Piash is a half-elf outcast deep within an imperial province. He has been rejected by everyone around him his entire life. He has no family, even his last name, Nildar means ‘no-clan’. But his mixed blood holds a curse that is finally starting to surface.
Doomed by the Shadow…
My Sword is yours, milord…
It’s not a weapon that kills people, it are the poeple who do so…
If only the one wording such comment knew better!
Clad in black armor, perched atop a black destrier, Ourange is the image of the mercenary-lord…
“8 Ortio, 986 - At last, I’ve captured the amulet! I certainly could not have done it without the help of my unusual mercenary companion. He has very much impressed me with his skill. We encamp in Durath Woods for the night and make for Kharath in the morning.
9 Ortio, 986 - Amulet missing. So is Thaxen. No longer impressed with merc.”
-Sir Wardren Lank’s journal
From the age of 15 he was trained to be a gladiator and for the next seven years he was, until he broke free in order to fight and defeat his capturers. For the past several years he has been waiting for that moment.
All the good ones break off from the the guild.
Destined am I to hunt down and slay the half breed called Rachat, for only his demise can bring me what I yearn for…
Created in a time of need, he was cast from the pride he was made to obtain, he is a warrior, and a leader.
Born of honor. Raised with trust. Died with murder. Reborn with vengence. Mourning a great loss, and grim in his determination to see that loss is repaired. Mourngrymn walks a lonely road of vengence.
I would rather deserve honor and not get it; then get honor and not deserve it- Jermayan
You do what you ask your men to do- Teachings of Lord Ressalekh Faalithet
Do not become the beast you hunt…
He may be a small green goblin but donÃ¢t tell him that or he might show you otherwise.
Faye was born into the ocupation of elvish warrior
A potentially devastating foe with arms, and fists of living stone…
A life-path fraught with peril can drive anyone over the edge - until you start speaking to spirits, God or .. gods in this case
He is 972 years old and has a wife. He congregates with any good creature and will help any one in need. He is a good black smith and can work with most meterials.
A brutal warrior of Justice, his own justice.
A rare branch of the arcane masters, encountered only among the deepest hill folk or ramshackle cabins, the Saucerer takes his power directly from the consumption of cheap liquor. Only the strongest, rankest, most nauseating of homebrewed alcohol will do, where it is instantly converted into mana available to the caster. Without a minimum level of inebriation, the Saucerer will be unable to cast any spells, as focus inhibits his spellcasting abilities.