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Name: Ulfric Ironhand
Backstory: Ulfric hails from a land across the sea, he came to Arlandria when he was near 20 years old. He quickly made a name for himself as a brawler, a drinker, and most importantly a warrior. With how little he speaks of his past there is no telling where he learned to fight, but it's said that he has never been defeated in combat.
At the age of 32 Ulfric had made enough of a name for himself to cause a following to form. Men like Ulfric, warriors from many lands, joined his sides. The small band grew to be known as "The Horsemen of the Apocalypse" as they could seemingly turn the tide of the battle completely. After a few years Ulfrics band of mercenaries found themselves in the service of Lord Gareth. And even though he was only a mercenary he quickly rose through the ranks before being appointed as the vanguard of the Southern forces. Using his influence with Lord Gareth, Ulfric was able to make his whole band of men into Southern Rangers. These are troops that move swiftly through the Southern lands of Arlandria, all of them are skilled warriors in their own ways but most tend to work alone while sometimes patrolling the borders together. They mainly function as a immensely useful warning system in times of war. Ulfric has confidence in his men, and they were the only ones he could trust to do the job well. He only hopes to see them again.
He was brought into this mission at personal request from Lord Gareth. He is one of the few men that has fought the dead and lived to tell the tale. But with time running out and the army of the dead moving further into the Southern lands Ulfric knows that not even he and his men could defeat the never ending waves of the undead. So he agreed to be on this seemingly hopeless mission to try and cut off the head of the snake by finding out what caused the plague to begin with.
Personality: Ulfric is not known for having a sense of humor. He is a stern leader that commands respect among his men. Though he does not carry himself the same way that a knight would, with respect or decorum, instead he acts upon his own will. He has no time for formalities. All he knows is war.
Name: Licia Fortuna
Backstory: Long ago a witch had a daughter and longed to teach her to be a spell caster to surpass herself. From an early age however they found Licia simply struggles to pick up on any particular magic outside of one field. That would come to be probability. Begrudgingly that was what they would try and master it was decided, and by the age of fifteen Licia was a natural at her trade. She found she had a better chance of avoiding harm, it was by no means perfect but it was as if the dice always rolled in her favor. Things seemed to go well for her and those around her to some extent, this only went so far of course and was a double edged sword in a way. It seemed to just be good fortune for those within a small sphere of influence outside of being maybe a bit more in her favor it seemed kind to all. This would lead her to develop a unique combat to try and assist her in making the best of her limited magic. By nineteen she had developed what she called "impractical arts" a form of combat that would have an off stance or awkward weapon handling, or strike from obscure angles.
Every morning she wakes up she spends ten minutes to recite the small pool of spells to ensure this effect of hers stays in place. She's been a wandering mercenary for awhile now often hired as the good luck charm of a squad. Arlandia favors her company having her hired for countless missions, raids and conflicts. Of course that means outside of Arlandia it isn't unheard of for a bounty to be on her head. Thankfully luck seems to frequently be on her side.
Personality: Licia is an upbeat woman with a rather care free demeanor at almost all times. Her magic doesn't do much or reach to far but it's lead her to feel like things will always work out. She tends to be charismatic and well liked by a room by most but arguably the bane of some. The last thing a bunch of gamblers want for example is someone tipping odds in the favor of one of the last ones standing. In addition to this it does mean she is kind of bad at planning, she figures it best to just let others give her direction. As surely what does she have to worry about right?
Appearance: Standing at five foot five she's kind of small. Her hair is a rather dark auburn and eyes a bright blue. Her skin seems almost entirely unblemished or scared despite the amount of fights she's in this isn't entirely true however. Beneath her top is a trio of scars near her abdomen below her left breast and near the center of her back. Three instances she was hit in a way that some say should have been lethal she seems to have bounced back however. She usually wears black, and is equipped with a knife a sword and a small crossbow with twenty bolts.
Name: Carmine Lott
She was born to a peasant family in a large city who resented having another mouth to feed when they were already struggling to get by. Carmine left home as soon as she could for Sargoth, fighting for scraps in the street until she managed to sweet-talk a member of the city guard into training her as his apprentice. While she enjoyed the realized safety and security of a steady paycheck, having to answer to her superiors every day and to spend her time chasing after small-time thieves wore on Carmine's patience: the life of a city guard wasn't for her.
When she was 19 she left Sargoth for good, having decided to make her down way as professional treasure hunter; she doesn't appricate being called a mercenary. She soon fell in a with a tag-tag group of other young adventurers, becoming friends with them and caring for them as family. They eventually became somewhat-renown adventurers known to take whatever strange or dangerous quests are asked of them in between searching for rumored hidden cities of gold, provided that their employers can pay up. They've done escorts for merchants, guarding and/or stealing cursed artifacts, helping out noble's power struggles, etc. As long as you've got the gold, they would do the job.
When the dead began to rise in Sargoth, Carmine and her crew were celebrating the successful end of a long mission by getting drunk off their asses. In the panic and confusion as the city tried to evacuate, she was separated from the rest and hasn't seen them since. She maintains steadfastly to anyone who asks that they're alive, and that she's going to find them.
Carmine is extroverted and energetic, having never been shy a day in her life. Her tendency to be overfamiliar with relative strangers can come across as rather rude; while she's not malicious, she doesn't care that she gets under people's nerves or if they dislike her. She's very cheerful and friendly, especially towards kids, but her temper is both violent and unpredictable: it can be very easy to rile her up enough for her to try and stab someone.
She has no love lost for her family or her homeland, but has a lot of loyalty towards her friends; there's little she wouldn't do for them. If someone was going to try to appeal to her better nature, it'd be through that loyalty.
Appearance: Very masculine in appearance and has a raspy voice. She's often mistaken for a man, which she finds hilarious.
Name: Joseph vender
Backstory: "backstory........ backstory......... where did i leave that?" A man in a laboratory white apron was rummaging through several boxes as he muttered some curses at the air.
"Cure for pigs foot....... no, don't need that" he threw a phial that contained a pink liquid into the background, causing a minor explosion. He didn't seem to notice it, "treatment for itchy rash?" He gave this phial a prolonged look, then shrugged and promptly threw it on the floor. Where it pooled and prooceeded to melt through the wooden boards. "Note to self: a pinch less of sulfuric acid"
Dusting himself off, he ruffled his air and said "I can't find my backstory! I guess I could just say it, but that would be too anti-climatic. What to do?" He folded his fingers together and looked into nothing for a while.
Snapping his fingers, Joseph looked back at his visitors and practically shouted "I got it! I'll just show you my backstory, it's so simple. Here, follow me!". With that, the man started to run through the maze of haphazardly placed chemicals, all the while calling out for his audience to follow.
The man finally stopped in front of a painted picture that showed Joseph kneeling beside a clearly sick child and spoon feeding them what looked like black tar. The caption read 'hero saves village from countless death's. Grinning from ear to ear, Joseph proudly announced "are you impressed, I can tell your impressed! You should be after all, this picture portrays when I visited sargoth several Years back and saved them from some new disease"
Joseph's smile was replaced with a frown as he said with a bit less tempo in his voice "this was, of course, before the death plaque that decimated sargoth a few months back. Come to think of it......... all those children I saved are probably dead now."
After a few moments however, Joseph's smile was back as he proudly stated "but nevermind that! The point is, I'm a famous doctor *cough* famous being a relative term *cough* and it won't be long before I find a cure for this new disease, just like I've done with all the others!"
Looking at his watch, Joseph's face contorted into a worried expression "sorry friend, but it looks like i have to answer that adventures ad before I'm too late. So, in order to speed this up, I'll just belt the last stuff out of the way!" He started to pushhis audience towards the exit as he continued talking.
"I was born on this continent to wealthy nobels, which is why I'm able to afford my lab. I'm a well known scientist, as you already know, I plan on collecting blood and tissue samples on this new quest to try and make a cure, or a vaccine so I can make my name big in the name of science" he shoved the audience onto the street and grabbed the door handle
"And as for a tragic backstory................ my dog died of old age when I was just 12. Woest me!" With that, he slammed the door shut.
Personality: Joseph is often scatter brained, and erratic. He never seems to be able to pay attention to anything for a prolonged period of time.......ohhhhh shiny! Where was I? Oh yeah, Joseph
Joseph never could make any friends when he was younger, often due to his inability to think before he opened his mouth. "You look funny" "why are you so fat?" And "you smell!" All were phrases he spat out as a small lad. He didn't intend to be mean, quite the opposite, he thought he was being friendly by telling the other children about their flaws so they could correct them. He thought wrong.
Name: Irvyn Bluecloak
Born into a military garrison of pikemen along the Northern coast; Irvyn was the product of a drunken tryst between a Guard Captain and a peasant woman. He had little to do with his father and was raised a bastard village brat by whichever adult his head was in a backhand's reach of at any given time. The soldiers were regular sights for young Irvyn and he became adept at filching supplies from the quartermaster's store which (foolishly if you think about it) he'd sell on marketdays.
Naturally, all it took was for one soldier to spot a familiar gauntlet or rondel on the stall and the gig was up. Irvyn would be hanged from the ramparts of the fort. The captain (suspecting the lad to be his own bastard get) instead spared Irvyn but on condition that the lad trained at arms and joined the garrison. He also took out his right eye for the crime. Irvyn actually never forgave this- the worst pain he's ever experienced and whilst he trained diligently, upon the day he was to formally enter the garrison's service, he seized the flag from the top of the battlements and ran away. He's wanted for desertion but last he heard, the garrison fell soon after the troubles began up North and Irvyn has been travelling southwards for years now.
He made his living as a hired hand, a mercenary and using the light-blue colours of the garrison flag as his cloak he and his distinctive eye-patch have earned a certain notoriety. Pikemen had been sent after him in the early days but he was always a step ahead and his father evidently proved reluctant to waste many soldiers on a one-eyed stray.
The queerest thing about Irvyn's life since his escape from the Garrison is the strange markings on his arms and face that have grown darker the further South he's travelled. From the frozen Northern tundra, he's noticed the warmer the sun, the clearer the markings have become. Strangers have confirmed they are ancient symbols, runes from an age of dark magic but Irvyn can neither explain them or be rid of them. He hopes, someday, to meet someone that could give him some answers. Given everything that's happened up North, he has no doubts his birth parents are dead.
Quiet, sullen at times, quick of wit and with excellent memory- he doesn't let his emotions get the better of him. Except anger. He holds a grudge indefinitely and will not forget a slight. He can joke, he does smile on occasion and he can be friendly but his default aura is one of detachment and distance. His travels have left him with as many enemies as friends and moving on suits him for precisely these reasons.
Slender, only five eight or nine in height. His hair is dark and his skin quite pale, save for the dark brown symbols marking his face and arms. He has ruffled, raven hair and dark eyes. He wears light leather armour with a distinctive tattered blue cloak and a leather patch over his missing right eye.
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