One of the mercenary circles who can trace their origins back to the Greater Comet School.
Need a mercenary, or two, or fifty? Don’t know whether to hire the Crimson Brigade or the Azure Legion? Unsure of Tim the Dragon-slayer’s effectiveness? Don’t know how to contact a group to set up a contract? Then come see Arkath, the man who can answer all those questions and more.
A voice as supple as silk, a face hidden in the shadows of a hood, yet the words she speaks are colder than the grave and burn more furiously than any inferno.
Thoral’s grim brigade is a mercenary unit under curse. They are led by Thoral, a half-undead half-realdead reanimated barbarian who negotiates the brigades affairs in a terse and direct whisper.
Also known as the Oathbreakers Legion, or the Forsaken, this company is often the last stop for criminals, vagabonds and vagrants before the headsman’s ax.
They stood on the crest of the rise, three men deep. Their banners, Golden Lions Rampant on a split field of red and blue, fluttering on long poles in the wind. They were silent. By some signal, they all began to rush forward screaming their battle roar. Halberd and blade coming open on the move. The enemy line broke under the power of the Lion’s signature charge.
Major Advarete, Memoirs of the Twin Rose Wars 1320 Greenfield Presses
The Crimson Skulls Company is a mercenary company of some repute. That repute is not always the most positive. Their Motto is “We are Dead; we have no fear of you.”
Two unlikely people. An unlikely pair. An unlikely love.
A once noble man, he was tossed aside and tortured. He is an empty shell of what use to be Human.
A potentially devastating foe with arms, and fists of living stone…
A one eyed mercenary the ladies just can’t get enough of.
A bald, runic-tattoo covered elven mercenary who looks out only for himself.
A great warrior, cursed with an eternal life and a dark companion.
A corrupted captain of the Western Empire.
They’re an odd set of siblings… excellent fighters and all too ready to take exception at the slightest thing…
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.