"I'm not a dead man yet. If I'm still breathing, I still have a chance to make it out of this."
Name: Jorin Adelas
Birthplace: Redstall, Yveltskr
- Iron Axe
- Hand Axe
Appearance: Broad-shouldered and muscular as an axeman should be. Facial hair is scruffy, but clean. Stands at about 6'2.
Cynical and bitter
Speaks with an aggressive tone
Stubborn and determined to survive
Biography: Born as a poor commoner, Jorin left his home village of Redstall the moment he came of age, seeking to join the king's army and make a name for himself. The sergeant took one look at the swarthy village lad, handed him an axe, and told him to get in line. When the war broke out mere months later, Jorin made like a good soldier and fought as he was told to.
Unfortunately, he fought for the wrong man. Jorin and his fellow soldiers fought like men possessed in Roidnell II's army, but by the last few months of the war, they realized there was no victory to be hand. Not eager to be captured and condemned, what remained of their unit deserted, disappearing into the woods and hills. As career soldiers with no other skills than warfare, they fell back on banditry, becoming highwaymen and preying upon those who traveled the roads.
Over the past year, Jorin has tired of this life, especially as army patrols have whittled down what remained of their band of soldiers into a scant handful of highwaymen. He seeks an escape from being a wanted man, even as most of compatriots have resigned themselves to taking what they can and dying like dogs.
Quirk: A decent chef. Can be relied on to be camp cook.
OSS: A former soldier turned highwayman looking for a way out.
"Having the strength within is just as important to have without."
"I am young, but do not mistake that to prove me ignorant to the world. I am a warrior through and through."
"...Surely you jest..."
"Umm... is it.. That hard to tell?"
"I ride astride my magnificent ride! Ehm, s-sorry..."
"Home is where the heart is, so they say. But do they mean metaphorical, literal or in a romantic sense...?"
"I need a new whetstone.."
"..Will you please clean off your boots."
A young man with a pleasantly soft demeanor and a glow that gives of a sense of him being anything but a true born, raised and trained knight. Standing a bit shorter than his brothers and sisters in arms he has a tightly wound yet trim frame.
He prefers to keep his dirty blonde hair to his ears and out of the way of his blue eyes, and strives to keep himself clear of any dirt, to a point he will actively avoid tramping through mud and dirt when on march.
A neat freak and one who has a tendency to fuss over their personal cleanliness, now twofold with the plague about. Despite his fussiness towards dirt he is a rather stalwart friend finds great embarrassment towards his rather feminine facial structure, he truly cannot help cringe and sigh if one ever makes the mistake, not often attempting to correct them at the moment due to many rather unpleasant exchanges that ended with "then fucking prove it!"
Which ended with a barren chest and a extremely reddened face.
Aside from that one would find, as a friend, him to be very easy to convince of things, he truly believes in ghosts and spirits, faeries as well are ranked rather highly in believably for him. Despite his immense fear of ghosts and monsters he does nothing to prevent others from putting yet another terrifying tale in his head...
But one might find his traveling luggage suspiciously covered in handmade wards against spirits.
In general, one would find him to be an honest person, if a bit naive, and gullible, but he is a through and through honest person. One who can't lie to save his life, is earnest and well meaning in whatever he does and does his best to put his best foot forwards. However, he is also prone to having his perceptions easily swayed by the words of those around him, contradictory statements aside if it sounds reasonable, or is argued to a point, or is a side he never truly thought about a person before, he finds himself inevitably curious about it and accepting of such a fact.
As such... gossip tends to be a weak point for him, and keeping said gossip hidden is... next to impossible.. he means well, he just has next to no filter.
One might also consider staying far from his wyvern, a immense beast amongst their kind named Ferice, it boasts a terrible temper and a glare that stuns those of faint heart. Roland swears he is nothing but a big baby and loves being cuddled... But nobody has the bravery to perform such as of yet.
It may be said that while he does not find Laguz to be particularly of note, he sees them as dangerous as any beast but knows at least some have some worth and value as people should they be civilized. he however has a... strange fondness for laguz and Faye ears... A strange adoration of them that he can barely hold back when faced with a chance to touch them. if the opportunity presents it'self, he will touch the ears, not a pinch or pull but a light caress and rub that has causes trouble on occasion with several servants and staff who had such.
Born to a lesser noble house, made that way by the tides and turmoil of war's way of uplifting(and occasionally burying) those with a proclivity for violence, young Roland was born as the seventh sibling of the Durand household, the youngest of the line and little brother to six older sisters he was often treated with mixed attitudes by his siblings, some used him as a doll in their games, some ignored him entirely, and some treated him more or less as one treats a rather darling little brother, by dotting over him.
For his rather stunning features persisted even as a child causing no end of turmoil for the growing boy, religious types would count it as a blessing, more rambunctious kids would pick and tease him for it, young girls would to for decided different reasons that were lost in the turmoil of prepubessence. Nonetheless, he grew and grew as all children do, until the day he would become one of the warriors who fight for the kingdom!
And indeed he did! Just as his father and mother did, though his mother found much disappointment when he didn't take up the berserker path as she went so many years ago. He followed his big sisters, while kept from their class due to his sex, he took up and bonded with a wyvern instead to be with them in the skies. Ferice, however, is not something to be glanced over, in fact that Wyvern looms very well over most men, his weight class aside the two met during the trials, where most trainees would find the wyvern with whom they would soon bond with... or fail trying.
Ferice himself is a older wyvern, several years of failed bonds and all but being a rather unpleasant and frightful being have left most to write him off as a lost cause, bets to be left alone and focus on other wyverns who boasted better potential for bonding. When it came down to Roland's turn the two ending up bonding, and sticking with it, a few event coincided to bring them together. The first being Ferice had just finished a rather large dinner and was quite content with laying down and sleeping off the meal in it's belly, a it had gone on this meal binge to nurse a wound on it's heart after being spurned by a lovely lady wyvern it had it's eyes on... Finding out by walking(Read flying) in on her and her new mate mid deed...
Second coincidence is that it was a cold day and Roland was wearing a rather nice fur coat.
While these things seem unrelated, the fact that Roland attempted to walk up to the huge sleeping wyvern and subsequently got somewhat wrapped into a pseudo hug by the sleeping and somewhat chilly wyvern, ending with Roland finding the sweet spot of JUST where to scratch under Ferice's chin, slowly began their long term friendship... Once Ferice calmed down after realizing somebody was currently making his leg twitch like a dog being pet.
Over some years, he gained the trust of Ferice through mutual understanding, lots of snacks, and playing wingman to get the scaled ladies. They have yet to succeed, but Roland has always been there for Ferice.
A absolute master of the sewing needle.
A naive young nobleman with a heart full of wonder and head full of curiosity.
Has a deep love for all Laguz and faye ears, protect yourself around him or at least cover them. This love came from two maids who took care of him as a child, one a cat laguz who was rather smitten by the little noble, the other a Faye who sadly had to relent and allow her ears to be touched lest the little baby cry. Not quite crying these days, but he still does quite enjoy ears sharp and fuzzy.
Has a love of sweets and candy, though often worries about his teeth after eatting them.
Equipment: Partisan- a lance that can parry axe strikes. Light and easy to use, it is one of the Havenbrook family's heirlooms.
Appearance: Beatrix's platinum blonde hair is long, but not as long as seen in the picture. The tip of her braid reaches just above her tailbone. Her hair gets a little darker as it gets towards the tips. She stands at 5'9 and weighs 141 pounds.
Personality: Beatrix is an even-tempered woman. While she isn't one to start arguments among her peers, she will immediately approach someone who does something that goes against her morals. She believes that she can change anyone for the greater good, which, of course, falls underneath Yveltskr morals and beliefs. Yveltskr's friends are hers, and its enemies are her own. This leads people to believe that she is rather blind to the corruption that litters her beloved nation, even if it stares her right in the face.
She rather talk things out than fight. While she is proficient with her lance, Beatrix dislikes spilling blood unless she has to. She has a soft spot for those who struggle from day to day, such as beggars and poverty-stricken families.
Biography: Born under heavy protection by her own family, Beatrix was the newest addition to her lot of 8 siblings. As the youngest sibling, she was always overlooked. She was able to practice her swordplay without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, she was not very skilled at the blade. Even under the teachings of a ornamented mentor, she was not able to improve. It was only when he swapped her sword with a lance that Beatrix grew as a warrior.
Beatrix continued practicing over the years. Her parents noticed that she shrunk away from womanly duties, but her father would rather focus on tending to her brothers and her mother preferred to groom her sisters for marriage. It was only Leonhardt who noticed her flame. He decided to kindle her passion, and before she knew it, she was put to fight against Roidnell and his army in an attempt to overthrow his regime.
Ultimately, Leonhardt and his men were victorious. Leonhardt was crowned king, and an era of peace befell Yveltskr... at least, that was what people would think. When the plague began to copulate in the mists, the new king sent Beatrix and her initial gathering of brave men and women on a journey to find a hidden treasure.
Quirk: Is an avid sleep talker.
OSS: A gold-hearted woman intent on completing a quest for her king and country.
"Ready your blade, and ready your senses. Not that it'll matter; how do you expect to overcome the wind?"
Name: Chidori Tsubasa
Age: 21 Gender: Female Race: Sollan
Birthplace: Gikoku, Jinwon, Kugawa
Equipment: Wo Dao
Appearance: Chidori wears a pair of simple sandals, and is rather short, at 5'0''. During downtime, she often wears a small, simple kimono.
Chidori is woman whose secret wish is to be known as the best swordswoman in the entire world. A lofty aspiration, she's aware, but if anyone can have such a title, why not her? Everything she does, she does in name of this goal. She's quite defiant, ready to jump straight in, straight at anything in her way; in spite of not particularly caring about "what is right", this mentality often means she'll rise to the occasion. As such, she's quite reliable, despite her selfish nature, as she's not one to simply settle. Chidori's average disposition is one of callous snark. She's easy to talk to, but not incredibly easy to befriend. And god forbid you get in the way of her goal..
Chidori's family are humble farmers, eking out their otherwise simple existence in Jinwon, Kugawa. Living in their quaint home out on the wispy fields, the Tsubasas prize unity and peace. They're known as a tranquil bunch, not once producing any sort of soldier from their family. The people around have known them to be farmers since forever, and, truthfully, really rely on them. So to say Chidori is vastly different from her family is an understatement. She's free-spirited, energetic, ambitious, and, frankly, rather haughty.
Due to this, she was restless in the farmer lifestyle, always butting heads with her peaceful folks. One day, unbeknownst to her parents, she traded a large barrel of vegetables meant for another to a passing stranger for a spare sword. Uncaring of the ramifications of that action, she took her new prize and got to 'training'. Which of course was just swiping it around, without a clue as to what to do.
After a few swipes, however, she was quickly winded. That's when she realized she needed a master. So, it was fortuitous for when that merchant who that barrel of vegetables was meant for rolled around. After a loud scolding from her father, Chidori took her sword, agreed to work for the merchant for a bit, to pay off the difference, and departed her home. Eventually she found a master, within the Ryuubi Clan. The first Tsubasa to aim at being a soldier of sorts.
Unlike her fellow Ryuubi Clanners, Chidori turned out a bit unusual. She had no aptitude for archery, and according to her, she 'wasn't built to ride horses'. Thus, she was taught to use the sword, and no more. Her master started with switching out her sword for another; the previous being far too heavy for her, accounting for the heavy toll it took to swing. With this new lighter sword in hand, Chidori quickly picked up swordsmanship, her skill with the blade impressing, due to having quite the light, swift step. Earning her the nickname Chidori of the Breeze.
Quirk: Chidori earns coin as an entertainer; she's a dancer with swords and ribbons.
OSS: A proud girl whose swordsmanship imitates the swift wind.
Other: She'll quickly feel a rivalry with any other primary sword users. She loves to practice ribbon-dancing, or training with her sword under the gentle sway of a tree. Sakura trees are her favorite, in particular, often napping under them; something that very much embarrasses her.
"You won't find my name in any tomes, but I assure you, I'm the Realm's number one chronicler of magic... *mumbled*..Or I want to be."
Name: Aris Hexiandra "Hexia" Caligari Shadowlove
Age: 18 Gender: Female Race: Sollan
Birthplace: somewhere in southern Yveltskr, within the Eternal Eclipse coven (though at least one of her parents are Torne)
Appearance: Top center of her back is tattooed a decorative, peculiar ring. Hiding beneath her sleeves are countless magical markings she draws on herself in her spare time. Her legs, too, are also used for impromptu spell scribblings. She also aggressively changes her nail color, almost ritually so.
A slightly daft girl whose self-proclamations are liable to draw a laugh rather than admiration; among her coven, she's more known for her ditsiness, and isn't taken very seriously at all. Hexia, in general, likes to make grand declarations and indulge in wild tests, chasing some foolish fancy that captivated her in that moment; often becoming frustrated and downright pouty when disbelieved or ridiculed for such antics. So much so, that she can go from being her natural peppy self, to being a little sour raisin within the span of a few seconds. She has a certain disdain for naturally-gifted and naturally-charismatic people, as well as, those who treat her like a joke. She's also a bit put-off from intellectuals, calling them 'smarty-pants' (yeah not original). Regardless, Hexia is known to bounce back quickly, readily facing all of life's challenges. And so long as you don't make fun of her, she's quite easy to get along with, assuming you can handle her halfwitted responses. Yet, that may just be her unique charm.
Hexia's coven exists near the southern border of Yveltskr and Tornabraux. It currently resides in the former, but was established within the latter ages back. The coven migrated from Tornabraux, finding hiding within Yveltskr a bit easier, due to having pissed off a rival coven, creating enemy magus that would kill them on sight. They've since been in Yveltskr for around 20ish years, with many of their younger magus being born within Yveltskr's borders, which includes Hexia herself.
Her coven is known as the Eternal Eclipse. Unlike their fellow Sollans around them, the coven instead worships Lorelei's antithesis: Xhavaos. A god that's apparently related to Kugawa's pantheon, where he is known as the god of wonders. However the ancient texts the Eternal Eclipse possess spin a different yarn, defining him as the god of night. Whereas the world beyond generally prefers Lorelei's light illuminating the world, Hexia's coven would prefer the eternal night that Xhavaos would bring. Why? Well, to them, the god and his religion, represent magic to its fullest, and extols the afterlife in a place called the Road of Shimmers. It is explained as a mystical night where the magical sages of the past continue to thrive, watching in all their wisdom on those below. Which is something her coven greatly respects and believes in.
Anyway, moving on.. Hexia tends to be the joke of the coven, drawing much ire from the stuffy, serious elders that run it, and providing an endless amount of amusement for the younger, less stuck-up crowd of magus. She's simply not taken too seriously, with the random musings she has. Furthermore, she wants to be known as the Maledicius. A -no- the loremaster of the Realm and all the Realms. The Maledicius is recorder, augur, and spell-writer; the best the world has ever seen. It is said they will write a spell-book to end all spell-books: within its infinite pages will hold all the mysteries of the world, and all magical knowledge. It is Hexia's dream to become the Maledicius, which of course, everyone in the coven mocks greatly. Even the Maledicius within Eternal Eclipse is nothing but a mere imitation of what the real thing could be -a loremaster in name only. However, Hexia will not give up! She will venture out from her coven and make her dream a reality! She'll show them! She'll become the real Maledicius, and turn them all into believers!
Quirk: Hexia's not great at much, but she's the best spell-book writer you'll come across. Oh, and she's got mad calligraphy skills as a direct result. Let her write notes and letters, they'll come out beautifully. (Just tell her what to write.. if you want it coming out as coherent, intelligent speech.)
OSS: An optimistic and intrepid young shaman with the goal of being the go-to magus for everything magical, though one who, admittedly, seems inadequate for such a prestigious position.
Other: Even though she's Yveltskr, Torne, and Sollan, Hexia doesn't view Laguz negatively. She just never had the energy to put to hating on them. If anything, she finds them rather intriguing, viewing them as a magical anomaly. And all things magical she's fiercely interested in. Speaking of which, one of Hexia's favorite things is the moon, she draws it, spends nights staring at it, etc. Even diligently working on something that is going extremely slowly due to the incredible difficulty it is of accomplishing such a monumental task -creating a spell from studying it; that she intends to call Xhe'ndra. The moon represents the stages of life, and is an immensely powerful magical object that channels powerful energies.
Ultimately motivated by his own personal motives and objective, Dustice possesses as cold a demeanor as the steel that he brandishes. He follows the common theme of the countless hired swords that roam the land, taking on any sort of job no matter the grime, seeking to fill the ever-emptying pouch on his belt through the thrill of battle. His acquisitive conviction follows only the promise of the highest bidder. The young man has no particular quarrel or fondness with the established powers of the many realms, but he is a discriminator of the Laguz as a result of his past experiences.
Opting to travel on his own as opposed to being tied to a mercenary ring, Dustice shows a level of discomfort in the presence of others, suggesting a meekness that is often disguised in silence. Steadfast initiative is the wielder of his weapon, and he is willing to be the first to dash into combat if it means that he may protect his people from harm. While the journey in his life has tightened his heartstrings, he is very much a kind and delicate person deep down, as much as he refuses to admit it.
Dustice will always vocally count up his gold one by one, coin by coin, for any transaction, whether paying or receiving. He will postpone this if the present situation demands his attention.
Dustice Nastrond was born in Eastern Kugawa, namely the town of Hangshing situated in isolation within the territory of Keneung. His parents were loyal retainers to the Quanwei Clan, and served as advisors to Zhong Mei, the Yellow Dragon of the East. Though, only a fortnight had passed after the newborn's birth before a great betrayal blindsided the clan. The turncoat, known among his former clansmen as Jian of the Falling Star, kidnapped the newborn among the secrets of the Yellow Dragon, swiftly eluding their pursuit and smuggling onto a trading ship across the Twilight Sea. Jian would look after the boy for the three weeks' journey before their voyage came to a head at the port city of Houndsreach, leaving him at the doorstep of an unassuming establishment and vanishing into obscurity. Nettle Nastrond, one of the establishment's finer purveyors, stumbled upon the crying infant, and decided to raise the boy as her own, naming him after her grandfather.
The young boy had a decent upbringing even through his foster mother's occupation, having learned of the brothel and her association at an early age; Dustice was a mama's boy through and through, practically glued to her hip all throughout his early life as if she was his mother by blood. It took much mustering of confidence for him to come out of his shell, slowly starting to play with the other boys and girls in the city after befriending those of his mother's coworkers. While he took on the odd job as a farmhand or two, those prospects did not excite him as much as the prospect of learning swordplay and venturing across the realm, which the mercenary guild of Houndsreach advertised. Alongside some of his childhood friends, they would receive instruction from the master of arms at the guild, forming their own group and making their own way for the time to come.
Four years had done more to wear their prespectives of the land and the shady characters that inhabited it, and the group would soon find themselves offered too good a proposition to deny; there was a rallying of sellswords for the rebellion against the crown, and boasts of great fortune to come as the civil war intensified dramatically. In those next three years, Dustice would grow numb to the loss and heartache accompanying the destruction of war, being the only sword standing among his childhood friends when it came to an end. The promises of wealth from the victorious dissidents remained unfulfilled. When the young man returned to his home in Houndsreach, he was informed of the disappearance of his mother, and came upon a note instructing him to 'find me in Kugawa.' Desperate for the coin to heed the abductor's command and learning about the foreign nation's blockade of travel from Yveltskr, Dustice is still searching for a way across the Twilight Sea.
A cold collector of coin who is searching for his mother. Distant and somber, yet benign in spirit.
I'm open to a lot of things, but my comfort zone usually involves medieval and modern settings, with varying degrees of realism and fantasy. I like to explore mature themes, not for the sake of sex, but just because I like it when a character has to actually stop and weigh their options.
Genre You DON'T Like
Romance as the driving force of the story, but especially het romance. It's best as a subplot.
"That those who live in opulence decide the fate of the realm while the rest of us toil for sustenance is nothing short of a disgrace."
Name: Isra Asari
Birthplace: The Sun Marches
Equipment: Iron Bow, Vulnerary, Short Bow
Appearance: As the picture, hair as bright as the summer dawn, but with a vambrace to protect his arms and probably a simpler hair-tye that doesn't stand out so much. Isra is as much a stranger to a long march in the wilderness as he is to a clothier in the isles: his appearance can be anywhere between fashionable and tidy to rough as disheveled, depending on the time of day.
Personality: Somewhat on the serene side when alone, focused in battle; Isra tends to shy away from conversation and let his arrows do the talking when appropriate. When he does speak, he typically does so in a soft tone. Known to have a sense of humor when conversation drifts toward the subject of his appearance, and rarely shows any sign of anger outside of a few specific subjects. Can be affectionate once no longer inclined to maintain his distance.
Biography: Born to a pair of traveling sellswords, Isra grew up with few attachments that couldn't be tucked away inside a sleeve. One could say the entire band had their part in raising him, teaching him the difference between different styles of human bootprints, how to track beasts and prey, and the various plantlife that grows in the wild, but one quickly learns what it means to be a sellsword when, one by one, familiar faces are no longer present at the dinner table, and are replaced by new ones.
Each spring was a season of travel and exploration, each summer one of scouting for locations to settle between jobs, and in the autumn the band would prepare for a long winter... until they ended up back in Tornabraux one year. Isra was seventeen years old, prone to wandering off on his own when he didn't have a job to do. By chance, he'd made a friend somewhere out in the Sun Marches, and made a point of visiting them whenever he could.
One day, Isra got pulled from his supply-gathering duties to assist in a job, escorting a merchant caravan across the border with their cargo. It was a simple enough job, even factoring in an ambush from the local guards, but catching a glimpse of just what the cargo was sent a chill down Isra's spine. Of course, being the youngest one present, everyone else from his group already knew, they were trafficking captured laguz across the border.
A mercenary's lot in life is to fight and die on the whims of those wealthy enough to hire them. Isra intends to die setting things right. As such, the group that departed that day for an easy job never returned: the mercenary commander's son lie strewn in the sands with an arrow in his back and two more in his chest, and the other two accomplices met a similar end. As for Isra...
He scavenged what he could from his fallen, former companions, pocketed their portion of the payout, and walked away. Upon finding that his friend no longer showed up to their meeting place, Isra left Tornabraux entirely. Five years have passed since that day, and for all of Isra's time wandering the wilderness and civilization alike, he has found neither a home nor inner peace for himself, nor even an inkling of how to change the world for the better. But as the the land itself is ravaged by war and plague, his heart will not allow him to remain idle and detached from society any longer.
Quirk: Can sometimes be found on his own, playing a mandolin. Not averse to playing on a stage, but doesn't believe he's talented.
OSS: A restless traveler in search of a cure for the plague.
Other: Laroche's Dead Men is a culturally diverse group of mercenaries known to sink to any level for the right price, made up mostly of sollan and faye warriors. Led by Dolan LaRoche (A Hero to someone, surely, but not most), the group tends to adopt outcasts and orphans and mold them into warriors.
Althea, Dolan's daughter, wields a sword. She doesn't know who killed her brother Gordon, but if she sees Isra she's going to want answers blood.
Isra's birthplace was Tornabraux, but his parents were not of Torne blood.
"I might be a servant, but at least I'm proud of who I am."
He doesn't have one for now. Taking suggestions lol
Name: Amaroq or "Roq" for short Age:
Laguz - Beast - Wolf Class:
In a small run down cottage located just outside the mines of Copperspine, Yveltkr Equipment:
Appearance: Roq stands at roughly 6' tall. His most notable features are his silver/white hair and fur along with his amber eyes. He also has scars on his back from his time working with other slaves in the mines when he was younger. The mark on his face is a tattoo given to him by his parents before he was sold.
Personality: Amaroq despite his position in Yveltskr is a fairly energetic and chipper individual. He learned from his parents that things can always be worse; facing the world with a smile and never letting the masses bring you down would help keep his will strong. As a Laguz, a noble wolf, he had to remain strong and know that things would and could get better. It was thanks to them that he was able to learn to appreciate what he had, learn what sacrifice truly was, and helped strengthen him for the troubles he'd face in a society that thought of Laguz as less than.
Even so, Roq takes pride in who he is, and even pride in his place as a servant to the Durand Family. In his eyes, they are a good example of the good that does exist in a society where his parents taught him that monster's do exist. It could be because of their kindness, or any of the other factors that influenced his upbringing, but he has grown strong, kind, and fiercely loyal. He is almost always willing to help and put his life on the line for the people that he cares for. He is strong-willed, brash, optimistic and confident with a willingness to learn all he can. Overall, Amroq is a good companion, ally, and if you give him a chance, friend.
Born in Copperspine, Amaroq was introduced to his life of servitude fairly early. His parent's master was "kind" enough to allow his mother time off from the mines while his father worked double time so that she could raise Roq peacefully. However, from the moment he could walk, the little wolf was allowed to help. He would move rocks from the front of the cave, help serve scraps and refreshments over breaks, limited though they were. As he grow older and taller, he would begin to move inward taking on heavier labor in the mines. Roq was dedicated, doing his job with a smile, a smile which would infect many of the workers. They were slaves, but they were proud Laguz and if a child could keep his spirit so would they. Life was simple; it was hard, but it was good. He worked with his mother and father, rarely got in trouble and that made him happy.
Things took a turn, however, when he was 7. He was helping out in the mine, grueling work. It was hot, and he was sore all over. He tried to push on through with a smile, but it was getting harder all the time. Maybe he'd been too naive before. Their master was growing more impatient all the time and asking for more materials from the mine. Maybe things were terrible. He wanted more than to spend all day working to the bone.
Maybe things wouldn't get better. It was as these thoughts were growing stronger that the cave in happened. He and a number of other slaves were trapped, including his father. His mother had been outside the cave luckily. The casualties ran high that day. But many made it out with little more than a few injuries, and later on, scars.
Amaroq was bedridden after this. He's took a number of blows which would result in a plethora of scars over his back. His parents, worried for his safety and wanting more for him, decided to try and get their master's daughter to sell him. She was a young woman who'd grown close to them and other slaves due to her kindness and caring demeanor. She agreed, but wasn't sure her father would look for the best owner. They were okay with that, so long as his life wasn't in jeopardy in the mine anymore. By the time he was back on his feet and work ready, his parents had spoken to him. A buyer had been found. He didn't want to leave though. His father told him to be strong, his mother to be brave. Above all, face adversity with pride.
This was how he came into the possession of the uncle of a one Roland Durand. He traveled with the man for a bit. He did odd jobs for the man as they traveled until he was gifted to the Durand family of which the shady man was a part of . Roq was worried that he was gonna be mistreated, but it turned out to be better than he'd ever expected. As Roland's servant he learned to fight, acted as a companion, and spent almost all of his time with the young man. He was also gifted new clothes and some light armor of which he uses on his legs and arms.
Roq picks physical activities up scarily fast. Dancing, cooking, fighting, etc. And he's always ready to try and pick up something new! He can't read though. He pretends like he can. But he can't.
With the moon in his sights, you won't find it easy to ruffle this wolf's fur.
His nickname Roq is pronounced like "rock"
He doesn't like people playing with his ears without permission. He rarely if ever gives permission. That goes double for his tail. Yes. That also goes for Roland.