Iron Maidens: The Good, The Bad and The Grumpy; for a bottle full of whiskey and a few bottles more.

This is me, getting ready to 'sign up'

Edit: I did it


R o w a n

"People see the horns and they assume that I'm some kind of monster. Sometimes? I'm not so sure they're wrong."
​
NAME: Francine Rowan Doyle - goes by Rowan
RACE: Tiefling
GENDER: Female
AGE: 27
​
ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral
DEITY: Obanir the Tongue Dripped in Silver
[spoili]"She claims to follow Obanir, but I've never once seen her solve a problem with words and clever banter."[/spoili]
CLASS: Martial-Rapier
BLOODLINE: Beastbrood
APPEARANCE: Rowan has a striking complexion due to an uncommon, yet harmless, skin condition her father attributes to being the spawn of a demon. She has dark, tanned skin with pale, freckled patches over the bridge of her nose and both of her arms. Her eyes are a deep lavender, not unmistakable for gray at a distance. Platinum in color, her hair is long and unkempt. Rowan often keeps her thick locks tied back to avoid any real type of maintenance. Two horns protrude from either side of her head just behind her temples. The base of the horns are gnarled and thick, and they do not point out very far. She is otherwise of average height and a lean build from many years on the road. Typically she can be seen in cropped leather armor and loose fitting tunics.

PERSONALITY: She tried to be good, once upon a time, and play the political social game the high lords and ladies played. No more. At face value Rowan is a crass, but jovial individual. Most people already expect deviancy from her, and so she acts the part. Rowan is happy to give in to her most primal desires, what others might consider unforgivable sins. She indulges in different pleasures with no regard to consequence and blames it on her inherent nature. Drink, lust, coin, they all satiate some kind of desire she believes is a natural part of being cursed. Rowan is otherwise easygoing and indifferent to the stigmas of others race or bloodline.

There is still a small part of her which craves the acceptance of others, or maybe it's attention. Rowan isn't entirely sure herself. She knows what kind of creature she is and she takes no joy in being an outcast. But to display weakness would only open her up to all of society to prod and poke at, and she doesn't like the idea of giving away an opportunity to be wounded, and so she does her best not to care.

HISTORY: There was nothing beautiful or blessed about the day Rowan was born. When she came from her mother's womb and into the world, screaming and crying with her infantile lungs, she was deemed as wicked and wretched as the creature that truly bore her. With horns on either side of her head, there was no mistaking that the infant born between the Lord and Lady Doyle was nothing other than the spawn of a Demon. Having done nothing but live for the briefest of moments, her own mother threatened to declare the child dead and cast her in the river. Some days, Rowan thinks that might have been the right choice for everyone. It was her father, Lord Benedict Doyle, who swore his wife, Francesca, to secrecy for the sake of their reputation. For years, the couple had tried to conceive, praying to any deity that would listen. When their prayers went unanswered, Benedict turned to the only other force capable of giving him what he wanted. And so, through an unholy deal, Rowan came to be.

She spent the early years of her life in relative normalcy in the Southern region of Dorothea. To keep what he'd done a secret, her father would pull his young daughter aside and file down her horns until they were levelled with her skull. But, he couldn't hide her impish nature, and gossip spread that something was wrong with Rowan from a very early age. She had the strong features of her father, and the hair of her mother, but her glowing lavender eyes spun tales of demonic origin.

When Rowan was fifteen, she was sent away with her mother for her unruly behavior. In truth, her father had planned their death as a means to make way for a life with his mistress. She was a pretty young thing with a swollen belly. He had grown weary of trying to hide the truth of his daughter's identity and wanted to put an end to the mistake he'd made all those years ago. Rowan's father paid a hefty sum to a group of thugs to act as their caravan guards, with orders to execute the two women when they approached the border of the Nature's Throat. His plan backfired when the caravan was ambushed by a group of rogue elves. Rowan was just able to slip through the chaos, finding company with a wounded caravan guard. She'll never forget when he told her he'd 'rather live with a hellspawn than die by a flesh eatin' elf'. His cowardice saved her life.

In a twist of fate, Rowan has spent the last decade with her would be murderer turned ally, Esra Thorne, wandering the border between human and elf picking up odd jobs along the way. Mercenary work is nice when they can find it, but the two aren't above pilfering to make a living. She can't help but feel like he'll turn her over for a sack of gold, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Last she heard, her father had three children of his own and was living a bit too comfortably in her childhood home.
 
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R e v a

Lets just keeping moving alright.

Name: Reva (Sylva LeMorrigen)
Age: Unknown (Twenty-six)
Race: Aasimar
Gender: Female

Deity: None (L'étoile)
Class: Martial
Bloodline: Unknown (Musetouched)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Appearance:
Reva has a youthful, lean, but well muscled 5'8" body that is littered with a multitude of scars. Most of these disfigurements seem to be old and minor wounds long since healed. However a pair of jagged red marks running over Reva's shoulder blades seem to be from a more recent injury and still cause her enough pain that she habitually sleeps on her stomach. Additionally her hands and feet are both heavily calloused and more than a few of her fingers and toes sit at strange angles. Likewise her nose has clearly been broken and set multiple times. Despite all of this, the strange and defining aspect of the Reva appearance is her eyes. One emerald green, one ruby red, and both glowing like light shining through glass; most people notice little else apart from them

Clothes wise Reva appears to favour light garments that offer minimal protection but plenty of room to move easily. Her arms are wrapped in leather strips with her wrist being particularly well wrapped and small, thin leather pads covering her elbows. Reva's legs sport similar wrapping but these are covered by a pair of thin, flat soled fabric boots.

Personality:
If there is one thing Reva likes, other than booze, it is to be moving. Confine her in one place for more than a day or two and she will begin to sour whereas on the open road she will be content. When it comes to others, Reva is mostly content to live and let live, although there are a few exceptions. She had little time for bullies and those who would put their boot on the neck of others. People who ask lots of personal questions also get on her nerves.

When she is drunk, which is every night if she can help it Reva can be more of a relaxed, open individual. That said those who try to plumb Reva's depths when she is intoxicated run the risk letting lose the emotions bottled up inside of her or having to listen to her talk in circles about how much she misses Tabbris. At least when she drinks she doesn't scream in her sleep.

When it comes to violence, Reva doles it out without much thought or compunction. Fighting comes as naturally to her as walking and violence or at least the threat of imminent violence is her default method of problem solving. This isn't to say she is a violent lunatic attacking anyone that looks at her funny; just that to standing being between Reva and her goal with no obvious or easy way for her to go around is an undesirable place to be.

History:
Born of unremarkable parents, in a border town that had once belonged to the Delphine Dynasty but that was now firmly under the scaled heel of the Kalesian Empire, not much was expected for Sylva LeMorrigen. She would grow, live, love and die just as near all folk do and that would be all. Sylva's parents realised just how wrong they were the first time they held their daughter. It was her eyes. Green as emeralds, they shone like light streaming through stained glass.

It didn't take long for news that a child had been born with a shining soul to spread. Within a few days of Sylva's birth her parents house had become akin to a shrine to the pious seeking to see and touch a daughter of L'étoile. After that came the town officials and their soldiers. Partly they sought to maintain order, but mostly they acted under orders from Cadeira to claim aasimar child for the Kalesian Empire. To this end they continued to allow pilgrims to see Sylva, hoping that it would gain them the favour of the devout. Finally, the Order of the Morning came.

Appearing as yet more humble pilgrims, the followers of L'étoile took one look at the child they uahd heard so many whispers of and claimed her for their goddess. Those who tried to resist them were met with righteous fire and razor sharp blades. In the chaos and confusion Sylva and her parents were whisked from their house and out of town. Several weeks of walking later, they were brought to a remote temple deep in the Throat. For a couple of years the family lived in a small compound just outside the temples walls but once Sylva no longer needed her mothers breast she was taken inside the temple while her parents remained outside. As far as the Order of the Morning was concerned, their role in the young aasimar's life was all but done.

For the next two decades, Sylva seldom set foot outside of her temple home save for the occasional training expedition. From the moment she could sit she was educated, some would say indoctrinated, in what it was to be Aasimar and what it meant to serve her true mother, L'étoile. Once she could walk, unending training in both martial combat and divine magic where added to the girls daily regimen. All of this was done with one aim, to mold the girl into becoming an Inquisitor. A quasi militaristic section of the Order of the Morning, the Inquisitors were L'étoile's righteous flaming swords dedicated rooting out and destroying the evil and corruption of the world. As an aasimar, Sylva was the ultimate arbiter of her true mother's will, her very soul was a mandate to dispense justice.

By the age of twenty Sylva's training was deemed complete by the upper echelons of the Order. The young babe they had brought to their temple was a fully realised aasimar and had been crafted into a divine weapon of righteousness; The only thing that all those pilgrims who had seen Sylva as a babe would recognise was the brilliant green eyes which still glowed with an ethereal glow. Now it was time for Sylva to meet her destiny.

So it was that for the next five years, Sylva and a group of compatriots travelled the world, rooting out evil and corruption. They suffered losses and setbacks along the way but their faith in the righteousness of their mission kept them going. There was actually something about traveling the aasimar rather enjoyed. Constantly being on the move soothed the one spot in her soul that had really chafed for all those years she had spent confined in the temple.

Things came to a head when Sylva and her companions hired a ship to chase a fleeing out to sea. They didn't realise this was a trap until it was too late. Two other ships loyal to the cultists cause joined the fight and the crew of Sylva's ship was quickly overwhelmed. When the cultists leader set foot on the ship to claim his prize he was not as Sylva and her companions had thought a man but instead a shadowy fiend. One by one, Sylva companions and the crew of her ship were slain until only she was left standing. The fury of an aasimar is a terrible thing, but standing alone against a demon and it followers there is only so much that can be done and Sylva was beaten down and taken prisoner.

The fiend delighted in torturing and tormenting his prize. For several seemingly unending days Sylva endured constant pain as the beast tested her body while at the same time raking her shining soul with unholy rituals. The foul creature didn't seem to be in a rush, and often passed the hours between individual acts of torments telling the aasimar of it's plans. It wasn't just torturing her for the joy of it. It was going to turn her to it own ends; corrupt her soul and make Sylva it's own unholy champion. It's Reaver.

Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps L'étoile couldn't bear to watch anymore, but Sylva never met the terrible fate intended for her. In the middle of the night her floating prison was caught in a storm of unworldly strength and smashed to pieces by the waves. If it was the work of L'étoile then it wasn't obvious if she used the storm to free the aasimar or destroy them before the light of their soul was fully replaced with darkness. Either way, that was the night that Sylva LeMorrigen died. It was also the night that Reva was born.


The first thing this aasimar remember is waking up on a boat, tangled in a rectangle of strangely patterned fabric and coughing up water. A fishing vessel had found her floating on a piece of driftwood and hauled her aboard. She possessed no memory of how she had ended up in the sea or even who she was. When the boat crew asked for her name there was only one word that floated into the near drowned woman's mind; Reva. The crew had more questions for their strange catch but darkness claimed Reva as her body began to pay back the debt it had run up keeping her alive in the ocean.

The next time she awoke, the first thing Reva noticed was that the world was still. She had barely noticed everything had been rocking before but now the stillness was noticeable. Sticking her head out of the room, she had woken up in, Reva found herself looking out into a practically empty drinking hall. After calling out to the one person she could see, Reva soon learned that the captain of the boat that had pulled from the sea had left her with his cousin to recover.

As the tavern owner spoke to Reva, they soon learned that women with one glowing green eye and one dark red eye standing in front of him not only apparently still had any memory of how she ended up in the ocean, but she additionally had no coin or idea of where she should go. After a short while the pair came to an agreement. For as long as she needed to, Reva would work in the man's tavern doing whatever needed doing in return for room and board. So for the next few weeks Reva washed floors by day, served food and drink in the evening and at night drank herself to sleep to the gentle glugging sound off the inn's still; alcohol helped to keep the nightmares that otherwise filled every unconscious moment away. During this time Reva explored her new home town a little and learned it was located on the coast Dorothea territory, but for the most part, the tavern was her world. As it would turn out, it wasn't a secure one.

One otherwise unremarkable night as Reva was serving drinks, a group of armored individuals entered the inn. They were led by a man the Reva recognize as one of the fishermen who had been there when she had first woken up; he looked like he had been beaten to within an inch of his life as he leveled a trembling finger at her. As soon as he did this a knife slid across his throat and the armored figures stepped over his still bleeding body. Frozen with shock Reva, merely watched as the men circled around her with weapons drawn while a more grandly adorned individual approached and grasped her by the face, twisting her head until she was looking directly into her eyes. He smiled at what he observed before letting go of Reva and ordering his men to seize the aasimar.

The first man to touch Reva crumpled to the floor with a broken neck. The second snatched their last breath with their own sword sticking from their armpit. One by one the pattern continued, the armed men falling to the unarmed barmaid till she was the only one left standing, blood covering her face and hands. For a moment the whole world seemed to be silent, everyone's eyes fixed on the terrible scene before someone screamed.

Jolting out of the moment of shock and wonderment at how her own body had moved purely instinctively, Reva ran to her room, seized the flag that had wrapped around her when she was rescued from the sea, before slipping out the inn's back door and sprinting out of town. She knew she couldn't stay there, and the lifeless bodies were only one of the reasons. Someone was sending killers to look for her and a gut feeling told Reva that she didn't want to find out why.

Since that day, somewhat over half a year ago, Reva has wandered the continent of Talvien almost non-stop. On numerous occasions she has found work as a caravan guard which has provided her a chance to practice and refine the eccentric unarmed fighting style that she has no idea how she knows. Reva heard about the expedition from a barkeeper in the city of Cadeira. She barely understood one in three words the man said or what this maddening mist was, but that didn't matter. Reva was looking for a way out of town and one had dropped into her lap. She made up her mind there and then to join the expedition.
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SILPH TANNER

"I make the strongest crafts. My hammers...You don't break it. It breaks you, yah?"​


Name: Silph Tanner
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Deity: Akadum
Class: Martial

Appearance:

Silph makes for a striking figure. It is mainly her large, muscular build that impresses upon the mind, with her tall stature and brute strength certainly nothing to scoff at. She counters this with pleasantly built facial features, cerulean eyes peering out with an uncanny shrewdness, and a square face framed by twin, blonde braids. She dresses in the styles of the North, more so out of convenience rather than a misplaced sense of patriotism. Her current hammer "Bonesmith" remains strapped on her back at all times.

Personality:

Silph is a woman grounded by tradition. Groomed in the remote villages of the North, she is extremely conservative and generally opposed to new ideas that have not yet stood the test of time. She is not open-minded in the least and does not care to be. Her God and her principals have served her well so far, and she does not believe she should ever have to change on the whims of others. Her view of others can be prejudiced until she gets to know them, as she tends to regard all strangers alike with a general disdain, especially non-humans. Barring that, Silph tries her best to be an agreeable person, though certain other qualities make that difficult.

An ambitious blacksmith with few business scruples, Silph is distinctly blunt and to the point; she does not care for meaningless jargon and is quick to express how she feels on a matter, preferably in as few words as possible. She radiates self-confidence; self-assured and headstrong, Silph takes pride in who she is. Rough at the outset, but a formidable ally to any who make the effort.

History:

Was she a gift from Akadum in disguise?

One night, twenty-six years ago, as snow fell against the temple of the All-Forger, a babe was left at the temple steps. Nigh but a newborn, the priests who discovered her were as much perplexed at her arrival as the child was. Nevertheless, they blessed her as a child of Akadum. Coincidentally, a blacksmith and his barren wife came to the temple to pray for a child. More evidence of Akadum's doing; child and parents were paired, and blessings were imparted even more heavily on the child.

That's the story Silph was told growing up, anyhow. It was an attempt to explain the innate gift the young girl had for forging weapons and armor, and her father - bless his humble heart - knew that there was more than his tutelage grooming the girl's skills. From the time she was old enough to walk, Silph spent most of her time at her father's side at his forge. By age 12, she was strong enough to make her own pieces without her father's help, and by age 15, she had her own supply of customers. Northern Diane was in sore needs of her talents, and she willfully supplied it, her pieces along with her father's ware. The remote village she hailed from had never had a young woman like her. It both intimidated and intrigued the local men; one man named Homep went even so far as to propose to her. She toyed with the idea for a year, but ultimately decided it was not a good decision business-wise. No man was brave enough to try again.

Sometime after her father passed, Silph took her travels outside of Diane. Competition from local blacksmiths was fierce. In an effort to heighten her own abilities, the Northerner begrudgingly agreed to weapon enchantment lessons from a dwarf named Gojarmon. Gojarmon was a notoriously ruthless instructor; his disdain for both humans and women blacksmiths made his tutelage particularly challenging for the young woman. But Silph was not to be deterred. By some grace of Akadum, she succeeded in her lessons and returned home. By the following summer, she had more than a formidable amount of wares under her belt, and she now seeks to sell them across Talvien and expand her business.

Trade:

Silph is an accomplished blacksmith, with her trade firmly centered in Diane's capital city. Her specialty is hammers. She advertises them as "the best skull-crushers in Talvien", and she's more than happy to demonstrate them on any hard surface. Other weapons and armor feature in her collection as well, some as general stock, others as special orders requested by soldiers and other well-paying citizens. The staple quality of her products is their durability. Once a year, she takes her finest weapons and armor on tour throughout Talvien by way of caravan. She at times sells her wares through Cadeira to the Lizardmen - who continue to buy en masse, despite her open dislike of them.
 
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We so cool
 
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