Decisions decisions...

[Assistant]
"Don't feel bad! At least we're all okay. Even if it was just rats, and just in a sewer, it was all still pretty exciting!" Steppe Arhcer would say, hoping that she could cheer her fellow adventurers up with just a little bit of enthusiastic cheers. Patting Guard Lady firmly on the back as they walked, she would flash a grin to try and cheer her up, as if to say that everything was fine in spite of their failures.

Shade would go first up the ladder, then Steppe Archer, then Guard Lady. She would exhale, before putting her hands on her hips. "So, first laundry and baths...then maybe another job?" The nomad girl would say, smiling brightly in spite of how horrendously filthy she was now. "If rats were too much, then maybe that ditch cleaning job would work out well. How're your wounds feeling?" She would add, concerned for Guard Lady. Not fatal injuries sure, but...ew. Bug bites.


[System]
Nickames
Penny

Age
16

Gender
Female

How did they get onto the Officer Programme?
Penelope was promoted from the standard soldier classes at the academy.

Prefered Weapon
Sword and Buckler

Appearance Details
Can be paragraphs or bullets following this guideline:
* Hair: Blonde | Wavy | Worn either in a ponytail or loose
* Eyes: Blue
* Height: 5'5
* Body Type: Slim (Ectomorphic).
* Clothing Style: Light Dresses and Casual Clothes | Penelope can often be found wearing light dresses (such as that in the picture above) or casual clothes, including simple shirts, jeans, cargo pants, and other comfortable clothes

Personality Traits
Though generally a nice individual to have to deal with, Penelope does have a bit of a rough side to her sometimes gained from interacting with her brothers so much as the only daughter of her family. While she often won't, she isn't afraid of telling someone that they've screwed up if it really has turned out to be the case and she's mad enough. She can control her temper and she can take a few negative hits or insults from others, but if you're going off on her than you can expect that she'll return the favour. That being said, Penny tries to make sure that she doesn't damage her relationship with those that don't turn out to be negative people - not just her friends, but she feels that if anyone is a nice person, then they should be treated as such.

Biography
Proper education isn't received by those who can pay for it, it's earned by those who push themselves to learn. The McGareth family pushed their three sons and one daughter to learn and educate themselves, and where a proper teacher was not present instead incentives pushed the children to learn for themselves. While the family could not properly afford an education free resources such as a library and the world itself was present for the children to explore - the world being limited to the city of Meisa's and its outskirts, and as long as they were back in time for dinner. Where one child may struggle there were three more to help ferry them along, and work for the children was forgone while the children were educated. It was all in hope that the children would educate themselves to get at least somewhat decent jobs and feed that money back to the parents.

It didn't really work as well as intended. Instead of building up a sense that they should educate themselves and study, the children didn't feel a sense of duty to do that. While they did educate themselves most days, it was very easy to become distracted and end up playing. As they grew, they only partially educated themselves - how would mother and father know if they were playing hide and seek instead of learning, particularly if they were doing it at the outskirts, by the walls of Meisa? They figured that if they had to grow up and work for money, it would be easy - after all, mother and father were in the lower-middle class, and they managed just fine.

Penelope's mindset was in unison with her brothers. She often did read and learn more than them, but that was because she found that fun to do, and did it for that fun rather than to learn like their parents told them to. And when she wasn't reading, Penny was playing with them, messing around with a slingshot or stick-fighting them. It was that last part that most likely led to Penny's goal of going to Estermere - she would look up to the walls and see the soldiers up there, guarding Meisa against threats unpresent or threats unknown, she didn't know which because she was never told. She duelled with her brothers, imagining she was a knight and her opponent was some kind of grand foe she had to defeat.

In a few years' time, Penny was no longer dueling with wimpy sticks snapped off of trees, but instead purpose-made, duelling sticks, wooden batons. She was no longer dueling with her three brothers, but instead classmates in the 1450 class of Estermere Academy's soldier programme. duelling might have been an improper word to use, as besting her classmates might have been better. What education that she managed to achieve already put her high in the class, but it was her duelling technique that pushed her to the top. She was consistently managing to strike down her classmates, and while losing the occasional duel was still a force to be reckoned with.

Penelope's consistent high performance was most likely the reason that she received the option of transferring to the Officer's programme. It was an opportunity that she could not refuse, feeling that if the academy was willing to offer her the position that definitely meant that she was fit for it.

Misc.
Joana Gröblinghoff | Cornsilk (FFF8DC)

[User]
Pax Triston was not eager to be attending Estermere Academy. It was a military school, and they had no desire to be part of any military. That did not change the fact that they were currently on their way to the academy. They didn't have much of a choice. Their father, Lord Markus Triston of Coastal Cliffs, wanted to send Pax away. Pax couldn't really fault the man for that decision. There was a constant tension in the air while Pax was residing at Triston Keep. Pax gave their head a shake. There was no reason to dwell on the past. They had to keep heading up the mountain.

Pax looked up from the book that they had been studying about older languages from across the world to look out the window as the carriage maneuvered pass another turn in the road. They could finally see the Academy. It certainly looked impressive. Pax knew that it was still a fair distance away. It would only grow more impressive as they got closer. Pax turned back towards their book. They had basically stolen the book from Triston Keep. Thankfully, along with the other books on almost forgotten languages, it wouldn't be missed. If they were it would a simple matter to return them.

The carriage eventually stopped as a voice called out, "We have arrived Mr. Triston."

Pax placed their book back in their personal satchel as they exited the carriage, "Thank you Gabriel." They faintly smiled up at the coachman, "Please be careful on your way home."

Gabriel nodded in respect, "I'll be on my way as soon as I'm soon sure your things have been put away properly Mr. Triston."

Pax turned to get a better look at Estermere Academy, "Thank you Gabriel."

With as close to goodbyes as Pax was going to get with as close to a friend as they had been done they headed into the building. It was easy enough to ask a few of the guards where new students in the officer program were supposed to go. With that information gathered. The new student headed towards the dining hall. There were already students gathering. Absently Pax wonder what the time was. They knew that there was a time every new student was supposed to be here by. They just didn't know when that time was. They didn't think that it was any time soon. There weren't enough students here yet.

Pax scanned the room to find a rather empty place in which to sit. Once a suitable spot was located, they made their way there. As they walked, they passed a few people taking to each other as well as others looking to avoid social interactions. There were people from all over the world. Pax was astounded by the sheer number of different type of people. Maybe being here wouldn't be bad. It would certainly be a learning experience.

Pax arrived at the place they had pick and sat down with a surprising amount of grace. They pulled out their book to return to their studies. Pax wondered if there were language classes here. That would be another reason this ordeal could be bearable. The truth was, even though Pax knew they didn't really want to be here, this wasn't that bad a place to be. It certainly wasn't ideal, but it did get them away from Coastal Cliffs and it would certainly teach them things they couldn't learn in Rockveil. They might not want to be a part of any military in the future, but it would give them a chance to make future they didn't think they could have if they hadn't been sent here. Pax supposed they could be tentatively optimistic.

[Assistant]
---

---

Dozens of burly men were gathered around a feast fit for royalty. Thick slabs of meat from all sorts of beasts were piled high atop their silver platters, dripping fat onto the ornate tapestries around the dining room table. One of them, Roan's father, rose from his chair with a large glass of wine held in an even larger hand. The motley of furs that covered his body rose with him, making him appear more beast than human for a few short moments. Roan's mind was elsewhere, incapable of perceiving anything but the man's bearded mouth opening and closing. It was only when a strong pat on the back hit Roan that he realized everyone present had turned their heads to him. He was being congratulated.

***
It had felt like an eternity since the day the academy had accepted him. Through a few hushed donations aided further by connections, but accepted nevertheless. Neither his brothers nor the rest of his family knew the truth, so the boy had paused every time an employee had politely asked about his background. He was relieved that the arrival was nearly over, at least.

Roan stepped out of his carriage, nearly forgetting to acknowledge the coachman's existence. He glazed over the walls of the academy and wrapped his arms around himself in a manner that didn't look comfortable. It was the least he could do to not feel so exposed with how thin his clothes felt. For Roan who had been accustomed to sleepless nights in cramped chambers, surrounded by hand-etched glyphs up to the ceiling, hands soiled with ink and desperate to write more, the gentle outskirts of the academy were alien to him. They had nothing in common either with the wintry plains of Kyavik, that demanded one bring a shovel and a rifle at the minimum.

"Indirect information. Instructions?" he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered towards a boy his age receiving directions.

Unfortunate. He had hoped their welcoming ceremony would be informal enough to allow him to explore the academy to the fullest extent of his desires. Roan expected no less from such a prestigious academy, however. He reasoned it was for the best to do as told for the time being.

On the surface, the deal he struck with his father seemed simple enough. The game piece known as Roan Borza would be relocated elsewhere so as to not drag the rest down, and as a result it would be spared from having to participate in the modern clan's battlefield, the gathering. He would use this opportunity to elevate his abilities in the refined and complex art of magic, and thus function as a sort of ornament for the rest to gawk at and admire. There were other implications, however. Having a skilled magician in the family had its uses if the relations between clans ever soured to the point of violence. It didn't surprise him that his father thought that far ahead. Sacrificing a game piece of lesser value to spare the rest was too obvious of a strategy.

He clicked his tongue. Even multiple nation's worth of distance couldn't keep him from thinking about politics again. He'd just have to approach his new life a single step at a time. As he entered the dining hall his father's advice rang crystal clear in his mind. Study well, be a warrior. No fires.


[System]
BASIC
Goes By (Nicknames): Maleficent (alter-ego); The Winged She-Elf; She-Devil, Devil's Incarnate (by Thorin); Delva, God-Mother (by Fili & Kili).
Royal Titles: Lady of Ambaróna/"Fangorn".
Other Titles: First Commander of Isengard, Sauron's Most-Trusted Servant (as Maleficent); The Watcher; Guardian of Durin's Folk.
Age: 5,739 (Looks 37-38)
Gender: Female
Race: Elven Hybrid (Sindarin and Noldor Bloodlines)
Other Bloodlines: Silvan and Teleri (Through her grandfather's relatives)
20/20 Elvish (10/20 Sindarin, 6/20 Noldor, 2/20 Silvan, 2/20 Teleri)

APPEARANCE
Face Claim: Angelina Jolie
Hair Color: Medium Brown
Eye Color: Yellow-Green (Boldly-luminous when furious/angry)
Skin Tone: Creamy
Height: 5' 8"
Weight: 119 lbs
Body Build: Slim

Finger Claws:

Curved Daggers:

Combat Outfit:

Dresses for Two Towers/Return of the King

Wing-Cloak

PERSONALITY
OVERALL PERSONALITY
Likes: Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, Ents, Happiness, Animals, Peace, Music, Plant-Life, Training, Flying/Sightseeing, Yearly Seasons.
Dislikes: Death, War, Chaos, Greed, Spiders, Maleficent, Orcs, Sorrow.
Strengths: Fighting/Combat, Flight, Knowledge, Wisdom, Harsh Temperature Resistance, Protective/Affectionate Nature, Keen Senses, Agility.
Other Powers: Wallcrawling, Banshee Scream, Enhanced Strength, Telepathy, Telekinesis.
Weaknesses: Stubbornness, Loneliness, Anger, Vindictiveness, Split Personality.
Fears: Sauron, Losing Family.

Elegant | Unpredictable | Capable | Headstrong | Mysterious | Maternal | Observant | Intelligent

Everyone believed Saeril to be born as a creature of chaos and pure evil, but they just do not know the true story. In actuality, Saeril is a good-hearted, nurturing individual, who highly valued the peaceful natures of Middle-Earth, whilst having the passion to support and protect its various realms and inhabitants. Born during the First Age, Saeril is a strong-willed she-elf, and the last of an ancient Elven clan from Fangorn Forest. A very intelligent, loyal-to-the-bone perfectionist, who stays true to her word, she focuses on finding the best intentions for others, to the point of making great judgment calls, as much as willingly risking her life, in the process.

From the despair of her devastating past, following the Deceiver's corruption upon her mind, Saeril is truly hurt and very lonely inside, having to be caused by the guilt and horror of her cruel and malicious deeds, as well as the amount of pain and trauma she had to endure. After being rescued by Gandalf the Grey, she was left "more Orc than Elf", while her other alter-ego "Maleficent", a psychopathic representation of her corruption, still lingers within her mind. However, after Sauron's defeat, this other personality dissipated, giving back her natural Elven beauty.

The ultimate goal was to redeem and dissipate this inner darkness from within, but she never anticipated it to be a challenge when she rekindled herself with her Dwarven godsons Fili and Kili, whilst having to closely bond with a young she-elf named Yavanna, whom she had grown to love and deeply care for, as if she were her own daughter. Determined to protect both the Sons of Durin and the Bright Star of Middle-Earth, Saeril will become extremely aggressive and violent, whenever someone threatens, or has inflicted any sort of harm to them; as this contrasts her more-gentle nature, she will be blunt and gladly let the offenders know the price. In addition, since witnessing the death of Fili, she will go to great lengths, if it means to prevent Kili and Yavanna from falling under the same fate.

Both as "Maleficent" and herself, Saeril is a ruthless, immensely-formidable warrior in her own right; despite withholding a certain elegance, she's truly a very deadly foe for anyone who'd dare challenge her personally. A vast majority of her strength came from the enchantment Sauron had placed upon her, as well as the supernatural connection he was able to forge between them; even while she was formerly his chief of the Isengard legion, she possessed a number of abilities that have allowed her to stand her own, and even overpower the most skilled of individuals. Due to this connection, she's able to enhance these abilities. She also shows herself to have great telepathic power; either taught or naturally inherited from her parents and/or ancestors, she can read the minds of others, conjure up visions through physical touch, and receive thoughts from a certain distance.

Saeril will not hesitate to comfort, guide, or advise others when they seem to need it. Proud, proper, and almost-completely fearless, she will never bow to anyone she disagrees with. Evident by her relationship with Thorin Oakenshield, it's complicated when it comes to terms of the trust; she betrayed him (as he claimed) by "stealing" the starlight jewels from his treasure hoard for King Thranduil. Although she was claimed as not "trusting", Saeril openly showed that she cared a great deal for him, saving his life multiple times on different occasions.

BACKGROUND
Place of Birth: Fangorn Forest (Also known as Ambaróna).
Family:
- Kili Durin (Godson; Alive) (Dwarf)
- Fili Durin (Godson; Deceased) (Dwarf)
- Dis Durin (Co-parent; Alive) (Dwarf)
- Vili Durin (Co-parent; Deceased) (Dwarf)
- Hermia (Mother; Deceased) (Noldor Elf)
- Lysander (Father; Deceased) (Sindarin Elf)
- Ulla (Aunt; Deceased) (Sindarin Elf)
- Kinloch (Uncle; Deceased) (Sindarin Elf)
- Kriva (Grandmother; Deceased) (Noldor Elf)
- Disgla (Grandfather; Deceased) (Silvan/Teleri Elf)
- Fidnai (Great-Grandmother; Deceased) (Teleri Elf)
- Sahov (Great-Grandfather; Deceased) (Silvan Elf)

Other Relations:
- Gandalf the Grey/White (Mentor/Friend; Alive) (Maiar)
- Thorin Oakenshield (Friend; Deceased) (Dwarf)
- Aragorn II Elessar (Friend; Alive) (Man)
- Lord Elrond (Acquaintance; Alive) (Half-Elf)
- Tauriel (Acquaintance; Alive) (Silvan Elf)
- Haldir (Acquaintance; Alive) (Silvan Elf)
- Gimli (Acquaintance; Alive) (Dwarf)
- Thranduil Greenleaf (Acquaintance/Friend; Alive) (Sindarin Elf)
- Legolas Greenleaf (Acquaintance/Friend; Alive) (Sindarin Elf)
- Yavanna Undomiel (Friend/Daughter-Figure; Alive) (Elven Hybrid; Mortal/Sindarin/Noldor)
- Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrine Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck (Acquaintances/Friends; Alive) (Hobbits)
- Azog the Defiler & Bolg (Enemies; Deceased) (Gundabad Orcs)

[User]
Thorin narrowed his eyes as he heard his nephew. It sounded too quick. "Mhhh, lots of injured people from Lake Town." Kili added. "You know, healer and all...Yavanna felt her duties laid with the sick and dying." God, if only his uncle knew the real reason? Thorin would curse her to hell and back. Kili didn't want to that. Kili felt as uneasy as his elder brother and God-Mother were feeling.

Bilbo couldn't watch Thorin any longer...Thorin was still searching for the Arkenstone. Bilbo had it, he tried to give it to him a few times. But he was worried what it would do to him...already Thorin was possessed when it came to the treasure. It would get worse, if he had the Arkenstone. So Bilbo kept it, for safe keeping...away from Thorin for his own good.

As he sat away from everyone...he examined the stone in his hands. Looking it over. Memories of Smaug flashed across his mind. 'I am almost tempted to let you take it. And watch it destroy him...watch it corrupt him!' Bilbo still remembered Smaug's words and felt guilty, for what happened to Lake Town.

[Assistant]
Fili was trying not to let his exhaustion show, but his feet were beginning to ache, while trying to wade through the collosal piles of gold and jewels. It was becoming harder and harder the further he and his brother went. One wrong step could bring an entire mound raining down, and their search would have to be halted, or become slower. No doubt that their uncle was beginning to lose his patience as every minute passed. They had been looking for so long that he knew that his baby brother could collapse at any minute. The last thing they needed was to have Delva in the room. Not that he didn't want her to, but he didn't want their godmother to get further in her silent anger towards Thorin.

Once out of the eyesight of their seemingly disturbed uncle, Fili took the opportunity to pause in their search. If he caught them resting, he would certainly put them back to it. He sat upon the endless pile of their family's wealth, exhausted. Honestly, he didn't know what to do; being close to Thorin, he couldn't dissapoint or disobey, but when it comes to Kili's sake, some measures needed to be overrun. Fili's loyalty has now split; he admired their Delva deeply, maybe not as deeply as his brother, but enough to fully trust her. Thorin, on the other hand, was his uncle, and current predessecor. Becoming king would be underway, and their uncle entrusts that his heirs would follow his every word, but in this circumstance, it has put Fili and Kili in the middle of chain that could only get so far. Tied between Saeril and Thorin, the brothers were in the middle of tug-of-war.

"Remember the stories, Ki'? There was only one Arkenstone; a large white gem that shined the brightest of lights. It's really impossible to miss", the eldest reminded him. Maybe this'll help. "As luminous as Delva's eyes", he added as an afterthought.

[User]
Searching for the Arkenstone was trying...Thorin had almost everyone looking for it. Apart from Delva...he and his brother managed to persuade her to stay away from the treasure hoard...to stop her and their uncle from Arguing. Climbing up another heap...he shuffled through the gold...in search of the Gem, his uncle wanted. Kili sighed, as he and his brother finally came to some rest.

"Of course, I remember..Where could it have gone?" Kili muttered. It was not like, it could have gotten that far...surely, it must be here somewhere. Even though Kili knew the description of the Gem, like the back of his hand...it was no where visible in sight.

After a while, of rest. They were at it again...but Kili managed to sneak away from the treasure hoard. He ducked, hiding behind one pile..when his uncle turned around. "Keep looking! It must be here." Thorin's voice boomed, before he turned else-where to look in another direction.

Seizing his chance, Kili sneaked past his uncle. Running off to find Saeril. He was worried about her and went to see if she was okay.

---

As Tauriel rode besides Yavanna and Legolas, she glanced over at Yavanna softly. "If you don't mind me asking...but...how did you do it?" Tauriel asked Yavanna softly, in reference to the wave she had summoned in Mirkwood. "I never known anyone, do that before." she admitted. Tauriel been wondering about her bloodline...but had been the first one to ask about it.

It took Yavanna a moment, to remember what Tauriel meant and she smiled softly. "It was something, my elder sister taught me. Special Talents, run in my family." Yavanna said, 'talents'...that was one way to describe it. Or for a lack of better word, complicated bloodlines.

[Assistant]
Saeril had herself clinging to the stone ceiling within an open area; her finger-cuffs allowing her to hang upside down with her wings stretching out. She was nearly preccupied with the thoughts of Thorin's behavior, and her godsons' current status. The image of Yavanna came to her, and she could only wonder if the young elf was having some better luck than they were.

Just before she could think of anything else, that painful headache was back. This time, it was much more painful than the last time in the poisoned Greenwood. The elder whimpered, shaking her head, refusing this pain to overpower her.
"Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky", she heard him. HIM.
"Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone", the she-elf gasped, shutting her eyes, and shaking her head, then suddenly stopped. "Nine for mortal men doomed to die", she said, her voice becoming menacing; her luminous eyes glowing. This wasn't her; it was a creature that loves chaos. "No!", she suddenly shouted, shutting her eyes once more. "No!", she whimpered. "I won't let you touch them", she hissed to this entity in her mind.
She would rather die than see her friends/family dead. But this force was so strong upon her, it was splitting her, make her suddenly lose her grip on the ceiling, and fly into a nearby stone wall, crashing into it, and causing some pieces to fall.

Saeril can't let this thing hurt her godsons, but before she could say anything, the voice and the pressure dissapeared as soon as it came, when she managed to descend down into the floor. The she-elf just happened to notice Kili nearby, glancing at her. So scared for their well-being, she broke into tears, breaking down after having to experience the wrath that's now trying to take her back.

------------------------

Legolas glanced back at the pair as they conversed with one another. It made him give a very faint smile. "What about that glow? Is that a special talent?", he asked the young elf, out of curiosity.


[System]
Behind each scar lies a painful memory, healed and scabbed, while every smirk tells of a hundred more scowls.
Class: Gravitin

Race: Human

Appearance: Lanky and tall. Light hazel hair is always tousled and messy. 175 centimeters tall, and 54 kilogrammes heavy. Light on his feet, with dexterous fingers. Looks delicate, but is more than capable of holding his own. Default eye colour is blue. (Any Other Info)

Power Ranking: A

Elective Classes: Magical History; Potion Making

Character's Characteristics: Nodah is a diplomat at heart. His policy is one of caution: never burn bridges before you have walked them. He follows whatever means necessary to attain what he desires. To him, life is to be played as a game. His humour is sly, and his deeds always coldly-calculated. Nodah is wont to keep his distance, while exuding undisputed and amiable confidence. He grins easily. He is skilled and well-versed with his powers, but would rather appear as one of the best rather than the best.

Main Power(s): Manipulating the movement of objects, and summoning them. He enjoys making merchandise fly off shelves in shops, out of mischief, boredom, or a partnership of both.

Backstory: He came from parents who were so enthralled in the throes of their dissolving marriage, that their son ceased to hold significant importance in their eyes. Nodah despised being invisible to them as they erupted and then tiptoed, brawled and then retreated, drunk and strung high on the destructive nature of their clashes. While they were occupied with their perpetual tango, he focused on discovering his powers. For a boy who'd known only camouflage and dismissal, the magic he wielded was his one crutch, and saving grace. He has come to highly-value his powers, for they gave him first belief in his worth.

Any Other Info: Nodah is in reality deeply insecure, and is subject to nightmares and anxiety often. Not that he would let anyone know, however. Also, with his volatile emotions, his eye colour is subject to changes according to his mood. It is a quirk he is unable to properly explain.

[User]
Reas Grimorea

 Reas sped through the forest on his skates, ducking and dodging branches as they entered his veiw. The boy's ribbon of fire streaming behind him but never catching on any of the foliage as it only passed right through everything. The Rollerblades tore up the ground underfoot while keeping at a constant speed, blowing back Reas' hair but barley making a noise. "This is it... Rosewood, lets get this year started" He said as he stopped in a clearing and sat down to take a break for a minute looking straight ahead at the . As he sat in the clearing Reas cleaned his skates, picking out the rocks that had gotten wedged in the wheels. 'Wonder what that sound is...' Reas thought when he heard some noises coming from further ahead as he stood back up and continued on towards the gates of rosewood.

 The way Reas took to get to the gate took him around a patch of burnt grass or a frozen tree which he suspected was from the elementalist students of Rosewood. The wildlife seemed to not mind him speeding past or jumping over them which was a bit of a strange behavior to Reas as he was used to things moving when he came near them. The silent hum of his skates were replaced by the caw of a large scaled bird which came diving at his head beak first, Reas responded in turn by doing a quick turn on his heels and delivering a devastating kick to birds neck breaking it with an audible *crunch* and flinging the body against a tree. As the body slumped over Reas gave a quick look upwards for any other animal that would want to attack him, satisfied that he had stopped any future attacks he continued on to Rosewood.

 As Reas Neared the gates he stopped and launched to the left as a bolt of energy flew out of the bushes. He skidded to a stop only to turn and see a figure shrouded in black rushing him, at which point he formed an illusionary barrier of fire which stopped the person in its tracks. Reas' flames acted as a sort of one way glass, from the figure's side it was a roaring wall of fire but from Reas' side it was nothing but air. Another ball of energy flew through the fire and missed him by a mile but Reas decided it was time to end this. Reas reved his skates and flew forward through the fire making sure to shroud the area in darkness before lashing out with a Roundhouse kick to the temple of the figure, killing it almost instantly.

 The figure dissapated into the air and a voice echoed through the clearing with the familiar message "Congratulations, Reas Grimorea. You have successfully completed to final step for you acceptance into Rosewood. Performance rank: A". Reas grinned at the rank that he had gained. "Nice test" he said as he rolled past the next clearing and up to the Gates of Rose wood which were open for him to pass right through. When he was through the gate Reas slowed his skates down to a brisk walking speed to look around at the other students and the large building.

[Assistant]
Zensei Zaza

Little whiffs of air quickly paced in and out of his tiny lungs as he fluttered behind a distant oak. In the pitch black forest, Zensei's lime colored glow would be terrible for hiding, but luckily the fog was insanely dense. The grizzly beast came to a halt, leaving only silence to be heard. "Damned soda pop..." Zensei whispered quietly, following that, a high pitched creaking noise radiated from his location, alerting the beast. It pounced after the sound and gained sight of the pixie.

Leaves slapped Zensei's face as the chase proceeded. The beast was slamming the side of it's body against nearby trees in attempt to frighten him, but their distance from each other increased as the grizzly lost stamina. Turning around to taunt the beast, "Hah! fat piece of-", a branch smacked the back of his head sending him to the ground.

Nearly unconscious, a gust of warm air encased Zensei's body. The beast's teeth sank into him, but before they could penetrate his skin, it's bottom jaw blasted away, smacking against a distant tree. The sound of the impact echoed throughout the forest as the beast let out a despairing roar. Zensei floated up above the creature and began throwing it from tree to tree, using each one as a gravitational magnet, every impact echoed a cracking noise and a loud cry that sounded like a dog whimper. Zensei stopped mutilating the sack of meat when a drop of sweat fell to the dirt. A smirk awoke across his face as he fluttered away from the brutal scene.

The sun had just started to rise when the gates of Rosewood came into view. The golden twists and swirls, the big and majestic waterfall, the glowing blue lights, and the freshly cut grass all sparkled into Zensei's mind.

He opened his mouth in amazement and slowly approached the amazing school, then in an instant, blue translucency took control of his vision and body. He quickly began to get colder as multiple black silhouettes appeared in front of him. Without oxygen, Zensei struggled to make his area and the surrounding areas lose gravity, but he luckily began to float along with the grass and water around him.

Unable to move, he increased the gravity as much as he could, cracking the ice that trapped him. The images of the black silhouettes began to grow in front of him so he quickly smashed against the ground once more, completely shattering it. The multiple silhouettes turned into just one and stood right in front of him. Zensei dove under it ignoring the ice that would slice his cheek and made the glistening shards of ice rise into the clouds, away from anyone's view. "Oh shit." It groaned, looking at the sky and hearing an approaching whistle sound. The first shard impaled the grass just a few inches from the figure's foot. It darted away as the second shard came falling down. Zensei laughed and taunted the figure. "Where are you going? Come play with me!" The ice fell increasingly faster, one after the other, until it looked like it was raining icicles. He stopped when he only had one shard of ice left. It was too quiet.

Out of nowhere, the black figure jumped towards Zensei while screaming, sending black smoke into his direction. He slowly began to laugh "Good thing I kept that extra shard."

Blood slid down his cheek as an announcement was made from what seemed to be the sky. "Congratulations, Zensei Zaza. You have successfully completed the final step to your acceptance into Rosewood. Performance rank: B."

He slowly walked towards the gates with one hand held out. His vision began to darken and he lost his balance, landing in the cold, wet, and demolished grass.


[System]
Aliases: Salmu Pulhu (Sumerian), Shasheuss-Throth (De Vermis Mysteriis), The Sleeper of the Clandestine

Gender: Male

Species: Elder Horror, Primeval Vampire

Lifespan: As long as it can continue drinking blood. It doesn't age when it sleeps for years in-between large meals.

Age: 1,907

Appearance: A piebald monstrosity with slime slicked flesh and no hind legs. Its only limbs are two long, winged arms and a powerful tail. It has four claws on each forepaw, with the middle one being eight inches long and capable of slicing through muscle like tissue paper. The beast's head is mostly a jagged maw with oily, unseeing eyes on top. It has a sharp, hollow tongue which can extend three feet from its mouth and act as a siphon to suck in blood. From snout to tail base, it is over eight feet long. The tail is fourteen feet. It weighs in at about two-hundred and ninety-five kilos, as much as a siberian tiger.

Abilities

~Limited flight. Due to its wingspan and body weight, it can only fly for a maximum distance of ninety meters and remain aloft for little more than a half minute.

~Ectothermic: It's body temperature adjusts to match its surroundings. It can withstand the hottest or coldest environments.

~Tremendous strength and speed.

~Keen hearing and sonar. It's echolocation has a maximum distance of 6,700 meters and can detect objects moving at half the speed of sound. Anything faster than subsonic it can detect via air pressure gradient.

~Heat pits: Can detect the heat of organisms.

~Tongue: Can draw in blood through a wound like a vaccuum. It can also squirt or spray blood and bile. The bile is not highly acidic.

~Can squeeze into any opening that it can fit its head through.

~Capable of entering a state of metabolic stasis which can last for decades. It retains spatial awareness during this "hibernation" and can awaken at will.

~Sense of smell: It can track down others thousands of kilometers away just by smelling them on the clothing of its prey.

~Intelligence: Is far more clever that it looks. Can grasp (but not speak) all languages.

~Can quickly regenerate from wounds by consuming blood and flesh. The amount of mass healed is proportionate to how much is consumed, I.E one pound of food to replace one pound of damaged tissue.

~The membrane of its wings is tougher than Kevlar.

~Its body mucous and saliva contains anticoagulant, cytotoxic, and bufotoxic properties. Those whom it bites or claws will suffer gradual necrosis, unstoppable bleeding, and fast-acting, nightmarish hallucinations.
The speed at which the bufotoxins take effect depends on how close the wound is to the head, ranging from several minutes to several seconds. It is immune to its own toxins.
The viscosity of the mucous can be regulated, allowing the Magna Pater to be extremely slippery or adhesive.
The mucous functions also to mask its scent.
It can convert and excrete up to twenty percent of its body weight in mucous. It becomes significantly faster when empty, and can regain the weight by eating.

~The Alpha:
Though it would never allow its young to live unless driven to desperation by an immense threat to its existence, for it is a selfish thing that dislikes sharing its hunting grounds, it is able to impose its will upon its brood of lesser vampires via shared split-consciousness. By forcefully breeding with another organism, it can produce in one month a litter of four juveniles. The juveniles mature after a single month and become fully capable of killing and breeding, weighing at that time around 100 kilos each. The brood will never grow to more than 200 kilos. Each one can have a litter of four young, and can breed with as many victims as are available.
At such a rate the number of mature brood would grow exponentially as follows, assuming the lowest estimate of each one breeding a single time per month.

Month One- The Magna Pater breeds and the young emerge.

Month Two- Five mature brood counting the Magna Pater.

Month Four- Twenty brood.

Month Six- Eighty Brood.

Month Eight- 320 brood.

Month Ten- 1,280 brood.

Year One- 5,120 brood.

Year Two- 26,214,400 brood.

Year Three- Planetary Extinction.

~Malocchio:
It may use its "true eyes" by shutting down its other senses. Before it uses the Malocchio, the intended victim(s) will have a brief premonition of the danger to come. Those who see the true eyes will, each time they go to sleep, enter a trance and begin moving in the direction of the Magna Pater, wherever it may be. They will awaken at the time they normally would, such as a few minutes for a nap and several hours for deep sleep. It also allows the Magna Later to see through the eyes of its prey at any and all times, even at the same time if there are multiple victims. By using the Malocchio on one who is already cursed, the victim's sight will be replaced with that of the Magna Pater's until it deactivates its eyes.

It is a passive curse that has no immediate negative effects unless the victim is entirely under the influence of the Magna Pater's hallucinogens, in which case the victim will immediately lose their mind from fright. If the bufotoxins haven't taken full effect then the victim will feel an intense fear which escalates in accordance to the strength of the already terrifying hallucinations.

Looking into its "true eyes" for too long can result in the victim's body becoming riddled with cancer at a later period in time, I.E developing prostate and skin cancer two years after the encounter. It takes roughly seven seconds of eye-to-eye contact (does not have to be constant) before the dormant cancer cells begin taking root.
The Magna Pater can only keep the Malocchio active for at most sixteen seconds, and cannot use it again until the same amount of time has passed. As an example, if it only uses it for ten seconds and then deactivates, then it must rest its eyes for ten seconds.

~Those that are consumed by the Magna Pater whilst cursed by the Malocchio have their consciousness eternally bound to their physical state of matter. They gain a horrific form of immortality, doomed to live on forever in boundless agony as inert particles bequeathed unto the earth, lost to time and memory beneath the weight of the ages.

(A lesser, juvenile vampire)

Behavior: The Magna Pater is what one would first think of when the word "monster" comes to you in the dead of night.
It may be called if one completes a forbidden ritual detailed within the ancient tome of black magic known as De Vermis Mysteriis, but nary a being would consider doing such an obscene thing. It makes no noise, has no mercy, cannot be reasoned with, and lives only to drain the blood and devour the flesh of all living things it can bind within its greasy wings. It enjoys all manner of prey and is especially inclined to go out of its way to find children, but it is shy and despises the light. It prefers to remain in damp pitch-blackness, where no eyes can spy it and no light can fall upon it. When outside of its primary lair it lurks around graveyards, occasionally squirming through the wormy soil to feast upon the dead and decaying when no live meat is available.
It will frequently impregnate victims with its brood, keeping them alive until its malformed young are birthed. It will eat both the victim and the young, doing these things not for food but to purposefully inflict prolonged torment.

The few who come into contact with it and live may never be the same as they had been before, for above all else it is a creature of persistence. Even if one leaves the Magna Pater, it will never leave them. A variety of lifelong physical complications and psychological ailments can stem from a meeting with it and it never stops pursuing its prey, even if they move far away. It will also track down any living thing that leaves its scent on a victim. This leads to the it consuming the families of those it hunts, along with anyone those families had come into recent physical contact with. Though one may travel often and abroad, once the Magna Pater has chosen a victim their fate is inevitable. It could take days, weeks, months, even years, but eventually on some cold and moonless evening one will awaken to see a sticky face with dead eyes peering through their bedroom window.

History:

Once in a millennium is a creature born, a living horror known as the "Magna Pater". The progenitor of monsters, the true genesis, the harbinger of loss, ancient and terrible. Only one has ever lived at a time, for it is greedy and does not abide its own kind, but always has one lived. It is the alpha of its virtually nonexistant subspecies, devouring its own young at birth. Only when the lone alpha dies is a new alpha conceived. It travels far and with little preference, drawn to whatever realm has foolishly called it via black magic. It has seen and ended countless civilisations. In Sumeria it was worshipped as a cruel deity to which many sacrifices were made. In this lifetime does a special one exist, the most dreadful of its kind to have ever been. Even the most vile of devils would balk at associating with it. Like each Magna Pater before it, it wields the unique capacity to share the sight and manipulate the will of its subspecies, an apocalyptic power which it does not abuse only for the sake of preserving its food supply.

Though it lingers not permanently in this world, it is anchored here during times of inactivity. It haunts the secret places deep below ground, amidst a lichen hellscape of death and graverot. It slumbers upon a towering mountain of soggy bones, reigning over its decaying empire on a haphazard throne several thousand lives thick. Those who enter this wretched domain, where the blue sky transitions into a black void, do so at the risk of becoming yet another skeleton upon which the Magna Pater may sleep, with their loved ones soon joining them.

Theme Music:

[User]
Doctor

Suddenly, the Magna Pater's senses went kaput. It was struck a glancing blow along the curve of its snaking body and right through its right wing. The tough membrane stood no chance and the monster was rendered flightless by the injury. A foot long groove was opened up on its side, a couple ribs losing their tips. The bulge of its purple intestines poked from the lower portion of wound.

By no means were the coarse, greasy things that drifted through the Magna Pater's head comparable to human emotions. If they were, however, they would be most akin to surges of deep, resentful anger. It had taken a misstep for the first time in a very long time. It performed its vanishing act before it hit the ground.

[Assistant]
"Good effect on tar-" The Computer Systems vocalised analysis cut off suddenly and Higan's frown deepened. It didn't take a genius to work out what was wrong, the Computer had registered a decent hit on Slimy. The issue was, before it could even take the time to pat itself on the back it had lost sight of the target. The A.S.P took three more lumbering steps and then halted suddenly, skidding and sinking in loose earth, its left foot forward to stabilise itself as its left arm slammed into a tree and brought the great metallic walker to a stop. If the Machine could look quizzical, it probably would have. Its Pilot certainly was.

"Well shit, Slimy's gone and dis-in-te-grated." Higan laughed in his country-boy fashion. He probably should have been worried, but it could have been much worse. At least he'd shot the bastard before it learned how to hide properly. The view on the main screen had returned to an ordinary vision type, though the Computer connected to the optics flicked through all available forms of sight in order to re-acquire the target. Higan was happy to let it do the grunt work as he had a little think of his own. Perhaps his shot had triggered some kind of response in the creature? He wasn't sure how it could disguise itself from Electric vision, then again, he didn't really know how it worked to begin with, nor how Slimy worked for that matter.

"Oh well, time's a wasting." He decided finally, getting the Mech moving again with a little less urgency than before. It strode through the forest, each mechanical hydraulic sound accompanying a soft thump of displaced soil, permeated with the occasional cracking and creaking of intrusive bark brushed nonchalantly aside. He was heading for the Pater's last known location, there was a good chance he could pick up the trail from there.


[System]
"I promise you this. If all I grant you is death, it shall be a mercy."
Race: Winter-born
Position: Member of the Winter Court
Age: 300 years old, although he looks no older than 17
Personality: Galahad is cold and unyielding, much like the other members of his court. His humor is dry and it is not uncommon to hear a tinge of sarcasm in his words. He is very stubborn in his ways, and has an issue with authority, one that often causes him to disobey orders that he deems unintelligent. Galahad values mind over matter in all walks of life, and is known for using his intelligence to get him out of any and all sticky situations. God knows he's been in quite a few. This doesn't mean that Galahad is a pacifist however. He's strong, and understands that battle's are around every corner, and so he makes it a point to be prepared for everything.
Appearance: Galahad takes after his mother in appearance, and could very easily pass as a human. The only distinguishing features of the Fae are his slightly pointed ears. His hair is a dark brown, curly and cut near his ears. His eyes are a misty grey color, like the fog that sometimes falls over the Lake of Avalon, and they seem to hold all the answers in them, even though they rarely do. His skin is pale, ivory in tone, and his face is rounded, with a pronounced jawline that is covered in light stubble.
Background: Galahad was born to a Winter-Born father and a human mother. His father was a blacksmith, and no body is too certain who the mother was. Some say she was a servant in the land of the Fae. Others say that his father had traveled to the human's realm and consorted with a queen. No one is really certain, although everyone does know that Galahad was raised by his father. His father taught him to fight, instilling in him the lesson that the world will go to those who are strong enough to hold it, and that the only true power in the world is that of a sword. When Galahad was old enough, he set out on his own and used his fighting skills to pave his way in the world. He founded a group of Fae who felt like they didn't belong with their people, or just wanted adventure. The group would hunt Outlaw Fae for their bounties, and he's been doing this for the past 200 years.

"There is a storm on the horizon. I hope your ready to have some fun."

Name: Brenna Ahearne
Race: Summer-Born
Position: Member
Age: 267 years old, though she looks no older than 17
Personality: Brenna is arrogant, adventurous and vain. She is humorous, and never takes anything too seriously. She lives for the thrill of adventure, and a good fight. She is known through out the Fae's realm as a notorious tease, bringing Fae men to their knees with her penetrating gaze and her fluttering eyes. While her best friend, Galahad, values intelligence and is quick to use his words, Brenna is always looking for a good reason to run someone through.
Appearance: Brenna has long, dark hair that falls halfway down her back. Most of the time it is left to run wild, let down and free, although for special occasions she will do it up. Her face is rather angular, and her ears have a distinct point. Her eyes have a look that most men would go to war over. Their a deep, deep blue, as blue as the Lake of Avalon. Her skin is tanned from her adventures, though only lightly so.
Background: Brenna is the daughter of two high ranking Fae, although she always rejected the life of high society. From a young age she'd felt like her life belonged in the wild, adventuring and living free. She taught herself how to shoot a bow and wield a sword, as her parents would never hire someone to train her. The day she reached adulthood, she set out, to join a group she'd heard only whispers about. This was the group that Galahad had started, already making a name for themselves. She found and joined their ranks, and she and Galahad became fast friends, a duo that many fear to face in battle.

[User]
A scream escaped from Maxes lips as a giant cat appeared in front of him, commenting that he appeared to be lost. "[i][Ok that's it then. dehydration has finally caused me to hallucinate./i]" He thought to himself as he looked at the cats very sharp teeth. Though he was solidly convinced that he finally lost his mind, the only course of action he could think of was to engage it in conversation. "Yeah, you could say that." He agreed,"On the off chance I haven't gone completely crazy, what are you? And where am I?" He asked the giant talking cat.

 Meanwhile in the Spring Court, Ardaie was just waking up to her now sunlit, pastel colored room. The walls were gradients of pink to red, with ornate wood furnishings made from Ents who where just too willing to give up their lives to make her room as lavish as possible. Within seconds on her waking, one of her personal attendants was right beside her. "Good morning your highness," The servant said eagerly, " I trust you slept well?" She asked, as the Queen roused herself, not responding to the helps mindless chatter. She simply extended her arms out, the attendant quickly took a robe from on top of one of her dressers, and slid it onto the queen. Ardaie then waved her hand, and the attendant scuttered away.

[Assistant]
Galahad brought his sword up to parry the blow from his opponent, sending sparks flying. He advanced on the fae that was facing him, staring him in the eye. The fae across from him was an outlaw Spring-Born, a servant who'd fled from his master. Galahad cared little about the crime, and more about the reward. He swung his sword again and this time it disarmed the weaker fae that stood across from him. The outlaw, who couldn't have been older than him, fell to his knees. "I yield sir. Please, let me live," the boy said, fear in his eyes. Galahad, smirking, gestured for him to stand, before turning to his soldiers who'd been watching the fight, waiting to see if their leader would command their help. Tie him up. We're to return him to the Spring Court," he said, his voice stern. Two satyrs rushed to tie the sniveling Spring-Born up, and he was soon being pulled along behind Galahad's procession as they marched through the forest.

Galahad led an oddball bunch. Most of them were people searching for adventure, or those who'd been driven out. There was one ent, a gremlin, two pixies, a water nymph, an air nymph, a couple of season-born, and of course, Galahad's second in command, Brenna. Although Brenna was on a mission of her own right now, she'd normally be marching alongside Galahad, bothering him the whole way. As the group marched through the forest, currently near the border that separated the Fall and Summer Courts, Galahad sensed it. It was a slight breeze, one that many wouldn't even notice. Falk had begun his Hunt. "Damn it!" the Winter-Born exclaimed, sensing the trouble that was on the horizon. "Everyone, pick up speed! Falk has begun his Hunt, and if he catches us near the Fall Court, or anywhere in fact, these weapons will be useless!" he shouted. His soldiers' faces fell, their worry noticeable as they picked up the pace. What in the hell is Falk doing? I thought he'd be at the Peace Gathering. That's the only reason I even risked getting this close to his land Galahad thought. The Fall Lord was not someone that even Galahad would dare trifle with. If he was lucky, he'd make it to a safe haven, and when the Hunt was over he could get his rewards for the prisoner he'd captured. But if he wasn't... well, he knew the stories.

Brenna found that of all the Courts, she liked the feel of Spring the best. The flowers and the smells. Sure, Summer was her home, but she had never wanted to be home. And plus, the drinks that they served in the Spring taverns was remarkable. Brenna was currently seated at a table in the back of a tavern in the spring court, dressed in her normal outfit, nursing a cup of some drink that only the Spring Court fae knew how to make.

From where she was sitting, she could see her target, an outlaw Winter-Born from the Winter Court. Brenna had long since stopped caring about what crime he had committed, but she cared very much about the sack of gold that was waiting for her back in Winter Court. As she finished her drink, the fae got up from his table where fae sat with his friends. Now's my chance Brenna thought, moving to meet the man at the bar. She tucked a dagger into her sleeve and tousled her dark tresses as she sauntered over, smiling the smile of a dumb girl. She could feel the fae eyeing her as she moved, could tell that he was mentally undressing her. Good. Let him be distracted. She met went up to the bar where she payed for her drink, and turned to offer the fae a smile and a wink before sauntering off and out of the tavern, and into the brightness of Spring Court. She knew he was following. They always did. Why wouldn't they? She was any fae's dream.

She made her way towards the Spring Castle, a grand structure, with the outlaw following behind. She could hear his footfalls, loud as they were. Suddenly, with no warning, she turned a sprung at him, the knife coming out of her sleeve and coming to rest at his throat. "So here's how this is going to work. You, are going to come quietly, and I am going to bring you back to Winter Court to who ever wants you. If you care to struggle, well then I can always start nicking off appendages," she said, grinning. He whimpered and nodded. "Perfect. Now hold still one moment," she said as she bound his hands together, and tethered him to another rope that she now held in her hands. And, with her prize collected, she marched off towards Winter Court, a bounce in her step as she did so.

[User]
Feet pounded against the leaf covered ground as a large, thin hound leap over a fallen tree. The Wylde Hunt had been called together, it was not riding. Not yet. Bounding past a group of sheltering wisps, the Cwn Annwn paused. A group of mixed Fae were near the border, something his Lord would not allow should the Hunt ride. Giomanch changed course, loping towards the scent. Why the Fall King was calling the Hunt, Giomanch was unsure. He had theories, of course. The peace between rulers was a test, all things were tests to the Fall King. Was the Hunt for whether they passed or failed, he could not say. More than that it was not his place to say. The Fall King ruled well and wisely.

--------------------------- @smarty0114 -------------------------------------------

The path between Summer and Fall was a ancient Gate, claimed and kept by Fall. It also had a good buyer of gold, and selection of grocers when you took in the human element on the other side. Both something Falk had taken into account when Aisling first came to him with her trifle problem and reluctance to eat the fae food. Hefting the heavy bags in her arms, Aisling walking along the thin path. Hearing the slight movement of a group coming through the forest. A voice swearing and calling out for them to move fast. Sliding off the path she darted behind a thick tree. Fae were not to be trusted, not even of her own Court. Especially not the Court of others. Stifling her breathing she listened carefully as she watched a group of Fae move swiftly along the path, a Spring-born bound and in tow. Though she could sympathize with his plight, she felt no pity for Fae. The Fair Folk deserved the horrors they visited upon each other. "Everyone, pick up speed! Falk has begun his Hunt, and if he catches us near the Fall Court, or anywhere in fact, these weapons will be useless!" Came the call. Her Lord was beginning to gather his Hunt? She would have to hurry, lest he took her absence unwell. Pulling the cowl of her cloak over the vibrant red hair blessed by her Irish blood. However the movement jeopardized her grip on the bag, avoiding dropping the tin cans caused them to clank seemingly loudly in the tense silence. Hr breathe caught in her through as she pressed against the tree, Fae hearing was sharp. But perhaps they were too much in a hurry to look-? To care-? Hopefully so.

[Assistant]
Grimus chuckled to himself as the human screamed, enjoying himself considerably. Men were such interesting creatures, and their variety of reactions upon first meeting him was something he relished. Yes, this was proving to be a wonderful morning indeed.

"What am I? Well, it appears I am but a cat. However, you may address me as Grimalkin, for that is my title after a fashion. Your mind is exactly where it belongs, poor fellow, though your body seems to have wandered. This is the wonderful realm of Faerie, where you seem to have stumbled through no fault of your own. I'm afraid you may never find your way through these trees on your own, and there is simply no hope of returning to your home plane," Grim explained, his raspy voice tinted with a satisfied purr. Making himself vanish from sight again, he leaps down to the ground and settles on his haunches just a few feet in front of the man before becoming visible once more.

"On the first part, I may be able to offer some assistance. Be warned, however, nothing here comes without a price. However, courtesy must first be observed. I have introduced myself, and it would please me greatly for you to do the same." Learning the Names of other beings was one of Grim's favorite games, and he surely intended to play it with this man. His Queen could always use more pawns, and at the least this one had been entertaining thus far.

[User] Between his own physical condition and the shock this beast brought to him, Max was still a little show on the uptake, and he only really processed the last bit of what the creature asked him. His name. "Uh, Max." He told it, "Max Napras. What's yours?" He asked as he stomach growled.

[Assistant] Galahad heard a loud metallic noise, distant but close enough that his fae hearing could pick up on it. His head whipped in the direction of the noise. He saw nothing, but he knew someone was there. He gestured for his men to follow him as he moved across the forest silently, a feat that had taken him years to master. As he passed by trees he checked for adversaries, but he found no one, until he came to a particularly large tree. He spun around to the other side gracefully and found a human girl, dressed in Victorian era clothing. Her hair was bright red, and she had bags in her hand. His soldiers raised their swords at the sight of her, but he motioned for them to hold their swings. The girl was afraid of them. "Who are you girl?" he asked in a harsh tone, his face colder than the snow that fell in Winter Court.


[System]
Gender: Female

Age: 21

Career/Class: Courtesan/Duelist

Physical Description: Camilla is a medium sized woman around 5'5. She possess the slightly bronzed skin, angular features and dark hair common among Tileans. She has the smooth clean lines of a classical statue and the lean musculature of a dancer. Every part of her seems artfully contrived, as though she stepped from the canvas of a master painter. Camilla moves with deliberate grace which is appropriate to her profession.

Mental Description/Personality: Camilla is a fiery impetuous young woman. As a child she was selected from among orphan's for her physical beauty and raised to fill the role of Courtesan in the decadent courts of her native Tilea. Among her studies were poetry, dance, repartee, song, politics, literature, art and sword play.

Camilla is out of place in rough and dangerous situations, and although naturally adventurous and curious about the world she is no heroine. She has a fiery temper and has a tendency to act rather than to wait if given the chance. While technically trained with the sword, Camilla's education is that of the stylized art of the sword rather than the rough and brutal style of real combat, while she is perfectly comfortable fighting a duel to the tough for the entertainment of a crowd, she had little experience with real killing.

Camilla has a passing devotion to Randald and Shyalla, although she tends to focus on the world in front of her rather than the world beyond.

[User]
The night was cold, colder than even Cyrdic was used to. But crisp. His senses were keen as a knife's edge, much like he often felt when he was in danger. He did not know exactly why, though the Chaos-wrought stone gargoyles mounted at various intervals of the balcony he had stepped on could have been a factor. The snow had stopped falling for now, leaving the outside an almost impenetrable void of darkness beyond the torches on the balcony.

"Leave us," Rishnekov said to the Royal Hussars who framed the doorway. They only hesitated for a moment, and then gave a curt bow before exiting into the Palace, closing the curtains behind them. Cyrdic tried not to think too much on it for his sake. He felt Rishnekov was a brave man, meeting Cyrdic alone without supervision. His voice caught the Ostlander's attention.

"So, Herr Richter, from where do you hail in the Empire?" he inquired, though his eyes were on the gem that was attached to the head of his cane, polishing it idly as he stared into it. The silence after he spoke was near deafening. The wind howled a moment later. It sounded uncomfortably similar to wailing. He tugged his furs closer to his muscled form, recalling he felt the familiar press of his dagger sheath against the side of his leg.

"Nordland."

"Truly? I heard there was an unfortunate incursion as recently as a few scant months ago."

"I was there at the battle." Cyrdic replied. He was lucky Ostlanders and Nordlanders were both terse in their wording. He doubt he could pretend to be a Reiklander unless he was speaking to someone from Cathay. "The barbarians were tough as always, but they were sent back to the realm of Chaos where they were spawned."

"Chaos is never truly defeated." the dark man replied. He spoke to Cyrdic as if he was talking to a hound that had done something ignorantly wrong. "I had thought someone from a region such as Nordland would have understood that."

"Let us not argue semantics, my lord. The Norscans were slaughtered save a paltry few, and I believe we can do the same to the force outside. They have little in the way of provisions for a long campaign, yet they continue to sit there. Would that not suggest they know help is coming?" Cyrdic reasoned. "Better to strike at them now. We need only 7,000 good Lancers and archery support from the walls and they will be routed in a day."

Rishnekov finally halted his inspection of the gem and turned to regard Cyrdic. Somehow, he felt as if a weight had landed upon his body merely by the man's look. His cloak opened with a small sway of his shoulders, and Cyrdic thought he could see a drop of red. "Herr Richter, how long have you been in Praag, may I ask?" The question was rhetorical, he could discern. "You are of noble blood, if I recall correctly. Yes? I have only been to Nordland a few times in my life, but I familiarized myself with the courts there well enough. You know, as I do, that certain politics plague those in charge and threaten to topple what we hold so dear... If Enrik were to attack tomorrow, then he would be overthrown the next day. He has more enemies than you can imagine. And if Praag was without a ruler, we would not be able to hold off what is coming."

"If it is not already here." Cyrdic replied.

"There is always evil in Praag. I suggest you come to terms with that, Herr Richter."

There was something very off, but Cyrdic could not quite understand what. He felt him needing to keep himself from baring his teeth in front of the man, though he made no move to threaten Cyrdic. "Have you eaten yet, Lord Rishnekov? Shall we call for a servant to provide some food as we speak? I had just eaten at a place of very high esteem, the Hussar's Hooves. But I could still eat a bit more." Cyrdic saw all he needed to see when Rishnekov looked at him, the barest whisper of a nameless recognition. "I always grow famished when speaking of killing Chaos worshipers."

Cyrdic flexed his hands behind his furs, gazing at Rishnekov's every move as the man regarded him.
"That is very kind of you..."

[Assistant]
The band struck up a tune and the couples began the dance. It was a staid Imperial tune with which Camilla was familiar from her time as lover to the Count of Ostland's son. It seemed strange to be taken back to a time before she had met Cydric and embarked on her present life as a sellsword. It really wasn't that long ago, perhaps a year and a half, though with all the travel they had done her sense of time was far from certain. It seemed a distant time now and it was hard to imagine that she had been that person, she had been convinced that she would only need spend a few months in the 'court' of Ostland before she would attract a lover who would whisk her off to Altdorf or Marienburg and house her in a palace with every comfort. It was hard to imagine that she had gone from that to working as hired help at a besieged city at the edge of the world.

"Does something amuse you," Indendre's cultured voice cut in on her reverie. Camilla executed the required spin and moved into the promenade, allowing the elf to lift her hand in his own.

"Lo how the mighty have fallen," she quoted with an ironic grin. If the elf were confused by the reference he gave no sign of it, gliding through the steps of the dance with grace that was literally inhuman. It seemed strange to her that an elf would be so familiar with Imperial culture as to know a dance by heart but it would have been rude to enquire. She was receiving a number of hostile stares from the other women of the court, clearly envying her the elegant elf as a dance partner. Several of the men were already trying to appear casual in their jostling for the next dance with her.

"Why are you interested in me?" she asked the elf as they made a series of graceful turns and moved from the promenade into the waltz. The other elves were watching Indendre with unreadable expressions as he laughed lightly.

"Well because you are interesting of course," the elf said easily, avoiding the thrust of the question with grace.

"And why is that?" she pressed, even though she knew it was pressing the bounds of propriety.

"How many famous Tilean sellswords come noblewomen do you see at this dance m'lady," Indendre replied ironically. Camilla arched any eyebrow but didn't miss a step of the complicated crescendo of the dance, turning against the elf with hands raised palm to palm without every quite touching. Clearly the elf recognized the pair of them though she couldn't for the life of her imagine how. Perhaps Dietricha had told him, her eyes sought for the wizard but didn't find the woman on a casual glance.

"That isn't it," she said, sensing the elf wasn't speaking the whole truth, but before she could press the matter the song concluded with a bow from the men and a curtsey from the women. Before the note finished reverberating people swept in on them. Camilla found herself facing a young hussar who was a little more aggressive than his fellows, but Indendre, despite being besieged by the ladies of the court seemed to glide gracefully out of their reach to rejoin his fellows.

[User]
The two men stared at one another, their senses on a knife's edge. If this was a normal circumstance, Cyrdic would be wary but confindent that he could overpower the man. But his Ulric honed instincts made him realize the way he moved, the easy grace in which he smiled, the controlled grip of the man's hand. He was far more dangerous than he appeared. He seemed to be studying Cyrdic as well, though the Ostlander could tell he seemed far too at ease for what was about to occur.

Maybe if Cyrdic could head inside and beat him to the party. No, that wouldn't work. Perhaps if he could-

The music started.

They looked at one another one more time, and then moved. Cyrdic and Rishnekov stepped forward simultaneously. Cyrdic had the feeling that the man wouldn't fall for an easy punch, so he moved forward with his weight but kept his guard up, feinting high then kneeing low. Somehow with a serpent-like grace, the dark man knocked aside Cyrdic's leg with a mere sweep of his hand, his other hand shooting forward faster than the eye could see, grabbing Cyrdic's shoulder. Sigmar he was strong!

The mercenary pushed forward, grabbing the expensive cloak of his adversary and pulling upwards to lift him off the ground, though Rishnekov snarled and slapped Cyrdic so hard across the face, he dropped him and stumbled backward. It was only on instinct that he punched forward, somehow landing a solid blow on Rishnekov's abdomen, though it seemed to faze the man little. As they traded punches, Camilla and Indendre were the object of the court's eye, the music echoing off the chambers as they watched the two dance. Outside, Cyrdic felt nail-like claws puncture his skin beneath his furs. He only just barely caught the wrist, muscling the hand out of his lower stomach before he was eviscerated.

"What the hell are you?" Cyrdic growled.

"You're strong for a human." Rishnekov replied back venomously. "Even stronger than you appear." As if he was savoring the moment of his triumph, Rishnekov opened his mouth to reveal predatory fangs. Horrible realization flooded Cyrdic, and the reason he was fighting an uphill battle became frighteningly clear. They found themselves grappling in a contest of strength. Wolfish ferocity against Unholy might as they each tried to break the other.

Slowly, all too slowly, Rishnekov's unlimited stamina began to win. Cyrdic felt his grip on the Vampire's wrists slipping, and even the strength Ulric had granted him was waning in the face of this monster's will to feed. The dark regent opened his mouth once more, fangs protruding as his face inched toward's Cyrdic's exposed neck. Until Cyrdic felt the warmth of one of the balcony brazier's behind him. He did what Rishnekov did not expect, buckling under the force and using his weight against him, going under and then pressing up with his massive shoulders, sending Rishnekov end over end to fall into the flame.

Rishnekov shrieked, his skin instantly catching fire as if he was laced with black powder, his dark suit lighting up in a parody of oil on water. Cyrdic did not have time, he grabbed the Vampire's kicking feet and pushed them upward, sending him falling to a fire death into the darkness below. Behind Cyrdic the curtains opened a moment later, and the Servant walked out with drinks. "Herr Reiner I..." he began, looking about. "Where is Regent Rishnekov?"

"He went back inside." Cyrdic said, trying not to appear too out of breath, holding a hand on his disheveled mane of hair. "Could you fetch my wife?"

[Assistant]
The dance was just ending and another crowd of would be partners was jostling for position when a servant, very politely, but very forcefully pushed his way to the front of the group.

"Gravina, your husband requests your company on the balcony," the servant said with the satisfaction of one whos station allows him to ride roughshod over the group of other wise important dancers. Camilla nodded and stepped clear of the pack heading for the balcony where she had seen Cydric and the Regent repair for there conversation.

With a suddenness that made her jump iron strong fingers grabbed her wrist, squeezing with a painful strength. Dietricha's eyes were wide and paniced though Camilla could see no cause for such alarm.

"I didn't see this!" she hissed in a whisper sharp enough to cut glass.

"I didn't see this!" the wizard repeated as though it were the most important piece of information in the world. Camilla pried her fingers free with some difficultly. It was easily the most animated she had seen the wizard in their short aquaintence.

"Calm down, didn't see what?" she pressed, half guiding, half dragging the other woman behind one of the large carven columns.

"He was supposed to die!" Dietricha all but wailed. Camilla felt her blood run cold.

"How was supposed to die? Cydric?" Camilla's own voice began to climb as Dietricha's panic played upon her own fear for Cydric. Dietricha clasped her hands to her face.

"The architecht! The architect!" she all but sobbed and then turned and fled without another word, leaving a trail of confused party goers as she fled and trailing blue silk from her dress. Camilla hurried to the balcony where she found Cydric. His eyes were wide and his breath rapid, she could see his muscles clenching and unclenching.

"Have you been in a fight?" she asked, partially startled and partially relieved to find him alright after Dietricha's theatrics. For the hundredth time her hand went to her belt where her sword would normally have hung only to come away empty.

"What happened to Rishnekov?" she asked looking around for the reagent. There didn't seem to be any other obvious way to leave the balcony.

"I may have set him on fire and thrown him from the castle," Cydric said leaning forward and placing his palms on his thighs to catch his breath. It took her a moment to realise he wasn't joking and then they heard it. A scream of rage and pain made by no human thing somewhere far below them, the sound dopplered away faster than a horse should have been able to move.

"What in Ranalds name is…"

Alarm horns began to sound on the walls drawing their attentions to the east. A score of burning fireballs rose in graceful ballistic arcs before plunging down onto the walls and into the city. Smoke began to rise immediately and the screams of wounded men sounded faint on the wind. It seemed that the siege had officially begun.


[System]
* Age: 16
* Gender: Female
* Race: Human
* Appearance: Armored, Unarmored. She is 5'1, with pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Her armor is silver with gold decorations. Her sword has a golden hilt.
* Personality: Fanilly is one to take her duty seriously. This is both due to a belief in the cause of the Iron Rose Knights, and a severe insecurity and self-consciousness about her position. She is well aware that she is young and comparatively inexperienced. She knows that she is only in the position she is because of her birth, as she was born under a full moon. This only makes her feel worse about it. For Fanilly Danbalion, captain of the Iron Rose Knights, she can't help but feel that they have a point. She's young. And even though the founder was the same age, she was viewed as something miraculous, almost a saint. Should Fanilly truly be leading them? This weighs heavily on her mind, and thus one of her biggest desires is to prove that she is. In spite of her young age, in spite of how this tradition has worn thin for some, Fanilly wants to prove that she is a worthy captain of the Iron Rose Knights above all else. Aside from this desire, the girl is somewhat socially awkard, sometimes unprepared for conversation. However, she is not really shy and can generally deal with attending various functions in the capital, as is expected of the Iron Rose Knights. She is dedicated to the purpose of the order, to defend the innocent and protect the land of Thaln. However, the doubts surrounding her have lead to a lack of confidence in herself. Fanilly has a younger sister and as a result has a somewhat stronger affinity for children and desire to keep the safe, but as someone dedicated to the Iron Rose Knights' cause she wishes to protect all those in need. While she has a lacking in confidence, she retains some pride in her training, as she has proven to be skilled at swordplay in spite of her youth.
* Brief Backstory: Fanilly was a daughter of the Danbalion family, a noble family already. While they had never been knights, her birth on a full moon immediately made her a potential future candidate for the Iron Rose Knights' captain. She was simply needed sooner then many expected. And so she experienced training for several years leading up to her instatement as the Captain of the Iron Rose Knights. Initially she was confident in herself, but it quickly became clear that even some within the Knights had grown tired of the tradition of selecting a maiden born on a full moon to be the captain. This wore on her quickly, and has lead to her desperation to prove herself.
* Equipment: Fanilly wears a well-made set of somewhat ornate armor. She wields a fine longsword in her right hand and a dagger with a curved hilt for trapping weapons in her left.
* Skills: Fanilly has experienced extensive training in swordplay, specifically in the use of a longsword in both hands, or paired with a unique parrying dagger.

[User]
Iowerth Rhydderch

Iowerth's fatal slash cut through the man in front of him just as cavalry broke through the ranks around him. In one fluid motion he pivoted, and drove his sword through one of the few remaining bandits before withdrawing the blade with a grunt of disgust and taking a moment get his bearings. The battle, it seemed, was going as expected in spite of the surprises the knights had faced. The flanks had finally been secured, and it seemed most of the resistance was focused around the center of the camp, where a mob of undisciplined men were surrounded. The battle was won, more or less, and with a rare smile he allowed the thrill of victory to wash over him as he caught his breath.

"Did you need help?"

"Hardly. The odds were, what, five to one? You should have set up a betting pool instead and shared the winnings with me after we stomped them. That would have been helpful."

The man's smile faded into his usual grim sarcasm as he looked up at the knight. Iowerth already felt like he was in a constant state of I'm too old for this shit he couldn't imagine what Aethelmund felt at his age, especially being wounded. With a sigh, he pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping the blood from his blade, convinced that it's use for the day was done. He'd eventually have to find his crossbow as well somewhere in the chaos of the battlefield.

"Sir, if I may, the battle is nearly won. You should get that shoulder looked at before infection has a chance to settle in. I can take over command from here. There won't be much more resistance."

Speaking of command, he didn't have a chance to hear the old knight's reply before the sound of shouted orders reached his ear;

"Bandits! Lay down your arms and surrender immediately, those who refuse will meet the sword for your crimes against the people of this kingdom! This is your only warning!"

Juliana Silvern, the Captain-that-could-have-been. While far newer than House Rhyddarch, the influence of House Silvern had been growing at an alarmingly rapid rate since the last war. Every noble family across Thaln had taken note, especially Iolyn's own. According to rumors she had been bred all her life to be in Fanilly's position, in spite of her birth. They were, from what he'd seen of the woman so far, plausible at the very least. He came up beside her, sheathing his sword, and gripped her shoulder tightly. Speaking low so that only she could hear;

"You are not captain yet, nor are you of a leadership position within the Order or this battlefield. Do not go issuing commands as if any of these things are the case."

And then, after a brief pause.

"It would be wisest not to show your ambition too openly before you've gained more support."

Iolyn's criticisms were harsh as usual, but level heads could usually see the intent beneath. Juliana risked appearing more as a spoiled brat competing with Fanilly rather than a leader better fit to rule with the attitude he'd seen from her so far. At least, to the older knights in the order. Respect would have to come first, and more modesty would help that. These of course were only assumptions on Iowerth's part. If assumptions with a pretty hefty basis.

As for Iolyn's own thoughts on how the knights chose their captain: He had never spoken a word about it, and his opinion remained his own for now. It was clear though, whether he wanted the process changed or not, he expected the current hierarchy to be maintained, at least on the battlefield. Breaking the chain of command breeds confusion, which wastes lives.

Finally, the man raised his voice, clearly accustomed to giving orders himself:

"Obey flags of surrender! No quarter to the rest!"

No other command was needed, he wondered briefly about how the fight against the Bandit King was fairing, but considering the number of talented knights he'd seen taking part, he assumed that battle was even more well wrapped up than this one.

He hoped, anyway.

[Assistant]
Sir Garrett
Themerlinhawk

Tyeatha presented the best opportunity Sir Garrett could have ever hoped for. Her reckless assault wouldn't get her killed but it also provided an opening that he could utilize. Sult's little distraction had also helped. With two quick steps the Hill Knight was behind the Knight slayer as Tyeatha pressed the assault from in front of him Sir Garrett took advantage of the fact that the man had use of only one arm and no armor. Driving in from behind Sir Garrett aimed an arcing cut which swung smoothly up on his right side driving across under the Slayers right arm. If the strike connected it would sever the muscle holding up his sword arm. Continuing the cut Sir Garrett pulled it around in a vicious C pattern as it came low cutting across the back of the Knight Slayers knees aiming to sever the two joints or at the very least cut the tendons holding the man's calves in place.

Following the vicious cut Sir Garrett hefted the sword and flipped it so that he was gripping the blade in his gauntleted hand. One hand on the hilt and one on the blade he drove the top of the sword towards the man's unprotected back twice. One stab went high towards the base of the spine the other he drove toward the man's left kidney. If his two stabs failed to connect Sir Garret made sure that this would be the last of the Knight Slayer as he flipped his sword over so he grabbed it by the blade in two hands. With a heavy and a roar like thunder he drove a murder stroke with the cross guard of the sword towards the shoulder of the Knight slayer.

After all of it Sir Garrett did not trust that the murder stroke would do the trick. Given the state of his shoulder after the protracted fight Sir Garrett heaved the sword into the air and grabbed the hilt of it and with a single one handed cut drove the sword at the Knight Slayer's neck with only his left hand aiming to sever the head from its body.

Time to die scum you aren't taking another soul with you, you damned monster.