TESTING Applo: Code Borker of Hut 33

Applo

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#21
≋ Sarah Pendleton ≋
The sound of her phone rattling on her bedside table cut through the last whispers of Sarah’s dream. Her eyelid were still too heavy with sleep to open so she groped blindly until her hand connected with the offending object and proceeded to launch it across her room, hearing it clatter of a wall and fall to the ground, it’s buzzing now muffled by the carpet. Peace restored Sarah rolled over and tried in vain to drift back off to sleep. While she dearly wanted an extra hour or two in bed her body treacherously had other ideas. After a few minutes the urge to pee became too great to ignore and with a yawn Sarah dragged herself upright till she was sitting on the edge of her bed.

After a moment to to pinch the bridge of her nose Sarah opened her eyes and looked around her room. The debris of the night before and several other nights before littered the floor, she’d have to tidy up at some point she knew but it probably wouldn’t happen until she couldn’t find something important. As she padded across the room towards her en-suite she noticed that her phone was still competing against the sound of wind and rain but she ignored it. Whoever it was could wait till she was feeling a bit more human. Thirty minutes, a hot shower and a change of clothes later Sarah slipped into the kitchen and flicked on the radio before diving into the fridge for an iced coffee.

“This is channel 37 news. We have reports of a large explosion at Bergan and Dudley. Police and emergency responders are on the scene and from what we can gather this seems to be being dealt with as a terrorist incident. Information is thin on the ground at the moment but we’ve heard unconfirmed reports from survivors that powered individuals are responsible...”

“Shit!” Sarah’s mind flashed to the discarded phone and she raced into the bedroom and flicked it open. “Oh really fucking shit!” The screen was filled with alert notifications from PRIT as well as a slew of missed calls and a painfully understated text message from Sean; he sounded like a fourteen year old trying to secretly organize a party in the woods for heaven's sake.

Less than five minutes after opening her phone Sarah felt the door of her building slide shut behind her. She hadn’t need to grab much, only her keys, bike, shoes and a couple items she kept in the drawer next to her bed. The idea of hailing taxi hadn’t crossed her mind. At this time in the morning they were normally pretty busy and besides in this city, for someone who kept in shape a bike was probably faster anyway. For someone with their own personal supply of oxygen it was definitely faster.

Sarah knew she was near the site of the attack from the sea of people standing around with their phones out and the fleet of press vehicles. Admittedly the plumes of thick, heavy smoke were also a dead give away. The first person who tried to stop her from crossing the police cordon got a PRIT ID shoved half an inch from their nose, a bicycle thrust into their arms and an explicit run down of exactly what would transpire if they lost said bicycle. After that Sarah conformed to the millennial stereotype by pulling out her phone and opening up every social media account she had. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Sarah smiled. People were wonderfully predictable sometimes.

Five minutes later Sarah was hunched behind a burnt out car watching a fight taking place a little further down the street. She didn’t intervene because A: the PRIT agents she was watching seemed to have things in hand and B: because her target was what remained of a doorway halfway between herself and the fight. She was waiting for the natural flow of the battle to move the combatants in such a way the as few people as possible would see her make her dash for the building. What she was about to do was going to be hard enough without some terrorist twatbag waving a gun in her face. Still she couldn’t wait to long, the ever growing cloud of smoke streaming from the building was proof of that and the next time the battle shifted so that the terrorist had their backs to her she decided to chance it.

Once inside Sarah didn’t stop, charging up the stairwell till she reached the fourth floor. She could feel heat now and sweat started to bead on her forehead. Carefully she rested the back of her hand against the door that exited the stairwell on this floor. It was warm but not burning hot and so cautiously she pushed it open a crack and peeked into the corridor beyond. Flames were licking their way along the walls and a thick acrid smoke filled choked the air. Closing the door Sarah pulled out her phone and sent a message and less than thirty seconds later she could hear muffled thumping and banging coming from the hallway. Without wasting anymore time Sarah stepped into the corridor, pulled her hoodie up over her face and advanced towards the frantic noises.

The flames flickered and died at her approach and while the fire sprung back to life behind her the floor and walls around Sarah were a cool grey colour. The door from behind which the banging and thumping was coming had been weaken by the fire and what had been meant as a gentle kick caused the burnt wood to splinter and give. From inside the smoke filled room five faces looked up at Sarah in confused motionlessness.

“Come on!” she whispered while hurriedly motioning for them to follow her. Vacuums had always been harder for her to maintain and one large enough to choke the fires in this corridor was a real strain. The journey back to the stairwell was much quicker. With the civilians following right on her heels, Sarah ran back along the length of the corridor and heaved open the metal fire door, letting the civilians pile through before smartly pulling it closed behind her.

“FUCKING FREEZE!”

Turning, Sarah found herself staring along the barrel of a gun into a pair of demented eyes surrounded by a ski mask. On the landing between the third and fourth floors stood a heavy set man pointing a pistol at the group. Slowly Sarah took a step down the stairway, putting herself between the gun and the people she had just rescued.

“Easy with that thing ok, no one needs to get hurt here.” Sarah heard a quiet little grunt from behind her and more importantly she saw the man with the gun wince. Now it was just a matter of playing for time.

“Why don’t you put that thing away and get the fuck out of here, you haven't done anything really stupid yet and I’m sure none of them could pick you out.” As she spoke she swept her arm backwards towards the people she had just rescued before letting her hand come to rest in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Shut the fuck up limey and stay fucking still” spit flew from the man's mouth as he shouted though the gun stayed unnervingly still. “Are you fucking powered?”

“What?” Sarah feigned genuine surprise at the question in attempt to drag out the conversation. As long as the bastard was talking he wasn’t filling her with lead.

“I said are you fucking powered, it’s a simple fucking question. Do you have powers, yes or fucking no?” The gunman’s eyes were starting to look glazed and unfocused but he was keeping the gun still and level.

“What would make you think that”

“I saw your ass run in here and you don’t look like no damn cop so you must be one of those PRIT rejecters.”

“And so what if I am, what difference does the make to you?”
“It means I kill you first bitch, the only thing worse than a normal is a fucking rejecter.”

Sarah felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. The conversation had very definitely reached an end and unless something happened soon so had she. Part of her mind began to wonder how much getting shot was going to hurt.

“GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES TRAITOR!”

“SCREW YOU!” There was no way in hell in Sarah’s mind that she was going to die on her knees begging for her life.
“I FUCKING SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES BITCH!”

That was when the thing Sarah had been waiting for finally, the barrel of the gun dropped as the fog that was enveloping the man's mind finally had an effect. Sarah didn't hesitate, the tension in her legs unwinding in one going launching her into the air. The man’s reactions, dulled from the pressure, were too slow to bring the barrel of his gun up before Sarah crashed into him, the momentum slamming them into the wall. Before anything else could happen a steel tipped fist smashed into the side of the gunman’s head and he went limp.

“Bastard” Sarah spat, slipping the knuckle dusters off her fingers and massaging her hand as she stood up. “Has anyone got a belt or something?” When there no answer Sarah looked up the stairs and saw five pairs of bleary eyes staring back at her.

“Oh right” she mumbled letting the pressure begin to dissipate. “You’ll be fine in a minute.” After that Sarah set to securing the gunman, she needed to be doing something right now and not letting her brain wonder on what might of been. Once that was done she grabbed the gun and shoved it the waistband of her jeans and then looked back up at the civilians. They still looked groggy but there was comprehension behind their eyes now.

“Feeling better? Good! Let's get the hell out of here.”
 
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Applo

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#22
Ah butts
 
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Applo

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#23
“My Ladies Grimm, how lovely it is to see you both again.” Denys Tyrell deigned to reveal neither disdain nor joy, ever blessed with a noble’s restraint. “I am well, although the melee is not typically my preferred choice of entertainment. I trust you enjoyed it?”

Tamsyn struggled not to roll her eye. Cousin Denys had always been reserved. It was a good quality for the Lady of a Great house to have but still it was irritating at times. ”It was certainly diverting and I have one or two memories now that I shall cherish for some time to come. I trust that we didn’t interrupt any important business.”

“Not at all,” Denys smiled, “The work of Ladies is often necessary, seldom important - I believe mother taught me that, begrudgingly so. It is good; cousins and ladies conversing well and proper, as is expected of us.”

“It is a shame that talking politely amongst ourselves is often all that is expected of us. If today’s excitement showed us anything it's that we Ladies can quite easily better many men, if we are only given the chance.”

“And you,” Denys nodded pointedly at Tamsyn, “know that better than most. Do you not, Lady of Greyshield?”

“I only do what is expected of me so that my lord brother’s lands are in a fit state for him to take control of when he is old enough. If I can do that better than many of the fools that call themselves lords, well then, that is just the Seven smiling on me.”

“Well said, cousin. Your good work upon Greyshield is noted by us all.” Her approval was muted, a slight smile, “Would that I could say the same for the affairs of mine own House.”

“You flatter me cousin; your praise means a lot to me. As for the affairs of House Tyrell; I am sure that they are well taken care of with you there to help guide your husband's hands.” This was maybe laying it on a little thick Tamsyn knew but a little flattery was a cheap price to pay to help stay in the good graces of the Wardens of the South.

“Where is Lord Gaheris my lady? I heard he was accompanying you, but I did not see him earlier at the melee.” The question caught Tamsyn off guard and it took her a moment that it was Astrid had spoken. If they had been in a less exposed position she would have given her sister a kick on the ankle. As it was, Tamsyn concentrated on not letting her own curiosity about the question’s answer show on her face.

“It had been the intent of our House for Gaheris to pay respects to the Queen during the melee,” Lady Tyrell sighed, months of exasperation captured in one long breath, “but it appears the brothels of King’s Landing agree with him.”

Denys surveyed the scurrying crowd of nobles and serving girls, “If it were only a matter of appearance, my brother-in-law could burrow beneath the dirt and defile whatever he pleased, as long as he stayed hidden. Unfortunately, my Lord-Husband decided that he represents us in matters of war and politic.”

Not having expected such frankness from her cousin Tamsyn was a little surprised by Deny’s exclamation. “It would seem then your husband was wise not to send him alone, even if he should have made you his representative on all matters.”

“Perhaps he should have, although my husband thought the task would be too much for my constitution.” Denys tittered, “An opinion made fact only once he had named Gaher- what is that?

She pointed from her perch in the stands, identifying a scarred man in silken robes, flanked by an assortment of courtesans from the Street of Silk. Ser Gaheris Tyrell was garbed in purple, while his ladies were draped in all manner of sharp reds, and bright, almost obscenely so, greens and pinks. Nobles turned their heads as the scarred one’s procession made their way through in a display of tasteful irreverence.

It wasn’t hard for Tamsyn to spot what her cousin was pointing at; the vivid colours of Gaheris and his accompanying whores robes didn’t so much catch the eye as assault it. Had it been anyone else standing next to her, Tamsyn would of allowed her amusement at the spectacle to show. For the sake of her cousin though she did her best to contain herself, the smallest of grins being the only indicator of how she truly felt. A muffled titter from her side reminded Tamsyn that her sister didn’t have the same restraint and she dipped her hand into her rapidly emptying coin purse, handing what she grabbed to Astrid.

“Why don’t you go and find a trinket for Gerren?” There was horrible moment when Tamsyn thought Astrid was going to argue to stay and watch what was about to unfold, but just as quickly as the moment arose it was gone and Astrid hurriedly made her way towards the stairs, hand over her mouth. Turning back to face the oncoming horde Tamsyn said nothing, simply holding her cousin's arm as she watched. Her father had made sure she had had plenty of etiquette lesson when she was growing up but nothing she had ever learned quite covered this situation.

Denys subdued the large parts of a shrill yell, “Gaheris, not here.”

The scarred knight beamed in answer, wholly unaffected by Denys’ chastisement, “O’, sister, please! You haven’t the slightest idea how much I had to pay the proprietor to let me bring these fine ladies out and about.

“What you do in private is no concern of mine - but this does not belong here.”

The girls, you mean?” the Tyrell knight’s grin stretched the scars upon his face, “They are much like serving girls and watchmen dogs, sister - only better paid and well-versed in a different set of skills entirely. Or perhaps you were referring to me?

The Knight turned his gaze away from Denys, offering Tamsyn a low bow, “Lady Grimm, you look delectable.

“Thank you Ser Gaheris” The curtsy Tamsyn gave was almost as rigid as her cousin's face. There was no way she was about to kneel and scrape to the man like one of his whore undoubtedly had at some point and confuse herself with them in his mind. “It is kind of you to say so, especially as you must surely have had your fill today already.”

Gaheris offered a smile that never reached his eyes, “Only an appetizer, my Lady. I’m afraid I’m quite ravenous. And what of your appetite?

“It is quite replete Ser, not that it is any of your concern.” Tamsyn broke away from Gaheris gaze, looking at each of his whores one by one. “If I were looking to satisfy it however, I would not partake of the sort of cheaply bought meat you seem to favour. I prefer something a little more refined.”

The Tyrell’s displayed a look of piteous hurt, exaggerated to the point of pantomime, “House Grimm has kept faith with mine own House for ever so long, our faithful companions upon the Shield Islands - your appetite concerns me most dearly, my Lady. Besides, you do these fine girls an injustice. This one here calls herself, rather blasphemously if I may add, the Maiden, and cost me quite the bundle of gold dragons.

Her reserves of self control having been exhausted by the absurdity of the situation, Tamysn struggled to stifle a burst of laughter before replying. “I can’t claim to be an expert in such matters but I’m sure her master is thanking the seven that some fool thought her worthy of such a price.” Beside her she could almost feel her cousin’s growing aggravation but that was mostly directed at Gaheris and so she allowed an amused smile to stretch across her face.

“I must say it is good to know that there is someone in Highgarden so concerned with my appetite, fool or not. It is reassuring that should I fall on hard times there will be something for me once even rats can no longer be found.”

Your words wound me, my Lady.” The Knight’s courtesy was flimsy, a mockery.

“Wounds deservedly inflicted.” Lady Denys interjected, her voice heated, tempered steel. She continued, somewhat desperate to restore sense to the discourse. “How fares the Grey Fleet, cousin? We trust that the hands of House Grimm have been well-suited to the task?”

“My late fathers schemes to strengthen the fleet mean that it is ready to answer your husband call but I also have plans to strengthen it further.” Tamsyn turned to face her cousins, removing Gaheris from her view. The knight may have been house Tyrell’s representative in matters of war, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. “Seven willing, I plan on coming to an arrangement with the Forresters for them to supply me with ironwood. If the other shield lords follow my lead, Highgarden will have the strongest fleet from Pyke to Storm’s End.”

"A good thing then, for we'll need all the strength we can get." This was said by Taria Baratheon, who had been overhearing the conversation for a few moments and finally found the right moment to intrude. Having ended her little chat with Haylana Forrester, the heir to Storm's End had been on the lookout for the Tyrells. If they were to be allies in quelling the Dornish rebellion, then it was healthy to make ties in social gatherings like things.

"Ser, my ladies." She gave a stiff bow before standing straight. "Taria Baratheon, niece and heir of Lord Gerrant Baratheon of Storm’s End. An honour to meet you."

The Tyrell knight bowed in kind, face gleeful when it reemerged, making towards Taria’s hand in offerance of a kiss. The courtesans behind him moved as if rehearsed, strutting far enough away to lend their conversations privacy. “Gaheris Tyrell, son of the late Lord Gavin Tyrell, and heir to little in particular, unless a few kin should pass away. Fellow oppressor of the Dornish; truly a pleasure.

"I wouldn't call it oppressing, Ser Gaheris." Taria's reply was immediate, wanting to make her position clear. She allowed the peck to her hand, for an instant only. These kind of pleasantries were something she could do without, especially when she knew there were all for show. "Rather, following our Queen's orders and ending unnecessary bloodshed."

Her sharp gaze shifted from the Tyrells to look at the auburn haired woman. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

“Tamsyn Grimm of Greyshield my lady and the honour is all mine.” The reply was short and respectful. While Tamsyn felt confident speaking quite freely with most of the lords and ladies she had occasion to deal with, the heir of a great house was not one of them. This lady Baratheon called for a little more respect.

"Ah... from the Shield Islands." Taria was familiar enough with the reach to know that House Grimm and their fleet were the Reach's first line of defense against any naval attack. And they will be making arrangements to gain Ironwood... It seemed to her that perhaps it was best to keep in good terms with this house as well. "I have heard of your ships and their prowess. It is indeed good to know we fight on the same side."

She looked away from Tamsyn, eyes resting on the Gaheris, his garish, flamboyant clothing, and the women she deemed were probably prostitutes. Was this really who Lord Gawain Tyrell sent in his stead? Habit kept the expression on her face neutral, thankfully. "I assume Lord Gawain remained in Highgarden in order to see to the Queen's orders?"

“My Lord-Husband,” Lady Denys began in the Knight’s stead.

... is gouty, and sick, and crippled.” Gaheris finished, “He is in no position to attend feasts, nor manage affairs of war.

“I pray the Warrior grants him strength then.” Taria didn’t see how he would not be able to manage affairs of war from his stronghold, but she left it at that.

The Knight’s unseemly beam was still stretched upon his ruined face, “But that is somber nonsense. How have you fared thus far, in this wondrous city? Are you quite safe? Noble Dornish bastards have also answered the Queen’s calls, you may have noticed. I had the pleasure of meeting one myself; Kyne Sand, of the libidinous Manwoody’s.

Fiery and hot-tempered, not apt to let a little thing like the Queen’s law stop them from shedding the blood of us oppressors.


“King’s Landing is full of snakes, but I’ve fared quite well. I’ve learned from a young age not only to keep myself safe but to protect others with my sword, but I am grateful for your concern.” It had been hard to keep a straight face at the mention of the Manwoody bastard, but Taria kept her composure; friends were one thing, or rather friend… strangers were another. “I’m quite sure Manwoody bastards are the least of our concerns, if I’m being frank. They are known for their disdain of the Yronwood, and so a common ally to our houses as well as the Queen.”

Perhaps!” Gaheris opened his arms, a gesture of amicability, “But the directive of House Tyrell was to bring order to Dorne in any manner deemed fit, and paid no respects to such allegiances - I imagine House Baratheon’s was much the same. If House Yronwood’s ascension, decisive and swift, eventually proves the least bloody of the various avenues, it would be the duty of Houses Tyrell and Baratheon to place our swords in their hands.

Besides, House Manwoody stood behind House Yronwood for a time, before reaching for their own ascension. They have no true loyalty towards the Queen, surely you agree? In this conflict of Houses, only we do.
” It may well have been the scars, but the mischief upon the Knight’s face was surely malevolent.

“For the time being they are allies though,” Taria pointed out once more. “If there is one thing to be sure of, it’s that they are no longer with the Yronwood. It seems ill-advised in my opinion to disregard their friendship when they could serve useful in quelling the rebellion in the south.” She didn’t wish to seem as if she was against the Tyrell, but she did feel he was finding the whole affair something of a game.

Her eyes shifted from Gaheris to his sister in law and then Tamsyn. “Lady Denys, surely you have your thoughts on the matter? And what about you, Lady Tamsyn?”

Briefly Tamsyn looked to her cousin, who nodded curtly to indicate that she wasn’t going to speak just yet. “As long they can be controlled then we should use the Manwoody forces to bolster our own. The Yronwood’s started this war by murdering our queen’s family. Even if she has given no instruction as to how to end the hostilities I can not imagine she would be best pleased if the Yronwoods are left as the rulers of Dorne. If we have to fight the Manwoody forces as well, far more of our men will die. Whereas if we were to ally with them and House Dayne, then all our forces could be focused against the Yronwoods and we might be able to get the remaining factions to settle their disagreement without further blood shed.” Tamsyn’s gaze shifted from Taria, briefly onto Gaheris and then finally settled on her cousin. “Ultimately however my ships and men will go where and fight whom my lord chooses, my lady.”

“My cousin and I,” Lady Denys offered Tamsyn an appreciative nod, “are in accord, Lady Baratheon - to avenge the Martells should be of paramount import.”

Unless,” There was a moment between Tyrell Lady and Knight alike where their shared gazes were as if venom, which dried up and faded before Gaheris continued, “the Queen is blessed with a magical brooch of fertility, the Martell name is irrelevant. The Yronwoods were the aggressors, yes, but the Daynes and Manwoodys are as good as turncloaks, and whatever loyalists left have proven to be little more than abject failures… perhaps they should all be sundered.

Lady Baratheon,[/color]” Gaheris bowed towards Taria once more, “I am remiss to engage you in less than sweetened, honeyed words. Still, the Shield Fleets and the Redwyne navies will carry the warriors of the Reach where I command, and the fearsome enders of the Storm where Lord Gerrant commands. It is paramount an accord is reached between us.

It was difficult to keep her face from showing any emotion, but once again years of training paid off. Still, on the inside Taria couldn't help but seethe; it was irritating when people didn't just come out and say what they meant, hiding before flowery words.

"I can assure you my Lord Uncle has the Queen's orders as priority above all else, and if necessary, appropriate steps will be taken." She cast a glance at the others before continuing. "However, it is not my place to speak in my Uncle's stead; I am merely here representing him at the Queen's nameday celebrations. If you do have any further concerns, you may always send a missive to Storm's End; I am sure he will take note of it."

With that said, she stepped back and bowed. "I shall take my leave now, my Ladies and my Lord."

Lady Denys bowed deeply, Ser Gaheris less so. The Knight spoke upon rising, “Remember to stay safe in these troubled times, my Lady Baratheon.

Once the Tyrells had said their farewells Tamsyn moved forwards half a step. “Farewell Lady Baratheon. I hope you enjoy the rest of the festivities.” As Tamsyn spoke she once again dipped into a curtsy. She had lost track of how many times she had had to do this today, let alone since she had arrived in the capital. She was looking forward to returning to Greyshield where she had to pay respect to no one. Straightening up she watched as Taria walked away from the strange ensemble of nobles and whores, waiting for her to be out of earshot before she spoke once more.

“I am surprised to hear that you favour House Yronwood so strongly Ser. Many of my fellow lord are under the impression that you would prefer House Dayne to reap the benefits of this conflict.”

Do your fellow Lords talk about me often, Lady of the Shield? Their impressions of me, my preferences.” The Knight’s perpetual smile dissipated, his gaze frigid.

“Only when we think there is something worth talking about.” Gaheris’ glower was met by a impassive look of Tamsyn’s own. “It is useful for us to know what Highgarden might ask of us before it is asked, so when we come by such information we make sure that other receive it too. It benefits us all to make sure that you and your family are satisfied with our service.”

Gaheris nodded, as if considering her answer, and the disapproving stare of Lady Denys as well, “The Yronwoods can rot. So long as Queen Roslyn lives, it is true that it reflects poorly on us for the murderers to grasp the ascendancy. All the same, they can be used, they can be leveraged. The same goes for House Manwoody, as well as House Dayne.

The Knight left the rest unspoken.

“Very well, I shall trust in your expertise in such matters Ser. As ever, I and Greyshield will be ready to serve you in whatever way you need. That being said, if there is nothing else you wish from me then I will take my leave.” Tamsyn gestured to the colourfully dressed whores who were wearing faces of barely concealed boredom. “Your time is an expensive commodity today and I would hate for you to waste it.”

“What a tragedy it would be.” Lady Denys added, with more than a little touch of scathing. “May we speak again soon, cousin.”

“I look forward to it. Keep well, it has been good to see you again.”

Farewell, Lady Tamsyn.” The Scarred Knight of Highgarden spoke slowly, almost ponderously, ever in thought.
 

Applo

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#24
Ylva.jpg

General Appearance Personality History Abilities Other


  • Name: Ylva Uærlig
    Sex: Female
    Date of birth: 20th January, 26 years old.
    Race: Human: Autem
    Place of birth: Dalvik
    Languages: Diquet
    Occupation: Transient Criminal

  • Height: 173 cm
    Weight: 64 Kg

    Physical Description: Ylva cuts an unremarkable figure, she is generally somewhat larger of build than the typical Autem woman, but not so much as to worthy of comment. Ylva has the pale skin of a Autem though years of wandering around the world have left the skin on her lower arms and face darker than the rest of her where her skin is pale to the point of being semi transparent. She tends to wear her roughly cut sable hair loose down to her shoulders but will tie it back on hot days or when she needs to concentrate. Her eyes are a relatively dull blue with webs of yellow running through them. The thing that people do notice, and remember about Ylva are the vivid scars on the right hand side of her face, asking too much about them is a good way to go about getting a matching set. Ylva also has a handful of scars on her torso though most people will never see these.

    Clothing style: Normally Ylva favors a dark studded leather jacket over a grey linen tunic teamed with a pair of hard wearing trousers and sturdy boots. Ylva avoids jewelry unless absolutely needed as it tends to shine at the wrong moment or catch on something. The one exception to this rule is a small metal disc depicting a wolf running under the moon that is fasten round her neck by a hide cord and kept tucked inside her tunic.


    Equipment:

      • On her left hip Ylva carries her father's claymore, it is a simple double edged steel blade of seventy centimeters with a somewhat ornate basket around the hilt.
      • On her right hip Ylva has recently taken to wearing a small folding crossbow. In many respects this bow looks like a normal crossbow, just scaled down in size. The major difference in design from a full size crossbow is that the wooden shaft that makes up the body of the bow curves at the end to allow for a one handed grip.
      • In addition, Ylva also has a trio of knives about her person, the largest of which sits across the small of her back. This blade has a single slightly curved cutting edge and a antler handle.
      • The remaining two knives are much smaller items able to fit in the side of Ylva’s boots. While not exactly alike, these knives are both double edged with blades no longer than the palm of Ylva’s hand. Additionally both have been stripped of their original handles and the tangs wrapped in a thing layer of hide cord.

  • When first approached Ylva can seem cold, uncaring and in many other ways typical of stereotypes of autem’s; A life where everyone she meets might be looking to get one over on her has taught her to be careful not to trust easily nor wear her heart on her sleeve lest someone use it against her. That being said Ylva isn’t an heartless husk. Most of the major events in Ylva’s life have been driven by her need to look after her family. Be it her biological family or Ashfa, Ylva cares deeply about the people she considers hers and will go out of her way to ensure their well being.

    Ylva’s relative success in the life of an outlaw comes from a collection of her traits. The world is full of opportunity for those resourceful enough find a way to seize it and years of surviving mainly on her wits has taught Ylva to see the opportunity in everything. This ability to find the angle in everything quite naturally extends to people. Ylva nearly always has an ulterior motive, or more accurately several ulterior motives and is quite happy to exploit her allies if it further her own goals and wont lose and sleep over deceiving them to do so. Of course being able to exploit people requires Ylva to be a step ahead of those around her. Fortunately a a life time of dealing with people who at best could be called conniving, backstabbing bastards mean that Ylva is used to sly maneuvers needed to keep ahead of the competition whilst also having toughened her up both physically and mentally.


    Goals: Money, lots of it. Enough that her family will never want for anything again when she’s able to return to them.

    Fears:
    • Losing Ashfa: Ylva doesn't admit it but she’s come to see Ashfa almost as a sister and feels responsible for her. Already knowing the pain of losing one family, Ylva isn't prepared to lose her new one as well.

    • Imprisonment: The loss of agency involved in being imprisoned is especially hard for Ylva. Having spent most of her life roaming at her leisure, the memories of being stuck in the dark and under someone else control haunt her dreams still. She will use every trick she knows and take every risk she has to to avoid being captured.

    • Heights: There's no rhyme or reason behind this fear, heights have always scared Ylva.

    • Snakes: After being bitten by a snake that she never saw Ylva has become very wary of these creatures and will act to kill them as a first response.

  • The eldest daughter of a poor couple, Ylva was born into a life of hardship and wanting but also happiness and love. Her father in particular doted on Ylva and in many ways treated her like a son, teaching the young girl how to hunt and hold a sword. Thora would have prefered that her daughter spend less time learning to hunt and fight and more time learning the skills that Ylva would need to be considered a good prospect so that she might find a good husband. It was however obvious to Thora that her daughter was the joy of her Carl’s life and she was inclined to indulge her husband and hold her tongue.

    This life of unlikely happiness came to an end soon after Ylva’s tenth name day. For a while her father had seemed slower and weaker, Ylva only found out he was sick when she heard her parents arguing one night after she was meant to be asleep. Ylva didn’t really understand what was happening but before another moon had passed her father fell into the hollow sleep and passed. Ylva was left three thing by her father: his sword, which he said was hers by right of blood, a small pendent of a wolf and a baby sister growing in Thora’s belly.

    Thora was a level headed and practical woman. With one child already and another on the way she wasted very little time on grieving and focused on remarrying. A childhood friend of Thora who had always been enamored with her proposed to marriage not three months after the death of Carl. While her Bjorn was not nearly the man that Carl had been he was able to offer the security that Thora needed.

    Ylva distrusted her new stepfather. There was something about him that just didn't sit right. He’d never quite explain what he did for living, go to meet suppliers in the middle of the night and sometimes be in places that he had no reason to be. Thora seemed happy with her new husband though and so for the most part Ylva took to staying out of the way and hanging around on the streets. She was accepted into one of the town gangs as a sort of mascot. She didn’t mind being patronised because by hanging out with the boys she was able to continue learning how to fight although she made the point of seeming very bad so that the boys would find her funny and keep her around. When she wasn't hanging around the city streets she would go hunting.

    In her fifteenth year, Bjorn came to Ylva begging for her help and what he told her confirmed everything she had thought of the man for the last five years. While outwardly he was an honest businessman, he actually made his money through less than legal means and after having lost a shipment he owed a large amount of coin. At first Ylva wanted nothing more than to let him be destroyed by his mess but Bjorn pointed out that the people wouldn't just come after him but also Thora and Ursi to get their money back and so, reluctantly Ylva agreed to help until the threat to her mother and sister was eliminated. Ylva’s job was to carry packages for Bjorn when she went hunting, stopping in neighboring towns and villages to pass them onto one of his contacts and collect the money.

    This uneasy partnership between Ylva and Bjorn worked profitably and soon the family was out from under the debt. At first Ylva stuck to her vow to stop helping Bjorn but she had grown used to having the extra coin and soon found herself slipping back into the work. For a few years the arrangement worked well and while Ylva never grew to like Bjorn, she did come to grudgingly respect the man. However Bjorn's greed was always greater than his intellect and over time he began to take bigger and bigger risks and it would be Ylva who paid for them.

    One day on what should have been a routine drop off Ylva suddenly found herself surrounded by guards and with no options save surrendering or dying. Thrown into the city dungeons Ylva was left to fend for herself amongst thieves, murderers, and worse in the dark and cold. After several months Ylva was unexpectedly dragged before the Ovibas. It turned out that they had thought that in catching Ylva they had caught the leader of the gang that had been smuggling the contraband around the country only for the flow of illicit goods to carry on unabated. Ylva was offered clemency if she agreed to aid in the arrest of the real gang leader, an offer that she grasped with both hands, going so far as to actually lead Ovibas’s guards to Bjorn and his hidden stores. After his arrest Bjorn claimed that Ylva had been just as much the leader as he. Unwilling to go back in his promise of release to Ylva but also not wanting to risk Bjorn being right he settled on exiling her from the hold for five years.

    For three years Ylva wandered from place to place, staying long enough only to make a little coin before moving on. At first she tried to live the life of a Hunter to prove to herself that she was an honest person but a couple of hard months were enough to deplete Ylva’s already tattered pride and she began to accept who she was. For the most part she kept her own company but occasionally she would work with local gangs to pull of larger jobs though this would only ever be for a short amount of time. This changed when after nearly being apprehended by some guards she became trapped in a small town. With guards blocking the gates she hid out in a tavern as she looked for somewhere to hide the illicit substance she was carrying.

    Quite by chance Ylva bumped into a fresh faced, naive looking traveler and saw her chance. After subtly secreting the small package of contraband into the girls pack she spent a little time talking to the traveler to find out where she was headed while at the same time loudly making lots of vague comments about heading out of the north gate. Ylva’s planned to lie low for the night and then catch up with the girl and recover her possessions once they were safely out of the city. When she saw the guards enter the inn Ylva beat a hasty retreat into a back room and listened at the door to see if the guards took the bait.

    For reasons unknown the guards began to search the girl that the landlord had pointed to as having been seen with their quarry and when they found the package the guards accused her of being a conspirator. Already unusual feelings of guilt were beginning to stir in Ylva and then the girl tried to run only to be knocked out cold by a blow to the head. Seeing the girl go down caused something to snap in Ylva and before the guards had chance to draw their weapons two of them had gone down. The last guard was more of a challenge but after a short fight Ylva was able to subdue him long enough to get the girl out of the tavern and flee. Eventually when Ylva was sure they had lost their pursuers she used the last of her strength to pull the girl into an alley before she herself passed out from a slash to her side.

    When she woke Ylva was surprised to see the girl hovering over her and after some conversation Ylva discovered that the girl had healed her wounds in thanks for Ylva’s rescue. Ylva felt a deep sense of guilt that the girl had done all this in thanks for a rescue she wouldn't have needed if it hadn't been for Ylva and wanted to leave there and then apart from her injuries wouldn't let her. Even when she was able to move she tagged along with Ashfa at first because her wounds still needed treating and then because it never seemed quite the right time to leave. It took Ylva nearly half a year to admit to herself that she enjoyed having someone to travel with as well as Ash being useful. The girl was good with coin and buying good at a better price and her role as a healer often meant that she and Ylva were treated with much less suspicion when they arrived at a new town. Ylva never quite told Ashfa the whole story about the night they met and she tries to keep her friend away from the darker side of her work.


  • Skills/Talents:
    • Picking locks: This is a skill that Ylva has learnt relatively recently having decided it would be something useful for her to know so that she wouldn’t have to rely on others.
    • Tracking: A large part of being a hunter is locating and following your quarry using the very scant clues it leaves behind. To be any good as a hunter, which Ylva is, this is a skill that has to be mastered.
    • Stealthy mover: Years of hunting experience have taught Ylva how to move quietly and unobtrusively through her surroundings.
    • Navigating - Hunting and criminal activity both often take place in remote areas where the ability to navigate is essential.
    Handicaps: Ashfa - If Ylva has one weakness, one Achilles heel then it’s Ashfa.

    Combat style:
    Ylva brawls. She learnt to fight in the gutter where the only rule was to stay alive. To this end Ylva prefers to fight up close with her fist, elbows, teeth, knees, feet and knives rather than with the sword at her hip and will seize any opportunity she can to end the fight in her favour or at least stop it for long enough for her to get away.

    The small folding crossbow that Ylva owns is something she has only relatively recently acquired. She likes it for it unobtrusiveness and the fact that it gives her the ability to injure a target without risking her own neck. She is a average shot with the bow.


  • Color: #070
 

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#25

Sarah McLeod

  29 | 5'10 | 72 kg | Farmer
Skills

  

Born on a remote hill farm deep in the Scottish Highlands, Sarah has been around livestock for the majority of her life. She has some experience with other types of farming, having even dabbled with hydroponics, but her real skill set lies in working with animals. Living and working on on a remote farm has also furnished Sarah with basic medical and construction skills as well as conditioning her to above average levels of fitness.


Weaknesses

  

On her official medical record Sarah is only listed as suffering from two conditions; these being a minor allergy to shellfish and minor hearing loss and tinnitus in her right ear. While the information about her shellfish allergy is correct Sarah lied through her teeth about the state of her ear. On good days the ringing noise is a mildly irritating companion, on bad days it can make her want to scream just to drown it out. On really bad days it will drive Sarah to seek oblivion through any mind altering substance she can get her hands on.

Personality

  

has always wanted to find out what was on the other side of the mountain, both literally and metaphorically. Unfortunately wanderlust doesn't mix well with the life of a farmer often leaving Sarah feeling unsatisfied with her lot in life, and this has caused more than a little turmoil in Sarah life although it was what drove her to apply to join the Moonbeams crew.

When it comes to dealing with people, Sarah is fairly typical of the average human being in that she quite enjoys company and would feel lonely left by herself for more than a few days whilst also needing moments of solitude to recharge her batteries. Sarah’s prefered way to socialize with her colleagues is over a glass or several of whatever alcoholic beverage she can find or ferment.

One thing that really gets on Sarah’s nerves is people who fanny around with complicated schemes when the same task could be achieved in a simple and straightforward manner by applying a little hard work.
 

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#26
 

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#27
Obiwan

Bear

Whale

Seal

Stich

Simpsons
 

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#28
 

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#29
Basics
Name: Sylva

Race:
Human
Sex/Gender: Female
Age: Twenty Four
Appearance:
If someone had to describe Sylva in one word that word would almost certainly be scruffy. Her shoulder length hair is untidy cut and will often have mud or other detritus caked into it while her bluey-green eyes are normally surrounded by the dirt and grime. On the whole her face is somewhat sharp and angular and this combined with small tight lips to give Sylva a naturally disapproving expression. She has a small wiry frame with narrow shoulders and hips and only slight muscles.

Clothes wise, Sylva favours simple and practical garb in muted, unflashy colours; often greys and dark green, that help the wearer sink into the background rather than making them stand out. Generally her clothes are in varying states of disrepair, depending on when she acquired them.

Skills
Fighting Style:


Signature Skill:

Major Flaw:

Other Strengths: 2-5 things your character is better than average at doing.

Other Weaknesses: 2-5 things your character is worse than average at doing. The number of items here must be equal to or greater than the number of Other Strengths.

Special Gear

Anything that isn't standard adventuring gear and up to three points worth of magical items.

Biography

One paragraph minimum, no maximum limit. Three mandatory things to include: something to explain how your character's Signature Skill was acquired (natural talent, training, whatever), an example of their Major Flaw causing them problems in their life, and their motivation for becoming an adventurer and taking this job in specific.
 
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#30
Tamsyn Trelawney

General Information

Full Name:
Grand Knight Tamsyn Trelawney​

Nickname(s):
Tammy​

Gender:
Female​

Age:
Twenty-Five​

Race:
Human​

Sexuality:
Heterosexual​

Allegiance:
Donwick and those everywhere who reject the use of magic.​

Appearance:
If someone had to describe Tamsyn in one word it would almost certainly be scruffy. Standing at five foot and ten inches tall she has lean wiry frame and limbs that could most generously be described as gangaley. Her shoulder length red hair is untidily cut and after a few nights in the wild will often be caked with dirt and have twigs or other detritus tangled up in it. Her bluey-green eyes are normally surrounded by the dirt and grime that she uses as improvised camouflage.​

Personal Attributes

Personality:
For the most part Tamsyn is an easy going and relaxed individual who tries her best to get on with everyone around her. She is confident enough in her abilities to not have a chip on her shoulder about needing to prove herself while at the same time being relaxed enough to not be arrogant. She tries to maintain a fairly sunny disposition and is the type of person who will inject a little humour into any situation no matter how dire.​

That said everyone has their buttons to be pushed. For Tamsyn it’s magic. Depending on the vagaries of her mood, the use of magic where she can see it will might produce a huffy, disapproving silence or a tongue lashing that isn’t easy to forget. Those who dare to use magic on Tamsyn will earn her lasting hatred and possibly shouldn’t linger in open areas to often for a while.​

Backstory:
Tamsyn was born and raised in a small and somewhat remote community on the western shore of Lake Larcer. Her childhood was as happy as it could be and largely devoid of incidents of note, the nearby Fort Larcer acting to help keep monster numbers low. What set Tamsyn’s childhood years apart from those of almost every other child in the land was the deeply held belief of her community, namely the belief that the use of magic for any reason was gross breach of the natural order. People who believed otherwise were swiftly and forcibly if needed encouraged to find a home elsewhere.

Like any other child of the toiling classes, Tamsyn was put to work as soon as she was big enough to be more useful than a hindrance. Her parents owned a hunting lodge and she started her working life by helping her father prepare the carcasses her mother brought in. Having suffered from itchy feet almost as soon as she could crawl, Tamsyn found being stuck indoors boring and dull, living for the days when her mother would ask her to be her little helper.

Tamsyn took to hunting like a duck to water, and by the time her tenth birthday passed she was regularly accompanying her mother on hunting expeditions, lapping up everything that was taught to her. By her seventeenth birthday, Tamsyn was a tested and accomplished hunter in her own right. Even her own mother watched Tamsyn’s exploits with a little envy. Life was good for Tamsyn and could have continued to be if not for her ever growing wanderlust.

Despite everything that she had going for her at home and the dangers of a world that Tamsyn now knew to be full of abominable magic users, the idea of being tied to this one small corner of the world chafed at Tamsyn. She tried accept the blessings she had been given, being able to live in a place free of magic, but still she wanted more. By the time she turned nineteen her hunting expeditions had grown excessively long, with Tamsyn spending weeks at a time in the forests around the lake. Sensing their daughter’s unhappiness, her parents arranged for her to speak with the village chief. The chief encouraged Tamsyn to follow her heart and set out into the world, not just to wander, but also to spread the message of the absolution that abstaining from magic could bring. With a new purpose and fire in her heart Tamsyn set out into the world.

For the first couple of years, Tamsyn lived as a wandering missionary, hunting when she could and trading any excess for whatever else she needed at the time. For the most part, people were uninterested in the message she carried with her, although she would occasionally find a soul receptive to her message.

As the years rolled by, Tamsyn began to proselytize less and less. It seemed to her that the common folk needed magic as a crutch in what was a cruel and confusing world. Despite everything she knew about the evil of magic, she felt unable to ask them to give up anymore of what little they had. This lack of purpose left Tamsyn questioning what she was doing and she began planning to return home. Fate however had other ideas.

While she was making her way homeward, winter bit hard and Tamsyn soon found herself low on provisions and coin. With game of any kind scarce she found herself scanning village notice boards for any work that might make her a little coin. One scrap of paper that caught her eye offered a bounty for the destruction of a banshee that had been taking what little livestock still survived. Until now Tamsyn had left monsters to those who had sworn an oath to risk their lives but the gnawing hunger in her stomach was a powerful motivator. The knowledge of how to destroy the more garden variety monsters was something she understood well enough in theory.

That night Tamsyn baited a field near where the beast had last been seen and settled down amongst some scrubby bushes and waited for her quarry. All night she sat, battling cold and sleep till just as the sun's light had started to creep above the horizon her quarry came into view. The very sight of the creature so close by caused Tamsyn’s blood to turn to ice far colder than nature could manage, and she had to suppress the urge to let her arrow fly and run for safety. It felt like an eternity but Tamsyn managed to hold her nerve until she could see the creature’s mouth which was when she let slip her arrow.

When she deposited the creatures head at the local village elder’s door she was met by a reaction of joy and skepticism. The elder found it hard to believe this slip of a woman's claim that she had brought down the banshee by herself. Still, the evidence was there, and pleased with the her work he offered Tamsyn a few more tasks that she completed with relative ease. Once the man had no more work for her, she set off on a new mission, collecting the bounties on the monsters that the authorities didn't have the time, manpower or will to deal with. It felt good to be helping those who had been abandoned by their protectors; Tamsyn often only accepted a token fee instead of the amounts promised.

The first time someone joked that she should join the Hellhounds Tamsyn dismissed it out of hand, but the suggestion planted a seed in her mind that slowly germinated. While she liked what she was doing, part of her wanted to do more. There were plenty of other bounty hunters chasing down the less powerful beasts of the world; Tamsyn realized that by joining the Hellhounds she would have the opportunity to hunt the monsters that she could never face by herself. Her opportunity to join came when a minor noble found themselves financially embarrassed in the face of Tamsyn holding a bag of giant fingers as proof of work done. After offering her a plethora of stuff, Tamsyn named her price as a letter of recommendation.

Joining the Hellhounds was a mixed experience. While she was able to cope with much of the training, the martial combat lessons were tough for a girl who had never swung anything heftier than a meat cleaver before, and Tamsyn had to scramble to make the grade of just good enough. Additionally she was now surrounded every day by people for whom magic was a way of life whereas on the road she had been able to avoid the majority of magic users. While their flagrant violations of the natural order rankled deep in her soul, Tamsyn also knew the Hellhounds was where she wanted to be. She tried to appease her sense guilt of joining an institution where magic use was so rife by reminding herself of all the good she could do and by drawing new red lines of what she would and wouldn't accept.

Her recent promotion to the Rose Company wasn't something she had expected but welcomed as it gave a chance to make the biggest difference to the world and a chance to prove that abominable magic wasn’t needed to fight the good fight.
Strengths:
-Sharpshooter extraordinaire: Tamsyn has been hunting small, fast, fluffy things for the better part of two decades now and she got pretty good at hitting them. While other use magic to aid their shots, Tamsyn relies on skill and years of practice to hit her targets dead on with the first shot.

-Moves like a shadow: Both monsters and animals generally have keen senses and if you are to have a chance of hunting them then you have to move as softly as a shadow across the land. Such is Tamsyn skill a disappearing into the background some have speculated if she utilises some type of magic to aid her which in equal parts fills her with pride and irritates her.​

-Lands on her feet: A strong sense of balance and good coordination make Tamsyn quite acrobatic. She doesn’t get knocked down easily and often springs up quickly if she does.​

Weaknesses:
-Prefers to keep her distance: While her technical close combat skills are more or less adequate to the task of being in the rose company, she in no way matches the level of sheer physicality that most of her compatriots display and in a close quarters situation she can quite easily be overwhelmed.​

-Deep seated belief: Not only does Tamsyn not have any form of magical ability whatsoever, she also has strongly held beliefs that magic and its use is an affront to the natural order of the universe. She will not knowingly use magically imbued items nor willingly allow magic to be used on herself, including vitalis magic. If she gets injured she will only use “natural” treatments to tend to her wounds.​

-Sorry, say that again: From as early as Tamsyn can remember she has had a ringing in her right ear. Most of the time it doesn’t bother her, having long ago got used to it. However the ringing also means that her hearing in that ear is significantly worse than it should be. Stress makes the ringing louder and her hearing even worse which is just really great for someone in battle situations.​

-Barely educated: Outside of hunting, Tamsyn hasn’t had much of an education. She can butcher a pig and just about balance a business ledger if she uses all her fingers and toes but that's about it. As far as she is concerned great treaties or works of literature are just well packed sources of kindling or toilet paper.​

Magic & Equipment

Magic:
Like her parents Tamsyn has no ability to channel magic, not that she’s ever wanted or tried to. As far as she is concerned the use of magic is a flagrant violation of that natural order. However her experiences away from the community she grew up in have caused her to largely internalize her beliefs.​

Weapon of Choice:
A bow. Any bow.​

Gear:
~A reflex bow complimented with a quiver of forty arrows.
~A forty centimetre degen sword.
~A dagger.
~A leather Cuirass and Cuisse (torso and thighs)
~A chain Hauberk (usually kept tightly rolled in old fabric)
~A Bedroll
~A water skin
~A tinderbox
~A length of rope​
 
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#31

Tóra Uønsket
Twenty Three | Female | Norboro Marked | Archer

[bimg=fright|no-lightbox]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/dd/2c/3f/dd2c3f20083ec0b1a6379d9a09ed5815.jpg[/bimg]
POSITION ON MAGIC
Neutral
TIME WITH THE WARDENS
10 months

EQUIPMENT
Armor
Linen Shirt & Trousers, Mail Shirt, Leather Cuisse, Leather Boots

Weapons
Recurve Bow, Steel arrows x 30, Arming Sword, Knife

Other
Bed roll, Water Skin, Tinder Box

SPELLS
None

STRENGTHS
WEAKNESSES
- Distrustful

- Stealthy​

- Reckless
- Survivor​
- Easily manipulated
- Determined​
- Marked

APPEARANCE
Tóra is 5"10 with wirery limbs and narrow shoulders and hips. Her hair is reddish brown, messily cut that looks like it has had lumps hacked off it to keep it short. Her eyes are green. Her markings are a series dark red irregular shapes that stretch from her right hip, up and across her back and on to the top of her left arm. On the rare occasions she does smile her incisors look larger, sharper and generally more fang like then would be expected.
PERSONALITY
Bitter cynicism rules Tóra. Highly suspicious of people’s motives she trust very few people and is far happier in a small group or by herself than surrounded by lots of people. She is highly secretive about being a half breed and fearful of being exposed.

BIOGRAPHY
Tóra’s mother, Talia, was recently married to a warrior of a neighbouring clan when Tóra was conceived. As was traditional in Talia’s new clan, as a childless woman she accompanied her husband on raiding trips where she and the other women provided a rear-guard to watch over the boats and the camp while the warriors were further inland.

On an expedition to the Wildland, soon after the bulk of the force had left on a raid the camp was attacked by a force of Wildlings that quickly overwhelmed the defences. Most of the camps defenders were slaughtered within minutes of the attack. Talia and a few other survived because individual Wildlings claimed them as prizes and forced themselves upon the women Whilst horrific this meant that they were still alive when the raiding party returned and manged to kill the wildling attackers.

Two months or so after the attack Talia found that she was with child and happiness began to find its way back into her life at the thought of having a baby. Nothing untoward was thought of the pregnancy at the time, Talia had laid with her husband since the attack and none of the other survivors had become pregnant. The truth of the matter was aparent within moments of Tóra’s birth and both mother and baby were cast out of the clan after the rest of the village saw the unistakeable markings that climbed up the babes back and along it’s left arm.

Mother and baby returned to Talia’s old clan where her farther was able to use his influence to allow mother and child to stay. For ten years they were grudingly permitted to stay on the edge of the village even though most members of the clan dispised and harassed the pair. However soon after Tóra’s tenth birthday the political balance of the clan changed and the protection brought by Tóra’s grandfarther was lost. Mother and daughter were stripped of the clan name, declared unwanted, forced out of the village and forbidden from ever returning. From that day on the pair wandered the wilds of Norboro following the migrations of the animals that they now depended upon for their survival. This was when Tóra first learned how to hunt as well as developing a deep seated mistrust of humanity.

The pressure of survival honed her skills to a fine point with Tóra’s ability surpassing that of her mother’s within a handful of year. Even so life was exceptionally hard for the pair. Word of a marked child had spread across the clans and most villages were completely closed to the pair. Even the clans that would deal with them treated the pair as pariahs and kept them to the outskirts of settlements. Without the support of others, every long Norboroian winter was dangerous and in the winter after Tóra’s seventeenth birthday Talia fell gravely ill. Unable to provide enough food and at the same time as caring for her mother Tóra watched as her mother faded away and died in front of her.

With nothing left to keep her in a land she now hated Tóra began to wander south. As she went she found that people no longer knew she was marked and as long she was careful to keep covered up she found she could work and trade with people. However when people did find out her lineage she was shunned and hated just as readily as she had ever been in Norboro. Originally Tóra plied her skills as a hunter to make a living but during hard times she started to take on bounties and other contracts to earn coin. By she turned nineteen Tóra found she was living exclusively of the coin made from her mercenary work and decided to give up hunting to become a sell sword.

Over the next four years Tóra bounced around the kingdoms taking on as many contracts as she could, in the process earning herself a reputation as a highly capable scout and archer. The invitation to join the Wardens came out of the blue but Tóra accepted with barely a hesitation, seeing in it the chance to measure herself against the very best and to prove that she was just as worthy as any of them.
 

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#32
Basics
Name:
Race: Human
Sex/Gender: Male
Age: Twenty-Six
Appearance: Image, text, or both.

Skills
Fighting Style: Melee Powerhouse
When it comes to fighting Thor change this name Odinson really puts the hammer down, both figuratively and literally, quite often through someone's skull. While smaller, less generously muscled fighters might use well honed technique to try and gain an edge, Thor prefers to use his sheer strength to smash through his foes


Signature Skill: Doesn’t skip legs day...or any other day for that matter.

What sets Thor out from the crows is painfully obvious. In more contemporary times, a man of Thor’s build would be pulling aircraft with one hand while crushing the skulls of his enemies in the other on the set of a hit fantasy tv show.

Major Flaw: Totally magically deficient.


While almost every peasant can interact with the magical engineers that saturate the world, Thor is totally cut off from them. Know one has been able to say why this is (perhaps the gods felt he had been blessed enough already), but without the ability to muster even the most meagre of magical energies in his defense Thor is especially vulnerable to magical attack

Other Strengths: 2-5 things your character is better than average at doing.

Other Weaknesses:


As stealthy as a brick to the face: While his hulking frame hinders any attempts to be stealthy thor might make, the real problem is in his mind. To him stealth is a cowardly way to solve a problem and this mindset somehow makes him even more visible than he might otherwise be.

Special Gear

Anything that isn't standard adventuring gear and up to three points worth of magical items.

Biography

One paragraph minimum, no maximum limit. Three mandatory things to include: something to explain how your character's Signature Skill was acquired (natural talent, training, whatever), an example of their Major Flaw causing them problems in their life, and their motivation for becoming an adventurer and taking this job in specific.
 

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#33
Sarah Pendleton​

  
As Sarah watched the door slam shut behind Belle it would have been a lie to say that no part of her wanted to follow the blue haired girl out the door. The things that Hazel had told the group were beyond insane, or at least would have been last week. The fact that an undead bint wanting to take over the world could only be stopped by journeying into what in effect sounded like the after life seemed any other than stark raving mad was completely fucked up. In light of that the idea of getting on a plane and getting the hell out the country seemed like an entirely sensible one.

She didn’t because A: she didn’t have the energy to flounce out the door and deal with people trying to persuade her to stay and B: she didn’t want to be undead all by herself. How would she ever explain it to her parents. Mum, dad, sit down I need to tell you something. Remember when Susie Carter said I was an eternal bitch, well funny story. Even if they could accept what she was without trying to institutionalize her, would they ever understand. At least by staying here there were other people like her and someone who knew vaguely what the hell was happening.

Thundering footsteps pulled Sarah out of her thoughts as she reflexively looked to the noise. She wasn’t surprised to see Stanley return alone; anyone who could’ve of made Belle comeback after that kind of exit was probably already working on world peace for the UN. Sarah also wasn’t surprised when Leah was somewhat less than upset that Belle hadn’t returned. Another time she might have told Leah to stop being such a cow but right now she let it slide. Just in the time they’d been in this flat it had been clear that Belle and Leah didn’t get on and right now Sarah didn’t want to be the reason someone else stormed out. Instead she turned her attention to the girl with a Canadian accent that Sarah couldn’t remember hearing speak before.

“No offense but your higher power sounds like kind of a dick if it guided you here for this,” Sarah said before shifting her focus to Hazel. “Honestly I don’t know if I’m in or out right now. I kind of feel like taking on an ancient undead evil in the land of the dead is something I should sleep on so I guess I’m a solid maybe.” As she spoke, Sarah rummaged in her pockets and bag for a pen and paper but came up short on both item“Have any of you got a paper and pen on you so we can write down our emails or something. I plan to get trashed tonight and it’d be nice to be able to contact all of you without having to pay for a missed connections ad.”

  
 

Applo

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#34
Name: Rán
Race: Aasimar
Sex/Gender: Female
Age: Twenty Six
Appearance: Standing at five feet, ten inches tall with pale skin and well defined muscles, Rán cuts a somewhat imposing figure. Her hair hangs down to just below her shoulders and generally has at least one if not more braids in it. At first glance Rán would appear to have jet black hair though those looking closely might notice lighter patches where her natural colour is starting to show. Clothes wise, Rán favours practical hard-wearing clothes that can survive the daily rigors of ship life.

Role:

Strengths:
Weaknesses:


Biography:

Hex colour:
 
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Applo

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#35
Name:
Rán



Race:
Aasimar

Sex/Gender:
Female

Age: 26

Appearance: Standing at five feet, ten inches tall with pale skin and well defined muscles, Rán cuts a somewhat imposing figure. Her hair hangs down to just below her shoulders and generally has at least one if not more braids in it. At first glance Rán would appear to have jet black hair though those looking closely might notice lighter patches where her natural colour is starting to show. Clothes wise, Rán favours practical hard-wearing clothes that can survive the daily rigors of ship life.

Art Credit: critical role: Yasha


Role:
Striker

Strengths:
Water Baby: Years of experience of diving to harvest oysters from the sea floor mean that Rán is quite comfortable both in and under water. She is a keen swimmer and diving beneath the surface while no longer some she has chance to do frequently, is practically second nature to her.

Quite good at throwing things: Through plying her trade as a striker Rán has had occasion to throw harpoons at whales, sharks and really anything big and valuable the ocean has to offer. As such she had developed quite the throwing arm and fairly decent aim. Betting against her in a game of horseshoes would be a mistake.

Welcome to the gun show: Years of regular swimming and general life on the ocean waves have given Rán a muscular physique a professional strong man could be proud off. When sheer brute strength is required, Rán can bring it in spades

Weaknesses:
Does Not sleep well: Rán is not a good person to share a room with if you want a restful nights sleep. Nightmares that have haunted her for most of her life often will often wake her multiple times a night or have her scream in her sleep. It is a rare event to see a bright eyed and well rested Rán instead of a sleep deprived one.

Functionally Illiterate: Between being a future bed slave and becoming a striker, good honest education never got much of a look in on Rán’s life. Her ability to read is based more on recognising the shape certain words and knowing their meaning rather than being able to comprehend a written message. Anything more complicated than the simplest of messages generally needs to read and explained to her. And writing, well the closest Rán gets to writing is making a cross at the bottom of contracts she has signed.

Hayfever:[/U] For as long as she can remember, Rán has struggled with hayfever. While not literally debilitating, Rán’s life is certainly a lot more trying when there is pollen about.

Strong odour:
Unfortunately the liquid that Rán uses to dye her hair has a rather strong and unpleasant odour that tends to hang around for a week or two. For those not use to the smell being in close quarters with Rán for the first time can be quite an unpleasant experience. Also, it doesn't exactly help her keep a low profile.

Marked: The small of Rán’s back still bares the brand of her former master and marks her out as an escaped slave. To certain kinds of bastard, this makes her more valuable a target as they imagine the reward the might collect for returning Rán to her owner.

Biography
While many in Oshanlenor and other parts of the world would consider being of aasimar blood a curse, Rán owes her very existence to it. Her mother, Ursi, was a pleasure slave on a vast estate in Keelibral. Had she been of any other blood, her master would have likely forced her to end the pregnancy. However, in an ugly and perverted twist of fortune, he, still remembered how much he had paid for one aasimar and considered the prospect of a child as a welcome recouping of his investment.

In those early years, Ursi was only a fleeting visitor in Ráns life, kept busy night and day by her duties in the masters house. Time for the pair to be together was scarce, and what few spare moments they did have together would often be spent watching the ships that sailed in and out from the nearby Mirgho’s Harbour. As each ship passed, mother and daughter would tell each other stories about where the it had come from and what it carried. By the time Rán turned seven her childhood was over and she was marked with the brand of her owner and put to work. The fact that she was assigned to help the domestic slaves who tended to the master’s house alongside her mother was no coincidence. One night after he was done with Ursi, her master, in what he considered an act of supreme kindness, had told Ursi that she should begin to prepare Rán for the particular nature of her role soon. Not wanting her daughter to suffer everything she had to, Ursi knew they had to escape.

The plan she came up with was ambitious to say the least. One night, Ursi slipped from her master’s bed and made her way back to the slave quarters where Rán was as usual. This time, however, instead of climbing under the thin blanket with her daughter, she used it to create a bundle of as much food and drink as she could carry. Just as dawn began to inch across the sky, the pair crept their way towards the small private jetty where the master kept his collection of leisure craft. With Rán stashed behind some shrubbery, Ursi approached the guard and began to use everything she had been forced to learn as a bed slave to seduce him. Rather taken with the attention of his employer’s exotic bed slave, the guard was quite easily persuaded to abandon his post in favour of what would turn out to be a fatal rendezvous. It was only a couple of minuets before she scurried back along the jetty, grabbed Rán and practically dragged her to a small dingy where the guard now lay with blue lips and a rope coiled around his throat. With no sailing experience and only a plan to follow one of the passing ships to a new land, the pair cast off from the jetty and slipped away into the early morning gloom.

The plan, of course, didn’t work. After a week at sea, the mother and child had nearly run out of food and water and had lost sight of the ship they had been following. By rights both should have died aboard that dingy. But they didn’t. Perhaps Hisani did smile on the aasimar after all. After two weeks at sea, the half dead pair were picked up by a merchant vessel. It didn’t take their rescuers long to work out these marooned aasimar were escaped slaves. There were those amongst the crew agitated to return the pair for the reward that would surely have been offered. The ship’s owner, however, was an unusually soft hearted man, who took pity on the pair’s plight. He offered Ursi and Rán safe passage Farenthaes and promised to find them positions in his aunt’s fishery enterprise.

The jobs their rescuer secured for the pair were far from easy. Ursi assisted in the gutting and preserving of fish, while Rán, still being too small for much else was assigned to help the small fleet of pearl fishers. Initially, she merely helped with carrying and sorting the collected oysters but as she grew older Rán started helping on the boats while they were away at sea. Soon after her eleventh winter she had progressed to being trained to dive down to the sea bed to collect the oysters. She took to this last role almost as if nature had intended it for her and. While many of the people in the small fishing village had plenty of prejudice against aasimar, they were grudgingly forced to admit the girl had talent. Desperate to impress, Rán threw herself into diving and over following years, striving to go ever deeper, driven on by nightmares of being sent back to the estate if she wasn’t worthy enough. As she developed some small reputation for being useful she also started to be taken on excursions to hunt larger prey such as turtle, sharks and whales.

By the time Rán turned eighteen life was very much different to how it had been ten years before. Ursi had married one of the few locals who didn’t have a problem with an aasimar. Rán’s new step father owned his own business and while not rich, he was wealthy enough for Ursi to be able to give up her job. Rán still adored her mother, but she no longer felt that the pair needed each other as they at once had and she had started feeling restless. Never having forgotten the stories her mother had once regaled her with, or the wonder she had felt when she had first stepped ashore in a new land, Rán found herself drawn to the idea of sailing the oceans of the world.

Ursi wasn’t thrilled that her only child wanted to leave just as she felt their lives had finally become something worth living. However, she also wanted her Rán to have the freedom to do as she wished that being a bed slave had denied her. And so it was, with a kiss and several clay pots of vile liquid that stained her hair black, that Rán walked up the gangplank of a visiting whaling ship. After that initial voyage Rán flitted by between ships, finding pay wherever she could as a striker. She wasn’t overly concerned about whether the crews she joined where legitimate sailors or pirates. A lifetime of being at best, looked down on and disparaged had left Rán somewhat disconnected from what society felt was acceptable. The only ships she wouldn't sail on where those she knew or discovered dealt in selling slaves.

Rán found herself back on Oshanlenor quite by accident when her last ship was struck by lightning and limped into port for repairs. Hiding below deck while the captain organized repairs, Rán drank and then drank some more. The idea to burn down the estate she had escaped from came to her in this moment as a way to shake off the nightmares she had suffered since that fateful night, nightmares of being dragged back there. Fortunately, she sobered up before getting anywhere near her target. Spooked by the thoughts of what could have happened and with her current ship going nowhere fast, Rán started looking for a new crew to get her off Oshanlenor.

When she saw the poster calling for a crew and offering gold and treasure, well it was a lead that she couldn’t ignore.

Hex colour: #4B1​
 
Last edited:

Applo

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#36
Name: Rán

Race: Aasimar

Sex/Gender: Female

Age: 26

Appearance: Standing at five feet, ten inches tall with pale skin and well defined muscles, Rán cuts a somewhat imposing figure. Her hair hangs down to just below her shoulders and generally has at least one if not more braids in it. At first glance Rán would appear to have jet black hair though those looking closely might notice lighter patches where her natural colour is starting to show. Clothes wise, Rán favours practical hard-wearing clothes that can survive the daily rigors of ship life.

Art Credit: critical role: Yasha

Role: Striker

Strengths:
Water Baby: Years of experience of diving to harvest oysters from the sea floor mean that Rán is quite comfortable both in and under water. She is a keen swimmer and diving beneath the surface while no longer some she has chance to do frequently, is practically second nature to her.

Quite good at throwing things: Through plying her trade as a striker Rán has had occasion to throw harpoons at whales, sharks and really anything big and valuable the ocean has to offer. As such she had developed quite the throwing arm and fairly decent aim. Betting against her in a game of horseshoes would be a mistake.

Welcome to the gun show: Years of regular swimming and general life on the ocean waves have given Rán a muscular physique a professional strong man could be proud off. When sheer brute strength is required, Rán can bring it in spades

Weaknesses:
Does Not sleep well: Rán is not a good person to share a room with if you want a restful nights sleep. Nightmares that have haunted her for most of her life often will often wake her multiple times a night or have her scream in her sleep. It is a rare event to see a bright eyed and well rested Rán instead of a sleep deprived one.

Functionally Illiterate: Between being a future bed slave and becoming a striker, good honest education never got much of a look in on Rán’s life. Her ability to read is based more on recognising the shape certain words and knowing their meaning rather than being able to comprehend a written message. Anything more complicated than the simplest of messages generally needs to read and explained to her. And writing, well the closest Rán gets to writing is making a cross at the bottom of contracts she has signed.

Hayfever: For as long as she can remember, Rán has struggled with hayfever. While not literally debilitating, Rán’s life is certainly a lot more trying when there is pollen about.

Strong odour: Unfortunately the liquid that Rán uses to dye her hair has a rather strong and unpleasant odour that tends to hang around for a week or two. For those not use to the smell being in close quarters with Rán for the first time can be quite an unpleasant experience. Also, it doesn't exactly help her keep a low profile.

Marked: The small of Rán’s back still bares the brand of her former master and marks her out as an escaped slave. To certain kinds of bastard, this makes her more valuable a target as they imagine the reward the might collect for returning Rán to her owner.

Biography
While many in Oshanlenor and other parts of the world would consider being of aasimar blood a curse, Rán owes her very existence to it. Her mother, Ursi, was a pleasure slave on a vast estate in Keelibral. Had she been of any other blood, her master would have likely forced her to end the pregnancy. However, in an ugly and perverted twist of fortune, he, still remembered how much he had paid for one aasimar and considered the prospect of a child as a welcome recouping of his investment.

In those early years, Ursi was only a fleeting visitor in Ráns life, kept busy night and day by her duties in the masters house. Time for the pair to be together was scarce, and what few spare moments they did have together would often be spent watching the ships that sailed in and out from the nearby Mirgho’s Harbour. As each ship passed, mother and daughter would tell each other stories about where the it had come from and what it carried. By the time Rán turned seven her childhood was over and she was marked with the brand of her owner and put to work. The fact that she was assigned to help the domestic slaves who tended to the master’s house alongside her mother was no coincidence. One night after he was done with Ursi, her master, in what he considered an act of supreme kindness, had told Ursi that she should begin to prepare Rán for the particular nature of her role soon. Not wanting her daughter to suffer everything she had to, Ursi knew they had to escape.

The plan she came up with was ambitious to say the least. One night, Ursi slipped from her master’s bed and made her way back to the slave quarters where Rán was as usual. This time, however, instead of climbing under the thin blanket with her daughter, she used it to create a bundle of as much food and drink as she could carry. Just as dawn began to inch across the sky, the pair crept their way towards the small private jetty where the master kept his collection of leisure craft. With Rán stashed behind some shrubbery, Ursi approached the guard and began to use everything she had been forced to learn as a bed slave to seduce him. Rather taken with the attention of his employer’s exotic bed slave, the guard was quite easily persuaded to abandon his post in favour of what would turn out to be a fatal rendezvous. It was only a couple of minuets before she scurried back along the jetty, grabbed Rán and practically dragged her to a small dingy where the guard now lay with blue lips and a rope coiled around his throat. With no sailing experience and only a plan to follow one of the passing ships to a new land, the pair cast off from the jetty and slipped away into the early morning gloom.

The plan, of course, didn’t work. After a week at sea, the mother and child had nearly run out of food and water and had lost sight of the ship they had been following. By rights both should have died aboard that dingy. But they didn’t. Perhaps Hisani did smile on the aasimar after all. After two weeks at sea, the half dead pair were picked up by a merchant vessel. It didn’t take their rescuers long to work out these marooned aasimar were escaped slaves. There were those amongst the crew agitated to return the pair for the reward that would surely have been offered. The ship’s owner, however, was an unusually soft hearted man, who took pity on the pair’s plight. He offered Ursi and Rán safe passage Farenthaes and promised to find them positions in his aunt’s fishery enterprise.

The jobs their rescuer secured for the pair were far from easy. Ursi assisted in the gutting and preserving of fish, while Rán, still being too small for much else was assigned to help the small fleet of pearl fishers. Initially, she merely helped with carrying and sorting the collected oysters but as she grew older Rán started helping on the boats while they were away at sea. Soon after her eleventh winter she had progressed to being trained to dive down to the sea bed to collect the oysters. She took to this last role almost as if nature had intended it for her and. While many of the people in the small fishing village had plenty of prejudice against aasimar, they were grudgingly forced to admit the girl had talent. Desperate to impress, Rán threw herself into diving and over following years, striving to go ever deeper, driven on by nightmares of being sent back to the estate if she wasn’t worthy enough. As she developed some small reputation for being useful she also started to be taken on excursions to hunt larger prey such as turtle, sharks and whales.

By the time Rán turned eighteen life was very much different to how it had been ten years before. Ursi had married one of the few locals who didn’t have a problem with an aasimar. Rán’s new step father owned his own business and while not rich, he was wealthy enough for Ursi to be able to give up her job. Rán still adored her mother, but she no longer felt that the pair needed each other as they at once had and she had started feeling restless. Never having forgotten the stories her mother had once regaled her with, or the wonder she had felt when she had first stepped ashore in a new land, Rán found herself drawn to the idea of sailing the oceans of the world.

Ursi wasn’t thrilled that her only child wanted to leave just as she felt their lives had finally become something worth living. However, she also wanted her Rán to have the freedom to do as she wished that being a bed slave had denied her. And so it was, with a kiss and several clay pots of vile liquid that stained her hair black, that Rán walked up the gangplank of a visiting whaling ship. After that initial voyage Rán flitted by between ships, finding pay wherever she could as a striker. She wasn’t overly concerned about whether the crews she joined where legitimate sailors or pirates. A lifetime of being at best, looked down on and disparaged had left Rán somewhat disconnected from what society felt was acceptable. The only ships she wouldn't sail on where those she knew or discovered dealt in selling slaves.

Rán found herself back on Oshanlenor quite by accident when her last ship was struck by lightning and limped into port for repairs. Hiding below deck while the captain organized repairs, Rán drank and then drank some more. The idea to burn down the estate she had escaped from came to her in this moment as a way to shake off the nightmares she had suffered since that fateful night, nightmares of being dragged back there. Fortunately, she sobered up before getting anywhere near her target. Spooked by the thoughts of what could have happened and with her current ship going nowhere fast, Rán started looking for a new crew to get her off Oshanlenor.

When she saw the poster calling for a crew and offering gold and treasure, well it was a lead that she couldn’t ignore.

Hex colour: #4B1​
 
Last edited:

Applo

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#37
 

Applo

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#38

Applo

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#39
 

Applo

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#40


  
As the sound of her horse clattering away got subsumed into general cacophony of the battle, Tamsyn couldn’t help but feel someone's day was about to get a whole lot better. The beast was absolutely magnificent. Even she, an alumna of the hang on to the reins and hope school of riding, could tell that. It was likely worth a small fortune of anyone's money. Still, it wasn't much use to her right now.

After a few kicks she gave up on the door she had been hoping to use. It seemed to have been barred from the inside or become jammed. Either way it wasn’t opening in a hurry. As a substitute the used the handle of her sword to clear the remains of a window from it’s frame. It was a much more awkward entry point, but with a bit of scrambling Tamsyn was able to haul herself through. Inside, she found herself in what looked like the storeroom of a shop of some kind.

After that her ascent up towards the top of the building was mostly easy enough. While the front of the building had been demolished by the dragon, the rear which contained the staircase, was still just about standing. On each landing Tamsyn caught glimpses of the beast and occasionally her fellow Hellhounds through doorways that now opened onto thin air. The final leg of her journey to the roof, via a narrow balcony caused Tamsyn to pause for a moment before necessity and the knowledge that she had made dicer climbs before pushed her on.

Once nestled amongst what remained of a cluster of chimneys, Tamsyn surveyed the battlefield. Already spells were flying thick and fast. The dragon was hitting back just as hard. Right now, Tamsyn had no idea which way the battle was going. It seemed like all would be lost if even one of the dragon’s attacks connected but so far the rest of the Rose Company seemed to be coping. Not wanting to be out done, Tamsyn nocked an arrow and loosed it towards the dragons back. Apart from embedding itself in the scale, not much came from the shot. A second attempt with an arrow designed to pierce steel armour sunk slightly farther in, but again there was no other visible result. Clearly, Tamsyn thought, she would need a alternative plan. She would run out of arrows before she got through the dragon’s armour like this.​