Final Fantasy:The Aeon Wars - Roleplay Adventure Setting

REQUIREMENTS/RECOMMENDATIONS:

Number of players: 1 to 4.
Knowledge: Basis of stapple fantasy elements, capacity to handle unique and outworldly concepts.
Ideal-but-not-required: Familiarity with the Final Fantasy franchise (1990 - 2009), Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 (presented by Wizards Of The Coast), The Lord Of The Rings (by J.R.R. Tolkien), Ravnica Saga (presented by Wizards Of The Coast), Wakfú - Tv Series (presented by Ankama Productions), WarCraft Saga (presented by Blizzard Entertainment), Tales Of Eternia (2000), Dewprism (2000), and the Diablo Saga (presented by Blizzard Entertainment).

MAIN PLOT:

The world is about to change. We have seen it, as the unstoppable comming of a tide. It happened in the past, but you can't remember it, for many things that shouldn't have been forgotten were lost. But we of the green realms recall the time before oblivion, and we still hold dear the memories of TayBalé, your beloved world. There was a time in which the peoples of the world brought it to an splendor beyond your thoughts and dreams, a time of understanding and vanity. In this vanity, greed nested and violence nurtured and as peace fled the world as the spring chased by winter, the lands were infested by war and blasted to dust by the underserved god-like might of the first peoples. In the pinacle of madness, the ancients awoke the very soul of the world, bringing their own downfall as the world took all evil and wickedness and vanished it beyond reach and memory. And, for a time, the world was cleansed, for the weavers of fate cursed those who lingered with oblivion. Then the world grew green again... but not everything was lost...

One step at a time, the crave for power returned to the heart of the mortals of the world, and soon their eyes shifted back to the sights of the past glories they had left behind. The world was anew, yet small fragments of the former glory of the ancient times had been spared and these became mighty relics among their hunters and seekers. Aeons were they called eventually, grand mages among wizards and sorcerers, and some came to be worshiped as gods of mortal flesh, for it is said their power grew divine enough as to be able to shift the course of stars on the night sky with the movement of a hand. Soon, this power became the spark of a new fire. One by one, Aeons contested their powers against each other, seeking to be the ultimate winner and the last standing, and their struggle reshaped the very landscape of the mortal realm. Many perished under the mythical displays of power of the Aeons, and soon only an small number of them remained to decide the fate of the world, their ultimate prize. But the ashes of the soil, and the withering of the green around them shown these few, the wisest and mightiest amont these flesh godlings, that their quarrel was about to destroy what they desired most. And so, in utter silence, the battle came to an end, but war lingered, taking a new shape, as the Aeons were now to face a foe unconsidered until now: time. For even when god-like, the Aeons were far from inmortal, and time withered them away as all the other things in the mortal realm. This time, Aeons would allow the weavers of fate to decide who would be the one to outlast all their peers, or who would bend the will of these ultimate judges with it's cunning, might, or lore...

And so another age of the world was gone, and the Aeons became legend, and their legend became myth. A child's tale for bed time, and a piece of lore for the scholars of the world in these times of flourishing, your times. Many still worship the lost gods and spirits that dwell on the peaks of the snowy mountains, and in the dark deeps of the world, yet their names have been lost for most. But now something new is about to happen. The wise forgotten ones have readed it on the stars, and the spirits of the old world have foretold it. It comes swift to this shores in the shape of a nameless fear. Rumors spread across the sea of a shadow of steel trampling everything on it's way. Rumors of ships sailing on the skies, of beasts crafted by hammer and anvil, of bows that sing the songs of many archers alone, of wonders that have not been seen since the ancient times, and of a dread lord annointed with a crown of steel and the fairness of an angel of death leading an army that shall reshape the face of TayBalé once more. A man, came out of a nightmare that is brought forth with him. May this emperor of steel claims lordship over the land, no one will be spared and all life should be his, until the end of the world itself. The Aeons know this. They have seen it as the new tide of change. Some have the intent of joining this change, while others plan to oppose it. And some... have broodings of their own, awaiting the right time to blossom... in the turning tide of history...

The question now is... what will you do? Either if you desire it or not... either if you imagine it or not... even the smallest and humblest person can change the fate of it's world, and these are your days... this is your story. Be it with sword, or bow, or axe, or staff... or a bare hand... it could be that in your fate lies... the turning point of a new page in the last Aeon War and in the history of your world... for best or worst... for doom or glory... this is your destiny... and your finest hour approachs... in this... your true... Final Fantasy.

OVERVIEW:

Inspired on the Final Fantasy series (specially in FF Tactics, Tactics Advance, and FFXII), The Aeon Wars puts the player(s) on the last stage of the millenarian war between the Aeons as a an unknown new foe seems to threaten the order of this new age of peace and flourishment for TayBalê. While keeping the Final Fantasy title, The Aeon Wars is a completely stand alone title with little-to-no connection with any of the games of the Final Fantasy series, with the exception of the elements that are stapple and common to every single Final Fantasy on it's own as the chocobos, moggles, summons, classes, and the ever present crystals. Explore a new world of magic and wonder, unravelling secrets from ancient times and leading the ultimate fate of TayBalê as a champion of myth or a villian of legend. Drama, comedy, romance, and adventure of epic proportions with the unique deepness trademark of the series with a brand new setting for exploration based on the classical Dungeons & Dragons, The Aeon War is a setting to be the delight of those who dream to reach for glory on the times of medieval legends... and turn it into their true.... Final Fantasy.

IN-DEEP ENCYCLOPAEDIC AIDS:

1) The Races Of Menorias.- Aside from the stapple races present in most fantasy themed stories such as humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, orcs or goblins, the vibrant and colorfull region of Menorias is home for some new additions (some which are as well present in other Final Fantasy games with slight adaptations to the current setting) that could easily make the player elections far more exotic, enhancing it's playing experience. Here we present some of those options:

1a) The Amaru.- the ever travelling caravan wanderers of the Rhun'Madias Desert in the northwest of Menorias. The Amaru are tall reptilian humanoid that resemble egyptian snake gods who many believe mistakenly of demonic origin due their resemblance to some fair looking fiends. Haughty and vain, they are among the greatest armed warriors and martial mages, and also the sharpest traders. Thought dwelling on the desert land, they are quite fond of water and dwell usually near an oasis. Their legends say they once held a grand empire over the sands, but The Weavers Of Fate cursed them with oblivion after the awakening of the world spirit. They are the race with the longest life span on the entire region of Menorias, even beyond the elf kin.

1b) The Viehra.- the ellusive trival rangers from the high and cold steppes on the Nordial Mountain Chain in the east of Menorias. The Viehra resemble humanoids with rabbit or hare features, such as their upstraight long ears, their long limbs, their slender and gracile frame, their clawed fingers and toes, and their elongated feet, possesing heightened senses and rumored to have the ability to hear "the sound of spirits". Tribalistic and druidic, Viehras are rarely seen out of their cold domains and those who abandon them to seek a life among the other races are seen as outcasts among them. Most Viehras ever seen are female, and this is so widespread that some rumor that Viehra male do not exist, but Viehras denny this, thought they seldom talk at all.

1c) The Abeil.- the industrious and relentless dwellers of the underlands below the Ashturian Plains on the West of Menorias. The Abeil are insectoids of roughly humanoid form with traits proper to wasps and bees, having a cast based social structure akin to both bees and ants, sharing a hive mind interconnection with the mastermind queen. Dogmatic and zealotic, the Abeil are known as fanatic cultists which drives to serve their queen on their worship for her has no parallel on the surface. Their prowess as builders and stonecrafters rivals with the one of the dwarves themselves, but is far more bent into utilitarism and practicity rather than art and artistic expression. Peacefull and logical people, they can become quite fierce and suicidal warriors if they live of their queen is threatened or the task bestowed to them hindered.

1d) The Darfellan.- the brave seafarers of TayBalé who dwell in the mysterious islands beyond the coasts of Menorias and temporarily in the portual towns of the West, like Carona. The Darfellan resemble anthropomorphic hybrids between a human and an orca, having their glossy skins in patterns of white and black, a set of four nostrils on their forhead, a trilobed cranium, external adudition appendages called accustines, and a muscular tail. Many bardic songs sing of their legendary prowess as captains or navigators across the seas, and while slightly slow due their thick frames on land, they make astounding bare handed fighters. They are among the smartest beings on Menorias, and many of their scholars have became people of reknown. They say they are able to "see the shape and color of sound", but this claim keeps unproven.

1e) The Aegyl.- the indomitable skyfolk, lonely dwellers of the mythical Sympla'Gathens, the city above the clouds. The Aegyl are humanoids with feathered wings that sprout from their backs and certain parts of thick scalish skin similar the skin in the legs of birds, and feathers intermingled with their hair. Living in tribalistic societies, the Aegyl are scarcely clothed and each individual wears a unique and complex warpainting. It is said that they are absolutely incapable of expressing emotions as they seem cold and distant between each other and to strangers and yet, they are among the most talented bards and artists across Menorias. Thought capable of flying, they avoid flat ground as it is painstainkingly difficult for them to take flight from ground, as their frail bodies, designed to lessen the weight, lack the needed strenght for such. They have very short lifespans in comparation to humans, living roughly the half of a human life.

1f) The Gria.- known also as the wandering and lonesome drakefolk, the Gria are distant descendant of the red dragons and, as such, keep on their appearance many hints of their draconic ancestry, as their horns, tails, wings while also hinting traits of an mixed elven heritage. Considerably stronger than a human, capable of flight at will and firebreath, a dragon's trademark ability, it is actually unknown from where the Gria come for they lack a country or culture as a whole, always scattered as lonesome wanderers, rendering their numbers in quite scarce. Many of them say they are seeking the road home to a fabled land that can only be reached by crossing "the golden road of the sun in the waters". Unfortunatelly, the Gria have been hunted down by many mages under the premise they have dragon blood, considered a mighty magical element capable of many miraculous feats.

2) Places Of Interest In Menorias.- The Menorias Region is but an small part in the entirness of TayBalé as a world, yet it is full of interesting and mysterious sites that the adventurers constantly visit on their many travels, and which are bound to be part of the player's travels at one point or the other. Here is an small listing of some of the most important places on Menorias:

2a) The Keep-City Of Ashturias.- The cultural center and heart of Menorias, the Keep-City Of Ashturias is located in the Western half of the region. It is the home nation of the Hume (as humans are called on TayBalé), ruled by the Ashturian Royal House, having King Corhnell and Queen Jaenyrieth on the throne. Primarily a hume country, the city houses people of many different races from across Menorias, keeping them safe due it's huge fortress shape, which pratically encases the entire place inside a wheel of stone with long beams that separate the city in 12 districts, having as center the Royal Plaza in which the Palace Of Ibhraldan is located.

2b) The Nordial Mountain Chain.- A cold an unforgiving land, the Nordial Mountain Chain runs from North to South making a natural barrier in between the forestlands to the West and the grand ash waste to the East. On it's NorthWest lies the GateTown of Wampi'Imul, an important trading point on Menorias and entrance to the undergound dwarven realm of Khazden Amrhoss. Is also the only place at which other races may contact the ellusive Viehra, for their hometown on the high pine forests at the skirts of the mountains remains a secret even on our days. Wampi'Imul is located under the shadow of one of the tallest mountains of the chain, named The Heart Of Frost due to what seems an everpresent storm cloud veiling it's summit. Many legends weave around the fabled summit of The Heart Of Frost, yet no person on it's sanity dares to climb it up to prove them as true or folly.

2c) The Dressthan Blightlands.- A thunderous and perpetually mystied valley which borders the only known way through the mountains to further East without suffering their unbearably cold wrath, the Dressthan is a vast marshland that reeks on decay and death as the overflowing mix of the river of flame and the once natural mako fountains blend, creating a poisonous fume that suffers no living being and craddles no breathing creature. Now homeland of those who live no longer but linger into existance, the Dressthan Blightlands would be overrun by ghouls, wights, vampiric spawns, morghs, spectres, and other horrors beyond the grave if it wasn't by the rule of the collected and philosophic Lich King Golgothir, self annointed prime minister of the Black Citadel of Phorzuul, home of the necropolitans at the center of Dressthan. However, not even the most devouted minions of Golgothir dare to thread further south to the mountain wall, fearing the lonely Dam Of Fulhmeth, a place of dread even for such nightmarish beings.

2d) The Rune'Madias Desert.- To the north, crossing the Ashturian Guardwall that limits the domain of the hume kingdom, expands a vast desertland of shifting golden sands that only the brave and seasoned travellers cross on their own. It is the home of the ever wandering caravans of the Amaru Clans, who gather eventually on the Nash'T'Mook Ruins further to the North, the last remanent of what once was the capital of the now lost glorious Amaru nation, temporarily ruled by the clan who wins The Grand Contest each 100 years. However, the most pursued location in Rune'Madias is, without doubt, the wandering Madiasitte Camp, known across all Menorias as being the heart of unrestricted commerce in this part of the world. Still, even the daring merchants of Madiasitte do not dare to travel to further to the East, fearing the proximity of The Gate Of The Ancients, door to the underground Chinkanan realms of Khementhren, where most have been lost forever, and those few who returned left their sanity behind.

2e) The Karubias Sea.- To the futhermost west of Menorias lies the grand Sea of Karubias, gateway to the lands beyond and to the Woonplek Islands, the tropical and colorfull sanctuaries of the Darfellan, where the reknown sea masters create their seafaring masterpieces, for not only the ancient elvencraft can rival the perfection and endurance the darfellan ships have proven by challenging the most terribly sea storms. Then again, not even the most daring darfellan captains would lead their vessels into the proximities of the Leiriel Lighthouse, a titanic stone tower of unknown making and otherworldly craft that showers the night at the open sea on an eerie blue light, said to be haunt by forgotten gods of ancient times, as there is no way in or out from it. In the night, it's light can be seen even on Carona, the most important port city of Menorias, well known for being the homeland of many treasure hunters and relic seekers.

2f) The Mines Of Khazden Amrhoss.- homeland of the dwarvenkin, Khazden Amrhoss is the underground realm where the dwarven forges work non-stop to craft wonders in jewel and metal alike, as the grand craftmanship of the khazad has reshaped the dark hollows of Menorias' undergrounds into a realm of angular shaped palaces and cities of many levels, full of the soft and dim light of many hearths, for the khazad are fond of the heat of their forges, even when not bending the shape of steel and silver and their precious mythril with the mighty strike of their hammers. The halls of Menereth Dorin, heart of Khazden Amrhoss, house the throne of King Noeren, The Metalwright, and the grand forge of FireAnvil. Daring and bold, even the dwarves know that there are places off-limits for them as horrors from the shadows such as the dreaded mind flayers roam to the south underground of Menorias, and to the northermost limits, the tunnel leading to the Twin Towers, where the dwarves say a self styled lord dwells on it's own broodings in good terms with the king himself.

2g) The Jungles Of Mayalong.- a massive rainforest deep to the south of Menorias, the Jungles Of Mayalong house many of the wild peoples of this world, as tribal Uruk, the green orcfolk, the Troll headhunters and the stealthy Viashino, the lizardfolk. A wild and untamed land full of creatures that refuse to acknowledge the passing of ages and eras, Mayalong is the dwelling grounds of creatures that can no longer be found at any other place on the world, and which numbers dwindle with every passing year. Warchief Lar'Kheg of the WoodFang Clan claims domain over this vast green expanse, and to him answers the fluvial port town of Kol'Thur, perhaps the best known place in all Mayalong, a place of whispers and legend, where rumors speak many marvels of the mysterious land, such as the stories of the fair and alluring tan skinned and green haired feys of the jungle, that come and go, spreading witchcraft and miracles, and passing unnoticed and mistaken by most.

2h) The Skycity Of Sympla'Gathens.- perhaps the biggest remanent of the long gone glories of the ancients, Sympla'Gathens is the silent monument to the might and lore of those who once dwelled on TayBalé and proof of the veracity of the myths that speak of the fabled Nashig, who shared with the ancestors of the Aegyl the secret art of creating the material known as "cloudstone", which had the supposed magical property of making things to float in the air. Sympla'Gathens is a vast collection of floating golden isles made entirely by a craft that no longer exist, with materials which even their names are now lost. Ruined and dissarranged, the Sympla'Gathens surface levels serve as the base of the homes of the Aegyls, which they call fahnells. Very few come to visit the skyfolk for very few have the means and they are not fond of strangers in this sanctuary of solitude, nor their god Baradiel, who they claim is pretty much as alive and real as each of them is.

2i) The Wastelands Of Vernomh Argoth.- The ultimate barrier that separates Menorias from the eastern continent of Azuma'Táo, Vernomh Argoth is a vast ash wasteland with smoking vents of molten lava and a lake of fire that is given birth from the heart and spewings of Mount Ashmodhan, the twin of Raging Mountain, this last one located on the Nordial Mountain Chain, giving birth to the saying of Menorias "Twins alike in temper, twins alike across the river of fire". The slopes of Mount Ashmodhan and the surrounding underground homes the vast and ever breeding legions of the goblins, the spidertamers, enslaved under the fiery will of Kheren'Hollark, Dragon Lord of Ashmodhan, who dwells on the very heart of the volcano. Here the goblins work endlessly to appease the temper of their terrible master by digging all sort of precious things and tributing them to the dragon, hoping for him to remain asleep as more as possible, for when the fire mind rests, the goblins have a breath of peace, but only a few dare to attempt scaping the ardent grasp of the ancient dragon, for even when asleep, he seems aware of everything that breaths and lives on his ashen domain. From time to time, goblin scouts are sent to Raging Mountain, seeking to steal as much as possible from Wylaff, the copper dragon that dwells on it's peak, for it seems Kheren'Hollark and Wylaff have an struggle as old as both mountains.

2j) The Bashorian Woods.- The silent and mysterious country that separates both the sand lands and the Ashturian Plains from the slopes of the Nordial Mountain Chain. In the heart of the Bashorian Woods, concealed by spellcraft proper of the ones of the green realm, lies the majestic city of Calen'Bashó, where the abode of Lady Tempelleth'Narndil of the Calla'Quessir, Misstress Of The Eldalie of Menorias, seats in the canopy of the ancient Miruvel First Leave, the eldest among the trees of Bashó, nest of the grand eagles and skywatch of Narndil herself, for she is known across the ages as Elen'Tiriel, the Star Reader. Fair are the folk of Calen'Bashó, with their homes far from the ground, built in harmony with the trees, and friends they are of everything that breaths and grows, like the treants and the feyfolk that dwell in freedom, hidden from unfriendly eyes. Seldom foreigners walk on the misty and leafy grounds of Calen'Bashó, but those who come back from it are never the same again, and deeply rue leaving such timeless grounds. Most of the time, travellers feel blessed enough to meet with the silvan rangers of Bashó, silent guardians of the forest that will ensure that no stranger harms the forest needlessly, scorting the lost to safety, and driving off the unwanted.

2k) The Abeil Nectar Fountains.- Nobody knows where the heart of the underground hive of the Abeil truely lies, nor how far their tunnel works expand under Menorias, but surface exits can be found in many sites across the entire continent, known as Nectar Fountains. The Nectar Fountains, middle sized crops of giant flowers the Abeil harvest for nectar and other uses and green houses for rare and exotic herbs, are a welcomed sight both for weary travellers and wandering merchants, for the industrious beefolk's herblore is certainly unmatched even among the elven herbalists. Here they brew day and night a porridge of which only they know the secret and real name, thought it is commonly known as "ambrossia", for it is said it's properties go beyond medicine, and it's very taste is quite deserver of being the feast of a god. The Nectar Fountain located at the south of the Keep-City Of Ashturias in the Ashturian Plains is most visited by the halfling of the south.

2l) The Farmlands Of Golden Blanket.- To the south of the Keep-City Of Ashturias, deep in the Ashturian Plains, lies the hills of Golden Blanket, where the tiled ground sprouts in shades of gold and green under the caring hands of the halfling in their peacefull day by day. Not among the masters of war, or the greatest mages, the halflings have many of their kin who have, however, made a name as keen and cunning adventurers, but the fame of Golden Blanket lies on the peace and the caring hands of the little folk that have tamed the land in a gentle way, and which in return bears fruit to their labor like no other place on Menorias. Rarely is Golden Blanket shaken by an event greater than a mighty storm or a travelling gossip, and it's dwellers like it that way. Many who seek to take a breath from the world and it's many changes spend a time on Golden Blanket, but rarely stay for long. Excelling in the kitchen, having the best production of ale and wine, and perhaps the best selection of pipe weed, Golden Blanket is currently managed by Minister Jeremen Surepace, and thanks to him, in more than excellent relations with the hume of Ashturias and the Abeil Queen Jananeeth, who always sends her best regards to him and his people.

2m) The Moogle Network Outposts.- Existing in almost every city of Menorias and TayBalé as a whole, the Moogles have became masters on the art of long distance messagery and have grown in relevance on the civilized world due their haste and reliability as accurate messengers and deliverers. It was the necesity to excell in this task that led them to the eventual mastering of the art of breeding one of the fastest and more common transport beast that exist on Menorias: the chocobo. This has earned them the title of "Chocobreeders", as they specialize in raising select breeds of the fastest kind, many who had been acquired for racing purposes. It is common for this reason to find an chocobo stable on each Moogle Network Outpost, be it on a city or a "Mogpoint", as this little people address certain points of interest on their own map. It is rumored that they are, perhaps, the only specie on TayBalé who have wholy charted the entire world.

3) Example Player Characters.- Here is an small list of playable characters made exclusively for this setting as to bring an in-deep example and inspiration for the creation of your own characters for this setting. This characters are ready for use and you are more than welcomed to use them or take basis on them to make your own for this or any other fantasy themed setting:


NAME: Melamea Manu'Tenil
CLASS: Cleric LVL-1
JOB: Novice Priestess Of Luindwar
RACE: Elf
ALIGNMENT: Cruzader (Lawfull Good)
FAITH/BELIEF: Elen'Zoul
AFFILIATION: The Doves Of Luindwar
AGE: 112 (born on 05D/09M/898AEF)
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 5.58ft/1.70m
WEIGHT: 65kg/143.30lb
EYES: Turquoise
HAIR: Golden Blonde
SKIN: Pale Light
HP: 9
DP: 10
MP/MPD: 3LVL0, 2LVL1+1LVL1
STRENGHT: 9(-1)
DEXTERITY: 11(+0)
CONSTITUTION: 12(+1)
INTELLIGENCE: 12(+1)
WISDOM: 15(+2)
CHARISMA: 13(+1)
APPEARANCE: 14 (+2)
BODY FRAME: Slim
SPEED: 30ft/9.14m PR
ATTACK POWER: -1
WEAPON: Gnarled Quarterstaff (1d6/x2)
DRESSING: Luindwar Doves' Caster Blue Robes
BACKPACK: Waterskin, Lembas x1, Flint & Steel, Tent x1, Lamp Of Luingil
CASH: 40 Gill

BACKGROUND: Daughter of Eardallen, The Shipwright, and Calenoleth, The Herbalist, Melamea was brought to the world of TayBallé on a unusual warm night, and the world felt a little more blessed with a new eldar breath upon it's vastness, even when Elen'Tiriel had seen a dire task in body and fate for this child. Much feared Melamea's parents for the shadows to claim their only child upon the forebodings of the Lady of Miruvel, but stranged were their hearts when the seer comforted them by telling them not to fear death for their child, for it was life which would be a far more daunting task than the realms beyond mortal existance. And true were the words of Elen'Tiriel, for many trials had to endure the frail vessel of Melamea's soul during her earliest years, almost as if the valar resented the descent of such a pure soul into the realm of mortality, wanting to claim it back. But she fought with a bravery of spirit rarely seen in someone so young, and lingered into the world to see another daybreak, and many years. It was upon the arrival of her 35th anniversary, still an small child in the eyes of a hume, that she stood under the grey and dry rain of dead leaves of a fading mallorn tree and listened to it's last will. She returned to her parents to tell them the story of the tree amid her sorefelt mourning, and they knew there was no lie on her words, for she spoke of ancient souls unknown to her, who had now finally returned to the lifestream into the heart of the world. A prodigy for a child so young to be chosen by ancient souls to listen a last will, she earned the name of Manu'Tenil, and willingly she was prepared for the service of the Elen'Zoul, for such a keen atunning the mysteries of the unseen world could not be allowed to pass unnattended, until her age allowed her to become a Dove Of Luindwar upon reaching her 70th anniversary. There she learned the secrets beyond mortality and the wisdom that is passed down through the ages to those who devout their life in service and plead to greater causes, and never before she had felt more blissfull of feeling herself a wheel in the motion of the grand design. It was only a few months ago that her company was called to assist in the west to the hasty and forgetfull hume, and she elected to be the leader and a diplomat voice of The Lady in the lands of the hume. A part of her mourns leaving behind the green realm, but another yearns for the change and the new sights. And so she departs, with the pendant light of Luingil on her hand, the march of The Blue Company begins, ignorant of their fate, in route to the Keep-City Of Ashturias. Little does Melamea imagines what sort of destiny awaits her past the doors of the hume homeland and which shall be her role on the turning of the tide, for, sometimes, even the strongest grip on a sword cannot compare to the delicate touch of a healing hand.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: A fair young eldalie with a frail body, Melamea's sight is a blessing upon the eyes of the weary traveler and the content host alike, as it is the case of all who behold the elvenfolk. She is seen mostly wearing the Luindwar Dove Robes, a hooded coat of a deep blue as the skynight with borders of silvery white that seem to glow on the dark when light reaches it. It keeps the triangular patterns common to the practiciones of the white arts on the hood edge and as frills on the edges of the small cloak that is set upon the shoulders. A winged brooch with the crest of The Doves Of Luindwar is set on the chest as to hold the robes over the simple white and black dress under it, of which only the white skirt and a black flap can be seen on the opening of the robe that starts in the waist zone. Light, but endurant are her leather boots and rarely is she seen without gloves of white silk on her hands, as many other details from her body that she seems to zealously conceal from the eyes of most, leaving only at the extent of imagination the hidden graces nature might have bestowed upon her as a fair child of the elf kin. Slightly paler than most elves, Melamea's hair is rather puffy in contrast to the lankness of her peers, which makes her hood to look stuffed as she keeps her hair short and no longer past the line of her neck and her back. She has a particularly delightfull voice, but rarely sings aloud if not for a sung prayer to the Elen'Zoul. Is common to see her brightening her way around in the darkness with her lamp of Luingil whenever she wanders by night, afraid of scaring anybody with her silent steps when in deep thought.

PERSONALITY: Reserved and gentle, Melamea has an ardent desire to relieve others from their suffering, as beholding it only rekindles the memories of the days in which pain was a part of her everyday life. She have savored pain way too much for like desiring it on others and, if it was on her hands, she would erase such a concept as a whole from the very pages of reality. Kind, yet silent, Melamea is a person of order, planning, and few words. Some would even say there is an otherworldly air on her that makes her apart from people. So close and yet so distant. And yet, when she sees wrong done on the innocent, a flame of resolution is set alit on the calm and starry night of her soul. She knows strenght lies not on her arms, and that she is frail as a frozen flower at the mercy of a cruel winter, and yet she would not suffer injustice, even if this means taking action beyond reason. Bitter is the taste of powerlessness which has humbled her heart, yet not the strenght of her spirit, which is held in high regard and grace by the ever watching Elen'Zoul. Daughter of a shipwright, a part of her heart flutters at the mentioning of the vast oceans beyond the west, but mostly her love lies in the leaf and the root and the seed that grant taste to a meal or take the misery from an ill body, as her mother taught her from young age. And even when many see on her a wisdom beyond her age, her patience for uncertainty and dissarrangement is certainly scarce and even when loosing her temper, it takes too much to break the icy wall of her composture, solid as the Nordial Mountains, for she is a child of the good earth, and the warmth of her soul lies on everything solid and reliable as the foundations of the world.

FAMOUS QUOTE: "Do not think so high of me: I am no greater than the dry leaf that stumbles on the air, trying to give you a passing shadow of rest. Do you feel better now?"

THEME SONG/MELODY: "Twilight & Shadow" from "The Return Of The King Original Soundtrack"


NAME: Eerlik Evontuur
CLASS: Swashbuckler LVL-1
JOB: Deck Fencer of the frigate Seeboodskapper
RACE: Darfellan
ALIGNMENT: Benefactor (Neutral Good)
FAITH/BELIEF: Walvis-Ma
AFFILIATION: Crew of the frigate Seeboodskapper
AGE: 15 (born on 04D/02M/995AEF)
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5.84ft/1.78m
WEIGHT: 88.24Kg/185.72lb
EYES: Emerald Green
HAIR: --
SKIN: black and white (heldhaftig cast pattern)
HP: 11
DP: 16
MP/MPD: --
STRENGHT: 13(+1)
DEXTERITY: 16(+3)
CONSTITUTION: 13(+1)
INTELLIGENCE: 18(+4)
WISDOM: 10(+0)
CHARISMA: 14(+2)
APPEARANCE: 17(+3)
BODY FRAME: Muscular
SPEED: 20ft/6.10m PR (40ft/12.19m UW)
ATTACK POWER: +4
WEAPON: Cold Iron Masterwork Falchion (2d4+6/18-20 x2)
DRESSING: Custom Sharkskin Set (+3 Defense)
BACKPACK: Waterskin, Laverbread x1, Tent x1, Hooded Lantern, Flint & Steel, Lekvel Oil Can x1
CASH: 240 GILL

BACKGROUND: Despite the cheeryness of the young darfellan, the life of Eerlik was prologued by the tragedy of Brodverbloem, The Hunter. A man of the sea, Blodverbloem was known among his kin as the unequaled bane of many horrors from the oceans of the world and, as such, was held as a hero of living legend. Only the grace of Maanlig, The White, was capable of making the fiery warrior to put spear and blade aside in favor of love and peace. Alas, short lived was their bliss for when Brodverbloem was asked to put aside peace to protect his own kin, the sahuagin, evil creatures from the depth that hold no love for the darfellan, raided Brodverblom's homeland, seeking to enact an orchestrated revenge upon the brave hunter for the many shark kin lives he had taken with blade and spear. Much harm did the sahuagin, and yet none compare to the treasure they stole from Brodverblom, and his rage found no similar across his kin upon finding his wife missing in the clutches of the evil shark kin. It is said that the night after Brodverblom departed alone in his suicide quest for rescue, sea on itself wept the loss of many lives and bleached in red, for Maanlig, the beloved, never came back. But the widower had not came back alone, for on her last moment, Maanlig had granted him a lifelong reminder of their love, one Brodverbloem would treasure for the rest of his days and make a sworn duty to protect to end of his life and beyond. And so the hunter left once again spear and blade while book and spoon replaced them, for he had now a mouth to nurture in body and mind. This is how the tragedy of Brodverbloem ends, and the story of Eerlik Evontuur begins. Having putted aside the hunter, but uncapable of abandoning the call of the seas, Brodverbloem became the captain of the Seeboodskapper, a heralding frigate, bringer of whispers and commissions from all around TayBalé, and the young Eerlik, grown among the creaking wood and rumouring tides, took quite a liking for his privileged life abroad as his mind, nurtured with tales of wonder and mistery from lands afar by his father, longed for such marvellous sights and his heart, not unlike the one of his father at his youth, craved for adventure. Little would one suspect that, at the tender age of 10 years, Eerlik would had already seen his first share of adventure, among which the scape from Baron Tronckh's castle and the rescue of the young and fair hume Lunegond, the Baron's daughter, are among his personal favorites. Ever since, Lunegond became part of the Seeboodskapper crew and quite fond of Eerlik, for he was born with the fairness and charm of his mother, and the braveness and wits of his father. This particular feature became quite an ally of the young darfellan in many adventures and, sometimes, the only weapon with which he had to battle the odds before him, like in one occassion in which the seasoned Brodverbloem fell victim of the poison of a seahag, and only Eerlik and Lunegond could get the cure on time by outwitting the uruk warchief Lar'Kheg's personal witchdoctor on a riddle contest. Only two years ago, the wanderings of the Seeboodskapper took Eerlik to the fabled East Heaven Kingdom, known as the realm of sorcerers, on the little known continent of Azuma'Táo. There he met with Singh'Kei, a wandering nezumi rogue who at first tried to take his share from Eerlik himself and sell Lunegonde to the slave traders to solve a debt with the crimelords of the swamplands, but who redeemed himself by helping Eerlik reunite with Lunegonde upon being defeated by him on a fair duel and listening to his story. There grew a lasting friendship, for Eerlik could not bring himself to leave Singh'Kei behind knowing his fate would probably be considerably unpleasant upon failing to solve his debts. Upon this last gesture of kindness, Singh'Kei made a blood oath of eternal gratitude and stewardship to Eerlik, much to the surprize of the young darfellan. Two years has passed since then, and great has grown the friendship between these 3 young wanderers of the seas, even now that dark tides come to the world. It is now that the news of a dark lord from the distant west across the waters spread that the Seeboodskapper returns to the shores of Menorias to bring their account to the kingdom of Ashturias, and Eerlik Evontuur is entrusted to deliver the news himself. Many adventures has this young traveller already seen and yet, perhaps, the biggest of all, is just awaiting for him.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: To races like the hume or the elves, Eerlik strikes as an exceedlingly charming young fellow of fine features and a rather slim frame for a darfellan, that contrasts with the developement of her muscled body, adding much to his appeal. Such is no wonder, for it is said that his mother, Maanlig, The White, was fair like no other darfellan lady and was praised by her beauty even among other peoples. And it is not difficult to appraise Eerlik anatomy, as darfellans in general wear few clothing, as garments like cloth are of scarce use on a world of water. For this reason, the young darfellan is usually seen with a set of light sharkskin armor, dyed on brown shades, that grant it the appearance of a clothing of pure copper, bringing an amount of color to his natural black and white skin, always glossy and polished to the sight, as if he was made out of a priceless carven stone, for he is extremely fond of oiling it to avoid the unpleasantries of dryness. And it was originally in this effort that he started donning his sharkskin costume, for it holds well the oiling he is so fond of, and is for this reason that he wears it in the form of a vest, a pair of bracers, baggish short pants and short ankle greaves. Curiously enough, he also wears a similar protection for his tail and arms in the shape of short bands with an assortoment of holders for small items and a bandana kind clothing for his head, designed for the particular three-lobbed darfellan cranium, with the proper openning on the forehead to not hinder breathing. Eerlik wears, as well, an special belt to carry his falchion (a gift from Singh'Kei as token of the sincerity of his oath and which has not yet claimed any life on the wielding of Eerlik) on his back as to not hinder his movement either on land or water.

PERSONALITY: In dire contrast with his forbearer, Eerlik is quite an optimistic and cheerful youngling who seeks on every morning a chance for new sights and new wonders to unravel. This constant pursuit for uncommon things has, however, somehow hindered his ability to pay enough attention to more inmediate matters in many cases, leading to rather comical mistakes and happenings from his part from time to time. However, this apparent surge of energy and drive from his part leads to most to ignore that Eerlik can be quite a collected and calm person and that he enjoys very much spending a good deal of such calm moments in deep reading while adding artistically illustrated passages to his own diaries, for he is quite a talented artist, which skill was born from the practice of copying maps and nautic charts. If such private passages were to be readed, people would find a most sensible and insightfull author on the young darfellan, thought, from time to time, he will blurt out a jewel of wisdom and poetic melodism merely as an outloud thought, one of the reasons why Lunegond had developed a keen interest on him on a more romantic tone, thought he is considerably oblivious to this. Optimistic and sincere, those acquainted with Eerlik know that when he laughs outloud, as he tends to do often before the shifting tides, his heart is quite content and in bliss, for he has adopted the sight of the rumouring blue as the tender lullaby of the mother he never met.

MEMORABLE QUOTE: "Ah! The sun shines, the mother sea is gentle, the wind refreshing... Don't we live in the best of all possible worlds?"

THEME SONG/MELODY: "Candide - Overture" from the operetta "Candide"


NAME: Shehrzád
CLASS: Bard LVL-1
JOB: Storytelling Dancer Of Al'Manadim
RACE: Gria
ALIGNMENT: Rebel (Chaotic Good)
FAITH/BELIEF: Bahamut
AFFILIATION: The Royal Court Of Al'Adlen
AGE: 64 (born on 14D/04M/946AEF)
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 5.41ft/1.65m
WEIGHT: 86.20kg/190.04kg
EYES: Orange-Red
HAIR: Scarlet
SKIN: Caucasian White with Copper-Green scales
HP: 7
DP: 19
MP/MPD: 1 (4 cantrips per day)
STRENGHT: 15(+2)
DEXTERITY: 16(+3)
CONSTITUTION: 13(+1)
INTELLIGENCE: 12(+1)
WISDOM: 12(+1)
CHARISMA: 19(+4)
APPEARANCE: 17(+3)
BODY FRAME: Voluptuous
SPEED: 30ft/9.14m PR
ATTACK POWER: +3(Ranged)/+2(Melee)
WEAPON: Firebreath (1d8+1)/Fist (1d6+2)
DRESSING: Battle Dancer Of Al'Adlen Bardic Dress
BACKPACK: Waterskin, Kipfel x5, Tent x1, Flute, Memoir Log, Ink & Feather
CASH: 80 Gill

BACKGROUND: Far to the northwest of Menorias, going past the desert lands of Rune'Madias, there is a craddle of mountains of rock, hidding a valley of which little is known but by the gossip of the wanderers of th dunes. There lies an strange land, a valley of flowing sands, addressed as Al'Manadim, home and lair of Manath, The Golden. Few are the records and myths which give word of the deeds and accounts of Manath, The Golden, but the few that linger to this age agree upon tying such a name to a misstress of unrivaled beauty, a wisdom beyond time, and a terrible power. If the tales from old are right, Manath is a golden dragon came from strange lands of abroad, serving as a silent but ever watching guardian of Menorias. Secluded on the bejeweled palace of Al'Adlen, she have watched over the world of mortals since times untold, and it is said that as history is a great craving of her mind, her palace contains records from the earliest times of the world, beyond the account of the eldar of our days, when mortals were as mighty as gods. It is unknown when and how it came to be, for we can only know under the account of the young and flighty Shehrzád herself when she would grace one or two curious members of her audience at a given time with some words about her childhood but, somehow, Manath came in the care of two Gria offspring. Twin were them, identical drops of dew in body, but distant in mind and heart, and yet not any less beloved by their new mother, nor to each other. Shehrzád and Dunhyazád were they named by Manath, for she was fond of the names from the strange lands from abroad, and of the people of reknown in their myths and tales. Great joy and hope both children brought to the heart of the Golden One, and she felt that after so much death and struggle, the world was growing green and better and, perhaps, one day, her watch would be needed no more, so her heart bent entirely into these daughters of her heart, the most precious among all the jewels of her secluded realm of golden sands. A great liking the sisters had for the tales her mother filled their minds with, and a fire was slowly kindled on their hearts, but to each was different. In time, Dunhyazád temper's grew in might yet not in meanness, and much interest she took of the stories of the mortal men that fought bravely for what they held beloved, learning the ways of the sword with diligent training by day and night. But in this, Shehrzád was different from her sister, and the flame of her heart was not bent on the glory of war, but on the colorfull wanderings of the mind and the passionate creativity of art, much to the liking and rejoyce of her mother, who had now someone grown on great taste for the beautyness of legend and craft and music much on her own image. And still, even when the sisters now grew unique and different from each other, Dunhyazád had not fallen of grace for her mother, and great trust this one had on the gria lass, for her might and desire to serve were great, and soon she became the most trusted eyes and ears of Manath on the affairs of the mortal realms. But Shehrzád remained on the bejeweled realm, guarded and tended as a living treasure, sheltered from the shadows of the world on her own mazes of stories and verses and music, and as she grew on beautyness and age, she became the joy and heart of Al'Adlen, for the halls of the palace were never before so graced with such a passion for music and tale, as Shehrzád had learnt on the arts of the flute and dance. Alas, perhaps the sound of Shehrzád's music and joy had enraptured too much the heart and mind of the Golden One, and the growing shadows of the world had now scaped from her watch and too late did the golden dragon realized the consequences of her carlessness. Dunhyazád, Knightress Of Al'Manadim, was lost. A year has passed in the world, and no word had been heard from her, but other whispers from afar had reached the concerned ears of the ruler of Al'Adlen. Rumors of a great evil of steel and fire approaching from beyond the shores of Menorias, encroaching from the west and threatening all life. Troubled was now the heart of Manath, thought hope still lingered on it and wisdom had once again taken ahold of it, and all his thought was now bent unto this stranger, for as long as there was peace on Menorias, her missing daughter would have a hope to cling to. Much did Shehrzád knew the heart of her mother, and knowing it to be burdened, she did not wanted to trouble it anymore, even when her concern was as much hers as it was the one of her mother. Never before had the deserted halls of Al'Adlen heard before such a troubled lament and ill forebodding in the shape of song and music, for the heart of Shehrzád could not find peace in the silence of uncertainty, and the eerie hours before each day heard the name of Dunhyazád been called among song and dance, as the young gria tried to reach her sister through the crafts of her heart. Six nights this lament was heard, and in secret, Shehrzád prepared her heart and mind for the time and quest she knew she had now over her shoulders. Much it pained her to dissobey the command of her beloved mother, bringing further concern to her already troubled mind, but something in her knew that it was only the blood on her veins what could lead her to reunite with her lost sibling. The beating of her heart, music of life, akin to the one of her sister, was to be now it's only guide. On the seventh twilight, Shehrzád, Dancer Of Al'Manadim, crossed the shifting sands that sheltered her homeland from the world by means of stolen secrets. Now her path leads to the hume abodes of stone in the Keep City Of Ashturias, the last place where Dunhyazád, beloved lost sister and daughter, was heard to be. Much love has Shehrzád for the ancient tales and legends of heroes and heroines from ages gone and little she knows she is about to write a tale of her own.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: Beautyfull as only the griathrim can be, Shehrzád's fairness excells words. Her hair, of a red that seems to mimic the fiery fires of a dragon's heart, goes unbound and completely free of constriction as a wild lion's mane, only framed by her curved horns, pretty much in a subtle likeness to the esper Belias himself. Still young, thought, the dancer of Al'Manadim is short of height and her body frame voluptuous to a degree that seems the work of an imagist rather than a boon of nature, but this is soon dismissed by one knowledged on the lore of the griathrim nature, for their bodies sport the natural curves of bristling muscles required for the feats of might and strenght they are accounted for. Feats among which flying is considered chiefly, and which Shehrzád has not yet mastered, for she had not before trained her tender wings and only now are they ready to take her to the heights that belong only to the birds and the winds of the world. Much learning and training yet awaits hers before she can take to the heights and many who have her dear on their hearts hope she doesn't marres her beauty in the trials such training might take her, for her custom has her always scantly clothed, proper of a dancer concious of the shapes and ability of her natural form to lure the eyes and guide the ways of melody and song through swift movements of limb and body. However, this dressing, once only made as a flag for the eyes, is now sparcely covered by creatively and well thought defenses of bejweled metal, all parts of masterwork armors from which Shehrzád carefully collected parts for the sake of her quest. The young gria knows the world outside of her beloved home is dangerous, but she has a high confidence on the natural strenght of her kin and her natural ability to breath fire. In this last regard, is also common to see her intaking a little sip from a scented veberage, for she is wide aware that the smell of her breath is akin to sulphur, proper of the red dragons and, thus, not as alluring as the rest of her. On her moments of calm, it is common to see her atop a rock or some other high place, her short tail rattling here and there, her orange-red eyes of slitted pupils fixed on her personal diary of sorts, always writting a passage, either for verse from her heart or for thought on a new tune or song for her flute to try later. Either on collected calmness or in the febrilous movement of melody and song, Shehrzád is a feast to the senses.

PERSONALITY: Due humbleness she might fail to acknowledge it but Shehrzád is a princess at heart, for both the best and the worst such a title implies. Born surrounded by jewels and art and luxury, she knows little of the misery others have to endure in the world if not from the words read on tales from old times and, as such, her outlook on TayBalé is as romantic as the one who had never walked on a foreign land. She gazes the world as a child on a realm of alien beauty, innocent and untouched by the sorrows of mortal life, as Siddharta during his first steps on his own exile. Alas, this also leads the young dancer to rue the lack of comfort life has for the travelers of the world and, thought her patience is considerable, this can easily lead to her despair and to the summoning of a rarely seen temper from her part. Nevertheless, having the boon of a natural beauty and a personality proper of the daughter of high lords, most people find themselves naturally dispossed to assist her, for she is well spoken and corteous, sometimes in ways that are no longer in use but only to the most knowledged scholars of the history and the ways of the world. However, all such delicacy quickly vanishes when music is on the range of her hearing, for if it appeals her, is most proper she would intrude the melody either with flute or with her own voice, deep and strong for a lass, but proper of those who dwell on the exotic and sandy lands of the world, full of snaking inflections and alluring flickerings, like the forgotten chants of the Nashig. This commonly leads to the impressed performers to ask the striking girl to share with them a piece of the songs and music from her fabled lands, which ends on the gria youngling narrating some fable and tale from the miriad she knows at the rhythm of song and verse, which eventually leads to her dancing frenzy, if the performers prove to quickly learn the pace and style of the music from Al'Manadim.

MEMORABLE QUOTE: "... and then with a quick movement of his hand, the hourglass was reversed, and time seemed to flow backwards, granting the prince the chance to scape from the trap of the evil vizier... but sun has already came out, my dear. Shall we continue tomorrow?"

THEME SONG/MELODY: "Arabesque" from "Street Fighter EX Plus"


NAME: Zedekiah Von Razia
CLASS: Knight LVL-1
JOB: Rook Judge Commander
RACE: Hume
ALIGNMENT: Judge (Lawfull Neutral)
FAITH/BELIEF: Halmarut
AFFILIATION: The Ashturian 4th Rook Judges Squad
AGE: 17 (born on 02D/10M/993AEF)
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5.74ft/1.75m
WEIGHT: 70kg/154.32lb
EYES: Deep Brown
HAIR: Dark Chestnut
SKIN: Caucassian White
HP: 14
DP: 18
MP/MPD: --
STRENGHT: 14(+2)
DEXTERITY: 10(+0)
CONSTITUTION: 15(+2)
INTELLIGENCE: 11(+0)
WISDOM: 13(+1)
CHARISMA: 15(+2)
APPEARANCE: 11(+0)
BODY FRAME: Athletic
SPEED: 30ft/9.14m PR
ATTACK POWER: +4
WEAPON: Rook Judge Waraxe (1d12+2/x3)
DRESSING: Rook Judge Full Plate (+8 Defense)
BACKPACK: Waterskin, Bannock Bread x3, Tent x1, Flint & Steel, Ashturian Lex Codex
CASH: 2400 Gill

BACKGROUND: One who gazes upon the solid and simetrical walls of the Keep-City Of Ashturias thinks it has been always like this, but such is far from true, and a thousand years ago, the realm of the hume did not even shared a common name, for men were scattered in fear and strife after the end of the first Aeon War. Thirteen were the tribes of the hume, and as soon as the lores of weapon-smithing and armor-making were brought back to them, the plains of SouthWest Menorias became the graveyard of many, and the home of none. It was on those days of blood that Aztoras of the Ashturias Clan came to be a man of reknown for being the first to attempt the gathering of all hume under one banner. Many lives were lost on those days of battle and grief, but the vision of Aztoras was achieved, and the foundation of the Keep-City Of Ashturias came to be. Nevertheless, Aztoras had not been alone in this battle, for Adileth of the Razia Clan fought bravely and unfaltering by his side, and since the ascention of Aztoras as king, and the Ashturian Clan as the Royal House, the Razia were known as most beloved of the king and turned into The House Razia, Stewards Of The Crown. One thousand and ten years had passed since then, and the line of service of the Razia remains unbroken even after many attempts to sunder them and the very empire since it's very beginning. Back then, in the year 54AEF, House Razia fought against a faction of separatists who had contracted the power of the rogue drow necromancer Jumonvill, spreading the undead plague on the stillborn streets of the earliest city of Ashturias. Under the command of Tanach, House Razia crushed the enemy and passed from mere captains of the army to be commanders with the blessing of the church of Faram, for Tanach's victory made clear that divine favor is a powerfull ally on the battlefield. In the year 105AEF, Palladin Mackay Von Razia of the church of Faram stablished the hume-eldar alliance after driving away the drow from the Bashorian Woods and, since then, the hume and the elvenkin have been grand allies. In the year 235AEF, the existance of the vampiric cult Mononghel was uncovered, and Liénard Von Razia led the persecution of the vampires to the total wiping of the cult from it's very roots in an event that was henceforth remembered as "The Night Of The Burning Dead". In the year 476AEF, an almost finished Keep-City of Ashturias was shaken by a crisis of a kind it had never faced in the past as the foreign Berbier Banking Syndicate of the Nu Mou had managed to peacefully and cunningly seize control of all the wealth and dealings on the hume realm, becoming virtually beyond the king himself. Focused on the ways of the sword and war, this was a foe House Razia was ill suitted to deal with and, still, it wasn't meant for them to taste defeat, for their victory came from the cunning and bold Marie Von Razia, a maiden unusually learned in the art of law and oath who managed to outwitt the Berbier Lawrights on their own ground, becoming the first woman of House Razia to gain a name of reknown on the history of the hume. It was she who, two years later, brought to the king the idea of an embodiment of law that would steward it under command of the king and no other, and that would make law as tangible as the very blade wielded by it's executioner. In the year 500AEF, celebrating the 5th centenary of the Ashturian Empire Fundation, House Razia created the Judges, knights with the power of jury, lawyer, and prosecutor, all in one; soldiers above the laws of the free people, under the command of the Royal House only. In the year 576AEF, Judge Artemas started the 1st Menorias Expedition with the goal of geopolitically charting and delimiting the entire continent. Many are the tales of the journey of Judge Artemas into the swamplands to the south, and of his skirmishes against the barbaric orc clan Tel'Gath, who had imprisioned many of the members of a previous expedition to the southern lands. A treaty with other clans was made, and the portual city of Kol'Thur was founded. In the year 632AEF, Judge Leneth defeated the captain of the dwarven armies on a contest of spear throwing. Much a liking took the king of the khazad for the Judge, for she wasn't just fair, but mighty, and as a token of friendship to the hume realms, he sent some of his best stonewrights to the still unfinished Keep-City Of Ashturias. Since then, House Razia was granted the role of supervising the job of the stonewrights and the works were hastened considerably under their command, redoubling the work of a hundred of years in merely a decade while redoing much of what had been already done. In the year 748AEF, the 2nd Menorias Expedition under the command of Judge Willburg sets sail and meets with the seafaring darfellan stablishing an important relationship between them and the hume realms, as the orcafolk become then the eyes and ears of the hume in the world beyond Menorias. On 832AEF the Keep-City of Ashturias is now complete and Judge Magister Grasse Von Razia stablishes the divisions and hierachies of the Judges and manages to grant the Judges Martial Court power over the 12 Houses under the power of the Royal House, virtually making the judges senators and deliberators of the fate of the Ashturian Empire. There is no vote and, at this point, most consider House Razia and the Judges way too powerfull for like oppossing their might and too fanatically adept to enforcing law for like desiring others on the role, since until 1010AEF, the Ashturian Kingdom have truely enjoyed peace and order under the watch and direction of the Judges. This, is the history of House Razia, and it weights heavy on the shoulders of each of it's scions, making no exception with Zedekiah. Trained since he could read, write, and hold a weapon, Zedekiah shown talents proper of the prominent figures in the Razia Bloodline and so stood forth among the best. This propelled him to the position of Rook Judge even before serving as a wojek, an enforcer of the law in the bustling streets of the Keep-City Of Ashturias. His superiors were impressed with the naturality with which the unique and heavy axe of the Rook Judges weaved swift destruction on his hand, and so they knew he was meant for it as much as he knew it all along his young life. Now, after the long peace Menorias has rejoyced, an unknown shadow spreads from the distant West across the sea. The tide of a dark fate encroaches around the all freedom and order on this region of the world and is certain the Judges of Ashturias will not stand idle before it. In the year 1010AEF, Zedekiah Von Razia, Rook Judge Commander Of The 4th Squad is about to face his destiny. Would the pages of history hold a place for him is up to him to decide now, in the comming of the storm.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: If it wasn't for his rank as Rook Judge, is possible that Zedekiah would not truely stand out much from the variated people that inhabit the vast hume realm of Ashturias. A young lad of light skin, dark bown eyes, and dark chestnut hairwhich arms have been considerably tonned by the devoted practice of axe wielding, Zedekiah follows the custom of the Magister Judges and wears his Rook Judge armor as much as possible, even when not on the battlefield. The Rook Judge Armor is, on the other hand, not as impossing as the unique masterpieces the Magister Judge Armors are, yet they are without doubt bearers of great authority upon the sight of any dweller of Ashturias. A full plate cunningly crafted to be light and flexible, bearer of multiple joints and parts, reforced on the bracers and gauntlets, with particular predilection for the right gauntlet, which also sports a sealing device allowing a deadly grip on the axe when needed, assuring the enforcing of the motto "a Judge drops only it's weapon upon death". The Rook Judge Waraxe is another masterpiece of craftmanship and artistic imaginery for deadlyness, as it's uncommon upper round shape grants the main edge a wide range and swiftness of movement, while the particular mechanic design of the the axe allows for the replacing of a damaged edge. This along with the round and crownish shape of the helmet makes a Rook Judge standing with the axe resting by it's feet and it's hands posed over the end of it's handle to look no less knightly than the Magister Judges themselves, while also resembling very much the chess piece from which they take their name, for they embody the attributes of the Rook: straight and relentless. If Zedekiah was to wear a little less his helmet, thought, it could be seen that the hume wears his hair slightly long and ties it on an small hair of tail, much in the resemblance of his ancestor Grasse Von Razia.

PERSONALITY: For Zedekiah the world can be defined by a simple statement which also defines himself pretty well: "Law is order and order is law." Zedekiah is one of the last scions of House Razia and, as such, the history of his forebearers has been fed on his mind even before he was able to speak or conciously understand what was being said to him. This has taken away the colors and shades from the world in which he dwells and turned it in simple black and white. A world without a system of rules is beyond his understanding for he believes in a creation made with the solidity of steel, and the accuracy of an scale. As such, he understands and believes evil IS necesary as much as good and that a third force is as much necesary as the opposing ones in order to measure the degree of victory or defeat on each side, for only in true balance can the universe survive and make harmonical use of both order and chaos. Given this way of thought, Zedekiah is certain his struggle as a keeper of law will never end, but lives content in knowing he has a part in this system of balance, for everything and everyone has a purpose on creation, and those who do not follow such purpose become innecesary on it. This philosophy has led many to consider Zedekiah as heartless or uncapable of mercy, but Zedekiah do has a heart and feelings like any normal hume; however his passion for law and order knows few bounds and is paramount on his very existance. As a knight, Zedekiah is well learned on religion, history, and military lore but his passion lies on the study of the innards of the juridical system of the Judge Martial Court, and has developed a keen hobby in finding the flaws in many laws and in developing appropiate countermeasures in the case someone was to appeal to such retorts. Given this unique passion, he tends to make jokes nobody but lawrights can understand, so he rarely attempts to display his particular sense of humor.

MEMORABLE QUOTE: "Do you think you can break law? Because if such statement is true it means you think you can break me as well which, given that you are currently pinned on the ground, is far from a valid statement. As the power invested on me as the Judge of The Ashturian Empire, the accused is found guilty..."

THEME SONG/MELODY: "Alliances" from "WarGames"


NAME: Althamyra Kephrá
CLASS: Wizard LVL-1 (Level Adjustment +3)
JOB: Heketh Of The Kephrá Nomo/Jewel Crafter
RACE: Amaru (Hamawt'a Cast)
ALIGNMENT: Undecided (Total Neutral)
FAITH/BELIEF: Heka
AFFILIATION: College Of Arcane Arts in The Ashturian University
AGE: 252 (born on 18D/13M/758AEF)
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 9.35ft/2.85m
WEIGHT: 190kg/418.88lb
EYES: Golden
HAIR: Gold-Black Scale Pattern
SKIN: Pale Golden-Greenish/Glossy Black
HP: 38
DP: 17
MP/MPD: 4 (7 Cantrips per day)
STRENGHT: 14(+2)
DEXTERITY: 16(+3)
CONSTITUTION: 15(+2)
INTELLIGENCE: 22(+6)
WISDOM: 11(+0)
CHARISMA: 14(+2)
APPEARANCE: 19(+4)
BODY FRAME: Voluptuous
SPEED: 30ft/9.14m PR
ATTACK POWER: +4 / +9 (with Anktah)
WEAPON: Anktah (1d6+7/x2)/Claws (1d6+2/x2)/Tail (1d10+2/x2)
DRESSING: Relic Usekh, Relic Circlet, Silken Amaru Light Robes
BACKPACK: Waterskin, Charqui x1, Flint & Steel, Tent X1, Wizard Grimmoire
CASH: 18000 Gill

BACKGROUND: Many ignore that the mysterious dwellers of the sands of Rune'Madias, the Amaru, lack on their ancient tongue a word for what the Hume and other similar races acknowledge as "love", for the very concept is missing from their lore. The idea of a brother or a sister, a father, or a mother is as well difficult and complicated for them, folk who dwell in utter freedom and independence, making no bound with anyone. As such, the egg that hatches to give birth to a new child is parented by the elders, and the child belongs to the Nomo rather than to a family. This was in no way different for Althamyra of the Kephrá Nomo, born on the twilight of a new day, after a rain that blessed the dry lands with renewed life, and smiling upon the golden sands with a rainbow. Mesthú, leaderess of the Kephrá Nomo at the time, beheld the rainbow on Althamyra's birth as an omen of luck upon the child and took her on an special care for her first 14 years until her body was complete and she had left her days of crawling, for Amarus are said to be true descendants of the primeval snake gods and, despite the height and broadness they achieve on adulthood, are born bereft of limbs and their image is the semblance of a naga, and many times an Amaru child is mistaken for an small naga. Althamyra grew to be an avid drinker of knowledge, much to both the pleasing and dismay of Mesthú and the elders of the Kephrá Nomo, for as brilliant as the child was, her lust for knowledge brought upon her and her brethren more trouble than what they would have expected of the toddler, who passionatelly memorized the old diagrams of Heka and eagerly drew them everywhere as a child's play, causing more than simple unnatural disasters more than once. However, things took an unexpected turn one day, when Althamyra was 84 years old and the long Amaru childhood was slowly fading away from her. That day, a traveller came to the encampment of the Kephrá Nomo, offering a hefty reward for a certain relic, an artifact of sorts, but the Amaru are secretive and silent regarding the things that belong to their past, for the pain of their oblivion curse weights heavy on their heart, and now they rather let it rest buried on the sands, trying not to look too much on the enthralling lost glories. But the young Althamyra was bold and naive, for even with all those years of dusty tomes and crumbling scrolls, she still was a child easily blinded by the promise of luxury, for only the dwarven can be at odds with the Amaru when it come to their fondness in jewels and precious gifts from the entrails of the earth. Althamyra couldn't understand what all the lore she had intaken meant, for she hadn't been taught how to read (for even without knowing how to read, she already caused enough arcane mischief, making the elders to fear utter doom were she to learn the meaning of the books and scrolls she loved so dearly), but her memory did not failed her, and every map, chart, drawing, glyph and diagram was burnt on her mind as if born within her and it is possible she would have recited the names and verses of the old conjurations by heart during her sleep if she had known their sound. She knew what the traveller was seeking, for she had seen it on her forbbiden and secret incursions to The Gate Of The Ancients. She had never delved too deep in such a maze of dusty stone corridors and shadowed halls, full of wonders of a world gone millenia ago, but she had amassed an small treasury of little artifacts and items she had found disperse across the most external pathways. It was just a matter of retrieving it, an small piece in comparation of the treasure this traveller promised. The bargain was enacted, and Althamyra had to reach deep in her known boundaries on The Gate Of The Ancients, near the chamber the child had innocently named "The Furnance", for a grand pillar burnt with red heat day and night on the darkness of a shadowed grand room. There she found the treasure of the traveller, a rather small trinket the size of her hand of circular shape, always glowing with an enticing blue light, cold to the touch, made of a metal even more precious than gold, for it glowed like the sun when the light touched it. She would not miss it, for there were many other items there far more appealing to the gaze than this little wheel of blue light and golden making. Finally, the promised jewel was delivered, and a naive Althamyra awaited in vain her reward which was meant to be a swift and silent death if it wasn't for the unexpected apparition of a savior Althamyra would had not ever expected to meet in such circumstances. A fair member of the awkaruna, the warrior cast of the Amaru, had suddenly arrived to fight against this deadly stranger, engulfing it in flames showing before an impressed Althamyra his prowess in the arcane arts, answered in a similar fashion with a freezing bolt by the now revealed stranger, clad on a heavy and dark armor. Althamyra had never before beheld a duel of magic of any kind and, upon such an event, something stirred furiously inside her. There was something in how this terrible foes battled each other that kindled a flame inside of her. She couldn't run, speak, or even move, only watch unblinkingly. The traveller scaped making use of the magic with which he had battled, and her savior was evidently more concerned about her safety than the pursuit of the mysterious foe. She then told her story to her savior, who seemed troubled by what she told him, leaving little after. Later she learnt from Mesthú that she had just met Grand Master Yordaff Alpathu, a vagrant mage who had long ago left Rune'Madias in forbbiden and unknown pursuits of his own, and who was known to occassionally dwell on the Hume realms to the south. And, thought Althamyra wasn't spared of a considerably punishment for her riskfull dissobedience, every single day of hard labor she was forced to do for an entire year, she longed to see her savior one more time and beg him to take her with him. She wanted to see, she wanted to know. Somehow she felt the answer to many of the questions she had could be on the lore of this person, even when she knew very little about him. It took her a good deal of hard work and time to gain the information and resources to set herself to find Yordaff, for she now knew he taught in the Keep-City Of Ashturias along other loremasters in world history and chronists. Entering the Hume schools was difficult and expensive, but was possibly her best way to reach him, and so she had worked really hard during 56 years and gathered a "lifetime fortune" on the eyes of the ephimerous Hume despite being a child upon the sight of any, yet treated as a full fledged independent individual by her kin, for Amarus have great respect and liking for their freedom and are encouraged to be completely on their own upon reaching their 140th anniversary, thought they are considered true adults on their 250th anniversary. Mesthú had no objection upon Althamyra's decision to depart the Kephrá Nomo, partially because things would be a bit safer without her curiosity, but more importantly because she knew Althamyra's fate was great and she needed to see the world as it was before her fate was to be revealed to her. Her journey was uneventfull, but not devoid of hazzards, specially upon reaching the Keep-City of Ashturias, in which she would suffer many hinderances by being treated as a hume child by the hume, assumed to be bereft of adult witt or judgement. Still, her goal was achieved, and she was now an student of The Ashturian University. There she took a 2 years course learning many tongues, for she was an avid reader of books while devouting most of her time listening to the history discourses of Yordaff regarding the long gone empire of the Amaru and all the marvels that he said they were capable of on the pinacle of their glory. Such was Yordaff obession: to recall what was forgotten, to regain what was lost, and it didn't took much for Althamyra to make this longing hers as well. Alas, getting close to her savior was harder than what she had thought on a beginning, and many plans she deviced across those two years to reach him until resorting to more aggressive measures of which sabogating one of his admired savior conferences was the only one to actually work and grasp his full attention, thought not on the most pleasant way. Unfortunatelly, the success of Althamyra proved not only a minor setback but an actual loss for Yordaff, for such a distraction was big enough for his study to be ransacked, apparently, the very same mysterious traveller of 58 years ago had came searching for something of value. However, Yordaff seemed rather jolly for thought he had been robbed of certain things, the most precious was always with him. Althamyra took her chance and begged him to instruct her in the arts of magic, but Yordaff alleged to have far more pressing matters at hand for like dedicating himself to teach her in the intrincacies of the arcane arts. However, Althamyra was not to take a no as an answer and said that she would follow him wherever he went until he taught her magic, for she had not wasted 58 years of her life only to be sent back home. Left without argumentation, Yordaff only managed to ellaborate that on Amaru standards she was still not an adult, and that a true wizard, by tradition, required to have a previous and full normal life of earthly experiences of many kinds before taking into the paths of arcanity. Althamyra was about to argue again, but Yordaff went one step ahead and said that she was, however, invited to come with him and learn as much as she could by example, given that it was evident she will not take a no by answer and that she had worked so hard to be there. Now a team, they spent their time in choosing and acquiring furred clothings, for Amarus are terribly sensitive to cold, and Yordaff research was now taking them to the cold Nordial Mountains, where Loremaster Jastro of the dwarves was seeking deep on the frozen walls of the mountains in search for the mines and forges from where the ancient and fabled metal named "orichalcum" was made. Yordaff and Althamyra spent one long year enduring the inclemencies of the freezing caves, and the latter gained the respect of both the Amaru mage and the Dwarf, for even as haughty as the Amaru are by nature and when it wasn't her appointed duty at all, she putted no objection in helping around in the daunting task of digging in the ice and other grunt work most Amarus would think twice before conceiving the idea of offering their hands for such chores. Thought the search of Jastro seemed rather devoid of success, many pieces of the past were found and as a token of his steem for the girl, the loremaster gifted Althamyra a relic which had the resemblance of an stylized usekh, a wide collar typical on the lands of snakefolk. The girl was more than delighted to receive this present, for as most Amaru females, she was extremely fond of jewels and she assures to date that since the jewel has been on her no illment of any kind has came to bother her ever again. Given there was no visible advance, Jastro suggested Yordaff to take his research to Mayalong until there was some advance from his part, since there were rumors that Bereck of the Cooqai had found something that had him suspiciously busy these days. Paying heed to Jastro's advice, the team left the chilling mountains and settled in the warm and humid jungles of Mayalong to the south of Menorias. There they spent some months enjoying the heat and fruitish fragance of the town of Kol'Thur, recovering from their time in the cold. However, despite the looks, neither Yordaff nor Althamyra were idle, as the mage was constantly consulting contacts for news on the whereabouts of Bereck, Althamyra started her diet of mana, as it is basic for wizards to start intaking doses of mana in order to empower their arcane abilities slowly, for even an Amaru body has small tolerance to the substance on a beginning and in high doses can be lethal to even someone accostumed to intaking it. There she learned which fruits, herbs and minerals yielded the mystical substance, how to blend them, and how to work with them. In time, Yordaff located Bereck's work site, finding out he had uncovered an ancient Amaru edification of unknown purpose, possibly an outpost of some sort. Bereck reluctantly welcomed Yordaff with a faked friendlyness, for they had been rivals for several years as Althamyra learned a little after. Bereck confessed to be stuck on his own research: he was convinced it was folly such a large structure housed nothing more than an small ritualistic chamber, but he had no means of entering further, nor he had discovered any secret door of any kind. However, the keen eyes of Althamyra recognized many of the patterns in the walls and pillars, for they appeared on many of the books she had seen back at home, and there she noted several were missing, thought Bereck insisted that thought her eyes were keen, as expected of "an student of Yordaff", she was wasting time focusing on aesthetical problems when the matter at hand was of a very different nature. But the young amaru paid no heed and little by little gave solved the puzzle in rather unorthodox ways before a baffled Bereck, unlocking the system that opened the entrance to the true chamber. However, as the truth was uncovered, Bereck did not loss time and summoned a host of hidden viashino warriors to dispose of Yordaff and Althamyra as a mean to claim the discovery for himself. Althamyra and Yordaff were forced to fight their way out of the dense jungle through the strong and wild currents of the Thur River for even when Yordaff was a formidable battle mage, he was ill suitted for winning a sudden battle against an ever growing army, and more considering he had a protegee. The duo scaped unscathed and without the hands empty, for Althamyra had been quick enough to put in use her first tricks of prestidigitation before the viashinos were called as she felt the cooqai was not to be trusted. Such was the end of the "vacations" for Yordaff and Althamyra, as message arrived to the mage from the Ashturian University asking for his return and resuming of activities. Two years more passed with Yordaff visibly busy on his role as history researcher and teacher and Althamyra as his now favored student in the University and still, none of them was idle and their research continued in a lower profile as a team, for Yordaff had taken a liking of Althamyra as a capable and enthusiastic assistant of a gifted intelligence even among the hamawt'a cast of their kin. Once again, at the end of their term, Yordaff prepared to depart the University taking Althamyra with him but, this time, he deliberatelly said he was meaning to have a real vacation with his fellow assistant, so the duo departed to the exotic islands of Woonplek, home of the darfellan. The young amaru lass was awestruck at beholding the inmensity of the Karubian Sea for first time and on the first months of their stay, she would rather spend her time underwater than on the land, which forced her to modify her election of clothing considerably taking an even more minimalistic approach given that amarus in general dress with very few clothing. Despite the idea of avoiding work for a time, Yordaff met with Blou Stran, a reknown collector of antiquities among the darfellan who looked for him upon news of Yordaff arrival to the Woonplek islands reached him. Several times did Stran visited Yordaff and the mage managed to take out many secrets from the old darfellan by negotiation some minor relics he had and some from Althamyra's share, thought the girl refused to give away a complex and beautyfull metal circlet she now weared along with her usekh, and a curiously shaped extensible wand that was in fact a metallic quarterstaff with a rather odd "head" in one end that appeared as a sort of grinning face, which the lass cared as a hume child would care for her ragg doll. However, in many occassions, the old geezer would freely give away highly prized secrets merely for sake of been granted the company of Althamyra for some hours, for who he had an instant liking, specially now that she was so scant on clothes. The girl had to put all her witts to work to avoid unpleasant sittuations with the caprichous informer and resorted to gamble her own chastity upon a match of Hounds & Jackals several times, appealing to the mercy of The Weavers Of Fate to not allow her opponent to notice she was using minor magic to alter the results of the dice, even when most of her victories were fair and product of her intellect. Fortunatelly enough, rather than frustrated, Stran seemed to find his constant defeats on the game even more alluring for he confessed himself unable to resist the charm of a lass who combined an exotic beauty with such a gifted intellect. But, despite this, most of such sabbathic year, Althamyra spent her time by the side of Yordaff, her mentor and savior, who she had come to steem in far more than just a high regard in the little time they had been together as partners of adventure. Every morning they would seat to watch the rebirth of the sun, comming out of the seas as in the legends before the oblivion and, together in silence, they would simply enjoy their warmth and majesticness. One of those mornings, Althamyra told Yordaff that even he decided to never teach her any magic, she will still follow him around because she could now not imagine her life on a different way and the girl offered her apologies to her mentor. The seasoned mage smiled and answered that he never meant to teach her any magic for he was in disagreement with the way magic was taught nowadays, and he promised her that he would instead teach her "Heka", the mystic ways of magic proper of their kin, if she promised to never use any arcane art until she became an adult. The Althamyra that came seeking for Yordaff would have argued, but the Althamyra that was sitting now comfortably by the side of her mentor just nodded slowly, lost on the golden eyes of the mage. It was on those days and in solitude that the young amaru began to ponder on the meaning of the strange word the hume used so profusely when speaking about those with who they held a bound of some type, an strange word of ellusive meaning called "love". As the year waned, Yordaff had located what he had been looking all this time: The Hon'pa Khementhren. All this time, it had been at home, on the Rune'Madias desert, deep in first layers of The Gate Of The Ancients. Althamyra found herself saddened to leave the Woonplek islands but journeyed once again by the side of Yordaff, eager to visit again the place where she used to play naively. Guiding Yordaff carefully through the secret pathways on The Gate Of The Ancients, the duo found each of the three pieces of the Hon'pa Khementhren in the most eerie and far corners of the boundaries known by Althamyra. Once out of The Gate Of The Ancients, Yordaff went with Althamyra back to the caravans of the Kephrá Nomo where he silently studied the metallic tome. Grim and concerned was his face like never before had Althamyra beheld on the face of her mentor and this worried her deeply. Two days had Yordaff devouted solely to the found relic, and an ill forebodding took grip on the heart of Althamyra. When the twilight of the third day came, Yordaff held Althamyra on his arms like never before for a time that seemed to last both an instant and eternity. Yordaff whispered on Althamyra's auricle "Love is a beautyfull word we fail to understand... and I want you to live to understand it. Forgive my selfishness." And then darkness took Althamyra in the shape of a dream of drawned sobbing and deaf weeping, for her heart knew it was being robbed of something beyond value for her. When Althamyra woke up, a month had passed, along with the memories of many many years who had suddenly vanished from her mind like clouds on a windy day. Her chastity was intact as the rest of her body, and yet she felt maimed and violated. Her memories were there yet out of her grasp, like the dream that flees as one tries to reach it on hasty morning. The Althamyra of the past would have been enraged and would have plotted revenge upon feeling her honor insulted as the pridefull amaru she was, but the Althamyra of the present could only seat and behold the sunrise as tears beyond explanation to her disoriented self traveled her face along with a faint pain on her chest and single question on her emptied mind: "why?". It took Althamyra one month to be fully recovered from her initial dissorientation in which she resumed a normal life in the Kephrá Nomo, for the amaru are respectfull of privacy and seldomly ask about the reasons of a member of the Nomo for comming back unless a dire need arises. Once stablished, Althamyra started to search for answers, but the only clues she had were the ones given to her by Mesthú, who limited to tell her that the youngling had went to the Hume realms to study history, as she was fond of books. Despite this, Althamyra did not surrendered and after 100 years of painstakingly labour she managed to recall every single memory robbed to her, trying every single known method for regaining memories available and being forced to relearn many things she had memorized from scratch in several occassions while earning her life in rather mundane proffessions and eventually by crafting jewels, an art she had learned from the loremaster Jastro, and which she hadn't forgotten despite initially ignoring from where she did knew the craft in question. Upon the recovery of her memory, Althamyra spent 5 years looking around for Yordaff with no luck, for she found out Jastro has perished to the ruthless of the mountain and Stran had simply left this world due to old age, for he was already old when they first met. It was on those days, during the 250th anniversary of Althamyra that her staff seemed to awake, presenting itself as a sentient and intelligent craft, granted life by Yordaff himself as a gift to the amaru girl. As it lacked a name, Althamyra bestowed the name Anktah upon it, and the craft seemed rather pleased with such a name. Anktah delivered Yordaff's delayed apologies and explained that the mage felt the only way to protect Althamyra was to completely bury any thrace of important data from her mind, as on his absense, she could become an easy target unable to fend for herself. As well, Anktah said Yordaff had not forgotten about the promise regarding teaching her Heka and now that she was an adult, he could do it, even if he wasn't present, for he had imbued the basics of such knowledge on him. Althamyra expressed her disspleasement at such a retort, for she wanted Yordaff himself to teach her, which on turn made Anktah to express he now felt insulted, leading to their current chaotic relation between master and item. Althamyra returned to the Ashturian University and entered the College Of Arcane Arts, eagerly intaking as much knowledge from the ways of hume magic as from the scarce lessons of heka Anktah grants her whenever he is on the mood. Yordaff is no longer on the Ashturian University, but Althamyra hopes he will come back now that a shadow seems to approach the realm of the Hume. She isn't sure if the world is going to change for good or bad or for how long, she only knows that such will draw close the one she desires to see so badly one more time, for she thinks that, perhaps, she is now getting grasp in the meaning of that strange word of the hume named "love", a force that can trascend memory and time reshaping everything on it's path, like Heka, for perhaps both words mean the same. The time to remember what was lost approaches in the chance of an era and many portents may come to be like an Amaru Heketh, proud daughter of sand and memory, learning the meaning of love and unpurposedly shaping history on it's name.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: Physical beautyness is natural to the snakefolk and their exotic and ancient charm, however the case of Althamyra is particular for she stands out in this regard by means far from natural. As the successfull businesswoman in the world of jewelry she had become during her time rebuilding her memory, Althamyra made herself more than aware that thought there is far more than physical beautyness in the world, it enhances to a high degree the chances of success with other beings and thus can be used as a powerfull and subtle tool. This came to her in special highlight upon remembering her times with the old Blou Stran and all that she achieved merely by pleasing his eyes without mayor effort. Because of this, a grand part of Althamyra's earned fortune went to the pockets of Nerezach, a cooqai imagist that was more than delighted to work in boosting the amaru's natural beauties as much as magic and craft were capable of doing. The Heketh would not settle simply with being delightfull to the sight, she wanted to be a muse for the bards and a dream time torment for the ascetics, and she achieved it, thought such didn't came at a cheap prize in any mean: the treatments she took were expensive and now she has to keep an strict diet in order to grip the pristinity of her beauty. Now her body is another jewel to showcase for her and, as such, her clothing is extremely minimalistic, even for Amaru standards. Althamyra is commonly seen wearing her broad and stylised usekh over an extremely open and tight silk vest that covers mostly a part of her back, while her arms are usually wrapped on a flowing robe of white, golden and blue, colors shared both by her bejeweled usekh and the complex metal circlet that sitts on her head, which sports a golden and blue cobra on the center framed by two flat metal hornings with a carving of wings on the base of each. Perhaps the more complex part of Althamyra's clothing could be said to be the belt holding her loinclothes, for it is packed with several straps holding pouches and purses of several kinds and a book holder that is never empty. The Heketh tends to put Anktah on it's folded form on this belt as well. Althamyra wears her scaled hair on unique arrange by having it at shoulder lenght with two flocks tied up by two cilindrical holders of blue with golden borders and a long and thick string of hair arranged on a french braid that reaches to her waist line and, thought Amarus have no need for make-up as they are naturally colorfull, it is common to see Althamyra taking a rather obsessive care on her grooming and adding tidbits of color to either her lips or her cheeks, arranging her hair or combing her eyelashes, much to the delight of Anktah, who seems to have more than just a simple liking for the physics of his owner.

PERSONALITY: Despite the apparent shallowness and evident vanity on her, Althamyra is in all regards a genius. The hamawt'a amaru are known among the most brilliant minds in TayBalé, rivalled only by the darfellan, and Althamyra scores one more point in favor of the snakefolk. It was a grand suffering for the young Amaru to not be able to read during her childhood, as her mind filled with questions hungered for knowledge to a painfull degree. This particular lust rendered Althamyra a lonesome child despite her social nature. She was simply way too busy and way too ahead of her peers for like forming lasting bonds having in consideration amaru culture disscourages the attachment of individuals way too emotively. The moment in which Althamyra's life turned upside down was when Yordaff saved her and the passion for magic bloomed on her. It had been right there all her life, for her love for diagrams, principle, fact and formula was with her since childhood, but it was from the moment of her first meeting with the mage that such a passion took the living form of magic. However, as Yordaff became Althamyra's obsession due the fountain of knowledge he seemed to be for her, Althamyra faced a wide and variated gamma of experiences that made her question the nature of many things, particularly the meaning of certain foreign words, like "love". For a hume it would be easy to tell Althamyra is clearly and hopelessly in love of Yordaff, but for her is not as easy to admit such, for rather than a matter of pride, is a matter of "lack of concepts", as the amaru, thought artistic and creative, are intellectual and practical at the core, with a culture focused on honor and pride rather than the bound between persons. Even when haughty and pridefull, Althamyra learned from Yordaff to hold the other peoples of Menorias in equal terms to them, a daunting task considering that the amaru enforce the idea that none is superior or equal to them and that in the times of their glory, the other races bowed to them as loyal and hopeless pets before them, masters of all that was on the world. This particular trait of her personality and her studied tactfullness has opened her many doors in the world of business across Menorias and much of her success is owed to this and her creativity as a designer. However, when not busy dealing with potential customers or usefull contacts, Althamyra's mind is busy as a hive of bees or a colony of ants. It's merely needed for her eyes to pose unto something beyond 5 minutes on full focus, and such means her mind is either interrogating the nature of such a thing on an intense inner monologue or sketching designs of arcane or fashion nature, or a blend of both as she hopes to be able to do when she masters a decent level as a crafter of magic items. Alas, this quick mind has the backdraw of constantly disscarding ideas in favor of new ones, so Althamyra is forced to carry around a notepad and a graphite pencil to take quick reminders and sketchs of the ideas that come to her mind all the time. On her spare time she enjoys planing the three books she is thinking on publishing: "College Heka", meant to be a comparative treatise between Heka, the mystic and religious approach amarus give to magic, and the arcane ways of the hume and other less mystic approaches to the subject; "Treasure In The Mirror", a guide on how to improve the image one projects to the others without losing the sense of individuality in the name of vogue; and "Mach'aqway Atiy Mak'Alliy", which could be roughly translated as "Snakes Can Hug", a book that Althamyra is aware would cause controversies among her kin, for it would aim to explore the posibility of amarus understanding the concept of love and learning to experience it. She is also planning to start her biography upon reaching her 700th anniversary.

MEMORABLE QUOTE: "So much to do, so much to learn, so much to know! ...*sigh* Do you remember the time... when we fell in love?"

THEME SONG/MELODY: "Romance Of The Sands (from The Sand Volcano)" from "The Mummy"


NAME: Chiil'atsa
CLASS: Druid LVL-1
JOB: Summoner Of Lichii Keyah
RACE: Aegyl
ALIGNMENT: Free Spirit (Chaotic Neutral)
FAITH/BELIEF: Animism
AFFILIATION: --
AGE: 15 (born on 04D/05M/995AEF)
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5.74ft/1.75m
WEIGHT: 36.55kg/80.58lb
EYES: Deep Blue
HAIR: Raven Black/Black Feathers
SKIN: Light Tan
HP: 9
DP: 17
MP/MPD: 3LVL0, 2LVL1
STRENGHT: 14(+2)
DEXTERITY: 19(+4)
CONSTITUTION: 12(+1)
INTELLIGENCE: 15(+2)
WISDOM: 18(+4)
CHARISMA: 10(+0)
APPEARANCE: 12(+1)
BODY FRAME: Muscular
SPEED: 30ft/9.14m PR (50ft/15.24m FL)
ATTACK POWER: +2
WEAPON: Bone Spear (1d8+2/x3)
DRESSING: Lesser Behemoth Hide Armor (+3 Defense)
BACKPACK: Waterskin, Nanna Cheese x1, Tent x1, Holly x1, Mistletoe x1
CASH: 60 Gill

BACKGROUND: Not even the wisest can foresee all the ends or the purpose of every single event, but when a grand portent is to behalf in the world, the world knows it, and the wind carries the whisper to the one who knows how to listen. Keiya'Hidiss of the Garifhrim, known across Menorias as The Oracle Of The South, is one of those who are learned in the tongue of fate, and the world whispers to him the portents to be held in the future. It came to him in a dream like the ones only the wise can unravel, for the weavers of fate, bereft of the joy of surprize, take great delight in setting challenges for the mind of both mortals and inmortals in the shape of riddles. A white eagle soars a roaring sky, it's talons holding an egg that shines like a little sun in the middle of the darkness, as it scapes a ragefull cloud of metal and wheels that swallow everything on it's path. The eagle then drops it's blazing egg into the hands of Keiya'Hidiss as it bravely tries to make an stand before the engulfing cloud, but the oracle realizes he isn't alone for the shadows of others are around, and their forms drawn against the light of other blazing eggs they hold before the cloud, which now seems to tremble and halt it's advance before their light, as a new dawn raises. The chant of the weavers can be heard across the lands and the seas, they sing of the end of an era, of the comming of a new age, and a grand purpose is now in the fate of Keiya'Hidiss. And so The Oracle Of The South awoke to the sound of an storm he knew he had to follow to the eaves of the Bashorian Forest. Evil stirred in the sky, and the stench of the robbed vile of the world reeked on the air as many trees laid torn out from the ground or broken by boulders of ancient rock and stone in the likeness of anything Keiya'Hidiss had seen before. And there, among the rubble, a most unlikely sight was before the concealed eyes of the Garif: an Aegyl female of hairs and feathers as white as snow and eyes as crimson as a red dawn was lying on a bed of broken branches, peacefully holding on her arms a child with no more than a few instants of life. With her legs still stained by effort of life giving, the mother beheld her child silently as the tears fell from her eyes, but there was no joy on her face, for the aegyl have a beating heart on their chest that grants them life but no feeling, and so the tears of this mother were earned by the excruciating pain her frail frame was enduring upon giving birth while broken and stabbed by the hardest branches beyond mercy. And yet, her face did not expressed sorrow or even agony, but an empty contemplativeness. Bereft of heart, what a sad kin aegyl are, thought Keiya'Hidiss for himself, as he knew that healing the wounds of this maiden was beyond his skill and that the veil of death was upon her. Upon seeing the garif, the aegyl woman made use of her left strenght to offer him her own child with naught but a few words proper of the wisdom of those who can see the world from above, yet devoid of emotion. "I am broken beyond repair, but my bloods linger into him. I ask from you the mercy my heart lacks, for this child has the will to live on, a wish I cannot grant anymore, as my life has come to an end along many others. May his fate not be in the likeness of mine or his kin. Take him away from harm, and see he does none so to keep the cup of peace ever full for him... such is the plead of a brief mother." And so life left her and Keiya'Hidiss was moved to learn that love needs not of a feeling heart to exist, for only from love could have such words came out even when bereft of joy or sorrow. He took the child with him and named him "Chiil'Atsa", The Storm Eagle. Among the Garif of Menorias, who dwell so afar one from another across the red lands of the south, Chiil'Atsa grew in strenght and wisdom and yet, even when his wings could soar to the sky in time, his heart would remain bleak as it is among the skyfolk. Often in his early wanderings across the arid plains he would wonder about the hearts of people, and how them changed the fate of many, so he repeatedly asked about such to Keiya'Hidiss, the only father he would know. Keiya'Hidiss was saddened to see Chiil'Atsa's heart to lag behind in the strenght his body and mind had acquired with the time, his gaze and face too similar to the frost and stone cold expression of his mother. He would have hoped that by being set apart of the cruel life of the skyfolk, Chiil'Atsa would have bloomed feelings on his heart, but perhaps the skyfolk had forgotten such since too long ago and so one day, Keiya'Hidiss decided to tell Chiil'Atsa about the beginning of all things, for perhaps in the memories of the world, he could recall how to feel through his heart. There, in The Cave Of The Trunks, when Keiya'Hidiss was 8 years old, he heard the story of TayBalé and saw it in the paintings of the first peoples upon the cave walls. He heard of the time the world was dormant and of how The Golden Pilgrims, The Man Hawks, and The Silver Hair breathed life upon the land, making the green to sigh and the stones to sing the song of air and TayBalé was fair. He learned of the comming of the Snake and of the Hume on their boats of silver and gold, of the grand struggles of the ancients that gave shape to the world, of the shinning throne of the Silver Hair on the white moon, of how The Golden Pilgrims flew from war and despair becomming stars, and of how The Three Raven Sisters punished the Snake and the Hume with forgetfullness, and the Man Hawks by taking their hearts when they dared to awake the grand spirit for their own selfish desires, hidding all the treasures of the path deep inside the world. Upon hearing this story, Chiil'Atsa asked Keiya'Hidiss if he could teach him to listen the world like he did, for perhaps then he could listen the stolen song of his own heart, somewhere within the earth. Keiya'Hidiss would have shown Chiil'Atsa an smile of pleasing before such an smart thought if he had his mask of, but garif never take away their masks. So, from that day on, Chiil'Atsa followed the path of those who listen to the world and it's whispers under the wisdomfull councel of Keiya'Hidiss, and the young aegyl shown bright and talent for the arts of the natural world. Day and night he practiced and learned and closer he was more and more to listen to the whisper of the world, until one day, after days asit on the top of an spire of rock, he heard it. It was like the air that flew on his wings, making them to waver and tremble, but it carried the sound of many voices and many thoughts, and the memories of the world. And the most unthinkable came to happen as he possed his hand over his chest: anger, sorrow, joy, happyness, love, hatred, despair, hope... he, had felt. It was like a distant recall, so distant it seemed unreachable, and yet, his fingertips could somehow barely touch it. But there it was, new and yet so old. Chiil'Atsa went back to Keiya'Hidiss to tell him of such an insight, but the old listener answered this happening with another, for he had a dream concerning the fate of the aegyl: a brief vision of a hound from the spirit world bringing forth the rage of the weakened world upon the inocent and of an young black eagle bravely and mightly slaying the evil beast. It came to happen on the 12th year of Chiil'Atsa's life that something had disturbed the order of natural things and that a lesser behemoth had came to the southern plains of Ashturias. The comming of such beasts from afar is always an omen of change comming, and soon the ragefull creature would venture into the halfling farmlands. Many were the warriors gathered at the time for facing the likeness of a behemoth, even when lesser, is not a simple task. Hume and Gariff were there battling the beast, but was ultimately the eagle the one who emerged triumphant on such a battle, for in a display of valor and cunning, Chiil'Atsa had rained doom upon the unsuspecting creature from above as the birds of prey do on the skies. Armed only with a simple spear, he had taken divine inspiration from the nature within himself by plunging from the the skies into the neck of the foe, breaking his weapon and an arm on the process, but bringing swift death to the outsider. For such a feat he was known by the halfling of Golden Blanket as "Chiil'Atsa, Behemoth Bane", and much council they took from him on the tending of their gardens and crops, for Chiil'Atsa had became a listened of the world, and everything that dwelt in harmony with the world had a voice in his ears. Three years has passed and Chiil'Atsa, The Storm Eagle, had became food of whisper and kindler of legends among both the lands of civilization and the secret enclaves of the nature dwellers, and much interest has now the kingdom of the Hume on this skyfolk who has bestowed such prosperity upon the halflings. The message was delivered to Keiya'Hidiss of the Garif as an invitation for the Storm Eagle to grace the lands of the Hume as a gardener and care taker of the vast green expanse concealed in one of their isolated realms among walls of stone, complete with a gift on Gills, the Hume coin currency. Chiil'Atsa could not denny his curiosity for the land of the Hume, for he had only seen it from above on his travels to the corners of Menorias, be he rather listen the councel of his mentor before taking decision. Keiya'Hidiss, by his part, said he saw no ill intent from the hume in this invitation and only the desire to make their "longhouse" more blessed with the touch of the green world and yet, The Oracle Of The South warned Chiil'Atsa to be cautious, for evil is not the nature of the hume, but their last for power has betrayed them in the past and is always lurking in the shadows of this great longhouse of stone, even when it has been made on a foundation of peace. The next daybreak, Chiil'Atsa, The Storm Eagle, departs to the lands of the hume, ignoring that Keiya'Hidiss has not told him of his last dream, a dream of a dark king seated among a cloud of metal and wheels that eats everything on it's path, and of a black eagle that now shines like a golden sun along with other little ones that shine like a living daybreak, surrounded by the eight inmortals, who take council and decide which fate shall they choose. Keiya'Hidiss can feel it in land, water, and air: the storm is comming.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: With a muscular build proper of one accostumed to the harsh conditions nature might offer on it's most inhospitable parts, as someone trained in the difficult and demanding art of flying from ground, Chiil'Atsa has an appeal proper of the skyfolk blend with the might of the garifhrim, among which he was raised since the beginning of his life. Unlike them, thought, he is far more minimalistic on his clothing, as is the practical custom of the aegyl to ease their flying abilities. However, this clothing is also a reminder of his victory against the behemoth for it is composed of it's leather and fur, considerably resistant material to the inclemencies of a changing weather. Is curious to notice, thought, that despite their lack of feelings, the aegyl are naturally artistic, and Chiil'Atsa is no exception in this, as he wears a complex green hued warpaint on his face and body, which might rekindle the memory of some learned folk on the lore of the fabled frenzied berserkers of the northern lands. Chiil'Atsa's skin would be naturally of a caucassian lightness, as is the case of the aegyl, but his time on the red lands has tanned him and, despite his build, many would be surprized to find how extremely light he is weightwise, for the aegyl have a unique body designed for flying in the likeness of the birds, who are swift and gracile, but likewise frail. To behold Chiil'Atsa atop a cliff or some high elevation seems something draw out from a legend, as his black hair flickers with the air, his black feathers tremble at the current, and his behemoth-spine made spear shines as if made of primal ivory. Some of the legendarium across Mayalong even hints to Chiil'Atsa being son of The Raven Sisters themselves, deities of the past that are more and more being forgotten with the passing of time. However, aside from calling beasts and plants to his aid from time to time, granting him the title of Summoner among others, there little else divine left on him.

PERSONALITY: Aloofness and neutrality might be the best words to describe Chiil'Atsa, for as much as a good doer as he might seem to others, he is far from motivated to do good as for such a drive he would need to feel driven to it, and feeling is an issue when it comes to the aegyl. Chiil'Atsa leans towards good actions simply because they are more convenient for everybody, but he finds both the concepts of good and evil relative, as nature has much cruelty as part of it's normal and balanced ruling. Because of this, the only drives on Chiil'Atsa are possibly his curiosity and his desire for unbound freedom. Thought learned on basical mannerisms, dealing with Chiil'Atsa is usually an akward experience for most folk as his neutrality conceals nothing and puts no effort in concealing anything: he speaks his mind as it is, uncapable of discerning when such would hurt others or not as feelings are considerably foreign to him, despite him having sampled them faintly and briefly from time to time during particular meditative trances. For Chiil'Atsa, feelings are akin to curious and exotic brews made by a caprichous and inexcrutable witch, capable of bending the will of the mightiest and, as such, fitting of being both worshiped and feared, as the spirits of the ancient world. Keiya'Heidiss has told him of his dreams and his fate as "a seed of the dawn", but he actually cares very little concerning that as he believes that if such is the will of the spirits, it will come to happen, be it his will or not. If it is his fate to protect the world as it is, then it shall be, and if it is the will of the spirits for the world to change, then it shall be alike. As long as there is a free sky where he can roam at his leisure, he can care less about the peoples of the world completely vanishing from the face of TayBalé. After all, everything in nature dies at some point and then reborns or returns changed, like the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly, or the corpse that becomes the food of many worms. Such is the law of the world and every day he becomes more one with the world, for only through it he can have a semblance of a heart.

MEMORABLE QUOTE: "Good? I am not good, nor evil, in the likeness of the wind and the thunder. Like them, I am just who I am, unbound and unleashed. I am not your hero."

THEME SONG/MELODY: "Water - Four Circles Of Life" from "The Best Of Oliver Shanti"


NAME: Stirge
CLASS: Egoist Psion LVL-1 (Level Adjustment +4)
JOB: Dark Knight
RACE: Frelen (Abeil Aberration)
ALIGNMENT: Dominator (Lawfull Evil)
FAITH/BELIEF: Darwinism
AFFILIATION: Dr. Cidd
AGE: 9 (born on 07D/11M/1001AEF)
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 11.48ft/3.50m
WEIGHT: 226.80kg/500lb
EYES: Facetated Emerald
HAIR: --
SKIN: Cyanish White, Jet Black Carapace with white stripes
HP: 42
DP: 16
MP/MPD/PP: 4
STRENGHT: 19(+4)
DEXTERITY: 14(+2)
CONSTITUTION: 16(+3)
INTELLIGENCE: 19(+4)
WISDOM: 15(+2)
CHARISMA: 8(-1)
APPEARANCE: 13(+1)
BODY FRAME: Aerodynamically Armored
SPEED: 30ft/9.14m PR (50ft/15.24m FL)
ATTACK POWER: +7
WEAPON: Claws (1d6+4)/Sting (1d8+3 and 2d4STR)
DRESSING: Utilitarian Belts
BACKPACK: Waterskin x1, Tent x1
CASH: 1200 Gill

BACKGROUND: There are persons in this world who think every single being that borns has the chance of choosing between good and evil and that evil is not inherent to them, and live hopefull on such a thought. The truth is that, sometimes, evil, indeed, is brought with one since the very first breath. The Abeil, the industrious bee-folk who dwell in the deeps of the Ashturian Plains believe in this, for their folklore has a legend on this regard which they dare not to challenge, fearfull it might bring doom upon them. It is said that each century, the deviant soul of Frelen, the mystic antagonist on their cosmogonic beliefs, takes flesh among the younglings and raises in power and might, threatening all order and peace among their kin. The Abeil are brief folk in comparation to the Hume, but their memories are an unbroken chain and they are passed down from queen to queen, and so the memory of the being known as Frelen is not questioned as mere myth, and for 7 centuries, the bee-folk have prevented the raise and comming of Frelen, each time more prepared, thus more sure that, eventually, Frelen would desist on his evil plans... until now. Nine years ago, during the season of birth on the center of the Abeil realm, an uncommon child was born among the others. He was bigger, stronger, and considerably cunning in comparation to his peers, thought there was no hint of evil on him at all. Grand Queen Jananeeth was asked for council upon the fate of this child and at first her mind was bent into bringing swift death to him, but upon beholding him playing in bliss with other children, the deed scaped her, for no mother has a desire to kill her own children. There was no evil on his thought that the mind of Jananeeth could grab but there was definetely something different in this child, and such greatly disturbed the queen. Ujwal was the name the child was given, for he was a promise to the future of the hive, and 5 years he dwelled in peace and the joy proper of a child with his peers in the eyes of most while, ignored by all, the child could peer into unspoken secrets of the hivemind, learning many things a child of his age was not meant yet to know. The Queen was aware an unidentified mind entered the grand sentience of the hive at times, but she could not grasp it. It was quick, and fast, and it's incurssions were unpredictible. Eventually, the time of change came and Ujwal was in fear, for he knew the thoughts of his mother, who despite his care, had grown suspicious of him and was making the proper arrangements in case he shown any signs of difference, a fact he was quite aware of. He was different, he could not denny that, yet he hadn't done anything wrong nor he had any evil desire towards his kin, yet his execution was being prepared at his back with smiling faces and false words of love. He could not stop time, for the silk threads already dangled messily from his changing body, and yet he couldn't say anything, he couldn't cry for help and, when his cell was sealed, he was certain he would never see the light again. And yet, in the confination of his cocoon, while his bones enlarged and his skin hardened, he was aware, keenly aware, terribly aware, of everything that happened outside. In between his own musitations, and the dreams proper of a mind on fever, he could hear the voices of his executioners. He heard his mother speaking of being now sure that he was the unknown presence and that it was her duty to destroy him on sight, yet she had not the heart for brutally killing such a lovable child of her own making and, in the hope of bringing peacefull rest to his soul, the order was given for the swiftest and most lethal poison to be inoculated in the cocoon. This way, the queen planned in giving the child an stainless memory before the hive, for he was beloved of her and of all, and dire and grivious was the task in ever sense to them, yet the fear of legend was far bigger than their kindest feelings. He wasn't sure when it exactly happened, but it was like drawning in a darkness that slowy ate away every thought until only darkness was with him, and so the queen thought Ujwal was dead but kept him there until the hatching of the other younglings as to say the child had passed away due natural circumstances and will of nature. Mercy can, sometimes, be the downfall of many, for Ujwal was far from dead and the poison, far from killing him, only accentuated the new nature his being was taking, as he discovered when he surrendered himself to such darkness. Soon, many new thoughts filled that darkness, thoughts that had never before danced on his mind, and cravings he could had never imagined before. And so it came to happen one night before the other younglings were reborn, a dark night in which the hive so the birth of something unnatural. A cocoon that had now acquired a pitch black color cracked and pulsated, oozing out an oily blue black fluid, smoking an stench as insulting as the poison used in the attempt to take away the life of this being. It was far from beautyfull or gentle, full of gurgling and flesh rending sounds, of foul goo and crackling skin hardening upon the contact with the air. A juvenile queen had beheld it all, and her horror was so stunning, that not a single thought of warning had been sent to the queen. Ujwal approached to her, still humid with the fluids of his birthcage, and beheld her with his new emerald eyes. She was a pretty female of her kin and Ujwal wasn't unaware of this but, more important now, the female before him had a quality he had never before appraised on any other beefolk: somehow, she seemed... edible. It was brutal but quick. Two of his new clawed hands held the female in place while the other two seized her head, pressing and pulling with the dexterity of a chef at the simple act of breaking an egg. There was not even time for an scream, only for a gasping followed by a gurgling belching as a face was splitted in two and it's precious content was now bare and pristine before the eyes of the newborn. The headless body still wriggled and trembled as the white content shivered like pudin on an unsteady plate. There was no memory on this creature that had record of such a delicate and unique flavor as the one this gruesome dish had offered to him that night, and only after his probotical tongue had cleared empty the unlikely plate did he realized the horror of his act. In self repulsion, the murderer released the limp body of his victim, scared, confused, horrorized of his act. Or so he thought. For first time, he saw his new hands, and then his new body. He was now visibly different, a masterpiece of black and deadly beauty with white marks, like if the ripper himself had marked him as an agent of it's impredictible and unstoppable agenda. But too enthralled had gotten the newborn on the grim realization of his new nature and the alarm sounded on the hive. He felt no fear against the strong and relentless warriors that were comming for him, he felt the urge, the excitement, and the anticipation to see they fall to the ground and writhe in agony like his first meal, but no. His mind wasn't clouded, and he knew even when feeling the very incarnation of dark power he was rumored and feared to be, he would be overwhelmed by the abeil swarm, and nothing on him hinted for the ability of inmortality on his new body, so he fled, using his wings for his time, straigtening them like a butcher preparing the blades. Torpid and slow at first, but then faster and faster. Before he knew it, he was in the grand open: the world of the surface was so big, his eyes had never beheld it, and no abeil he knew had ever described the things he could see. Dazzled and lost, he just flew as fast as he could, but his mastery on the art of soaring to the skies was still anew and bereft of expertize, and before he knew, arrows and spears were piercing and maiming his fair and splendid new body. The pieces of his wings danced on the air like the feathers of a wounded bird as his body irremediably fell to back to the earth, to a watery and cold tomb. But the will of the universe is, some times, unpredictible even to the wisest, and the newborn opened it's eyes once again, devoid of notion of time and place, on an strange bed or cushion of sorts on a dark chamber, with static and unflickering white lights. His awakening was far from pleasant, as his body was still maimed and the wounds rekindled the memories of his first flight into freedom. And yet, there was sensation, in his mind, a growing thought, a desire to heal, growing in strenght and shape. It almost came to him instinctually, letting it to come unbound, and lo, he beheld perplexed how his flesh grew anew at the power of his own will, thought the weight of such an effort came heavy on him once he stopped, confusing his senses for a moment. It was in the confusion that his host made himself noticed with a single phrase: magnificent. The newborn had never before seen a being that was not an abeil and, even when he had been keenly interested on the dwellers of the surface on it's early youth, he was unable to match the conceptual memories describing the beings from above with this strange subject, dressed on a white coat with belts of leather, and a face veiled by a mask of metal, and eyes akin to round windows of crystal. To the newborn, this individual seemed like those strange things the hume called "machines", a mimick of something alive, made of wood, or stone or metal, that could move or do things with enough power of some kind. The stranger presented himself as Dr. Cidd, an student in the lores of the seen and unseen nature of things, and art he dubbed "science", but he was brief when referring to himself, focusing the topic of his speech in his current guest. Many were the things the newborn learned from Dr. Cidd, and his understanding of things was now cleared from the superstition and unlogical folklorism of the beefolk. The "scientist", as he enjoyed entitling himself, shown the newborn the ultimate doctrine of the natural world, which he named "evolution", and made the newborn realize he was but an expression of such an irrepresible force, a force the cruel and stagnant abeil had been trying to contain since several centuries ago. He was not the first avatar of this "evolution", but the only who had managed to survive and, thus, the chosen one to fullfill in the natural order of things, for nature had granted him the means to counter the weak and obsolete once and for all. He was superior, greater, higher in every single sense to these pittyfull creatures, unable to survive or have value as individuals. He was an icon of future perfection, deserver of the unquestionable worship of every single abeil and yet, on their extreme arrogance and fear, these beings have dared to thwart the design of nature itself. How vain, how repulsive, how despicable. A mother who dares consorting with the idea of murdering it's own children has no redemption. A kin that murders it's own offspring deserves no mercy. And then he understood it, as clear as the waters from which he had been rescued: he had been given no mercy, for he was not meant to give any. He had been scared upon his first victim, but now he knew there was no regret or remorse on his heart, only frightening, frightening at his own power and perfection, so different and alien to anything he had known before his rebirth. It was all clear now, and if Cidd had entitled himself a god, the newborn would have worshiped him, if he had any love left on him. But no, he didn't had any left: he had no love for anyone, not even himself. His heart and mind were now only bent in one single thing: the punishment and scourge of the Abeil, for their sin against nature should had to be punished by someone, and that someone, was him. The world had chosen him, had given the weapons, and now the knowledge he needed. For first time, his face shown an smile, an smile of delight, of anticipation, of exhilaration. He had found his path, his purpose, and nothing else mattered. He would hide in the darkness, and strike horror on the prey and draw sustenance from it, like the foul stirges from the swamplands, and so he disscarded the name given to him and made his the name of such creature, and henceforth he was known by the doctor by such an name: Stirge. As a token of his "sincere" desire of supporting the "rightfull cleansing cause" of Stirge, Dr. Cidd gifted the newborn with one of his latest crafts, and urged Stirge to place it on the Abeil colony of his election for his own amusement. And true to his word was Dr. Cidd, for Stirge was most amused after seeing how the foul mists of the craft had rendered an entire hive cluster inpaired beyond defense or alarm. Hapless guardians, workers, and juvenile queens laid there, frozen in horror, and yet wide aware and awake of their fate as the butcher came, cracking skulls and drinking brains. Such a feast this was and Stirge aten to his contempt, but his keen sense of taste could discern this prey did not tasted as great as his first, for there was no surge, no thrill, no exhilaration in killing the an unworthy prey. Still, there was pleasure of other kind in seeing this pittyfull creatures squirm and retort in pain when he stabbed them with his poisoned stinger and how they consumed quickly under the effects of it. Still, this was a fair announcement of the on-comming fate of the entire Abeil race, an omen of doom. However, the pleasure of such night was far from over and here comes that Stirge faced the first dicotomy of his new enlightened path: upon arriving the center of the slaughtered hive, he came to meet with it's queen, a young matriarch under the rule of Jananeeth named Shuldatma. Stronger by nature than her minions, but still uncapable of overcomming the effects of Cidd's foul craft, Shuldatma was awake, aware, and could barely move, but her connection to the hivemind was as broken as it was the mind of every single abeil that had been slaughtered before her as she couldn't do anything to stop it, and now was her turn, as she expected. But then something happened, for Stirge could not bring himself to kill her, no. For first time on the beginning of this grim career, he felt torn apart between two feelings of opposing nature: most of him was wondering if a queen's highly developed nervous system would taste any sweeter or different than the one of those he had aten already with the same fiery but dicotomically cold desire of retribution on each murder; but another part of him, in a completely oppossing sense, desired to hold into this being of an intoxicating and maternal beauty, to sample and taste in a different way the delicate and artistical labour nature had done upon crafting the fully developed female shape of the abeil. How beautyfull she was, how fragile se seemed with those tears pouring out of his eyes, and those small and quivering wimpers filled with fear. Fragile, yet majestic, undenniably beauty and desireable, just like Jananeeth. This was all he needed, to recall his mother, the female that have given him birth, the one he looked up to, who have bewitched and betrayed his admiration and pure love with fear and death. And so the desire on him intermingled with hatred in away only a true monster could bear. A monster he had been branded, and as a monster he behaved that night. Never on her short life had Shuldatma imagined a suffering and calvary of such a level, nor even on her worst nightmares she had even envisioned suffering it. She was not bereft of the gentle experience of intimacy with her consorts, the lasting sensation of realization such gave her as she felt full of life inside her and of the reciprocated love, loyalty and devotion of each of her children. This, in the other hand, was beyond the word "torment". Hell wasn't on a distant plane of existance, it was here, before her, IN her. Or was this worse than hell? Never before she screamed that hard or that high, never before she pleaded and cried so vehemently, and never more she did such, for her screams died out far before her tormentor was done with her and far before her mind was broken beyond repair or cure. So, for a while, she silently endured the gruesome sensation of what was most sacred and pristine on her being defiled and maimed beyond description, until she could not feel anything anymore and thoughts were beyond formation on the shattered pieces of her sentience. In such state she was brought before Dr. Cidd, for he had asked this little something from Stirge: an alive queen. He now regretted forgetting to add "unspoiled" to the request, for even when alive, Shuldatma's body beared the marks of maiming proper of bites of brutal hunger and violation out of the scope of account. Cidd was indeed surprized the pittyfull creature could still draw breath and keep somehow awake instead of plainly fainting or dying outright. After some sarcastic remarks regarding the state of the specimen, Cidd explained Stirge why he made such request: Stirge purpose was indeed to cleanse the abeil from this world but not to simply leave a hole on the natural balance, but to replace them with a better specie, his kin. In other to do that, he would need a mean to spawn more of his kin, and such would not be possible without a female of some sort. However, if he was to approach them in the way he had done with this one, it was unlikely any of them would survive enough to bear any offspring, so other measures were needed. Stirge was intrigued, but Cidd had finally putted a prize to his further help, thought small in comparation to the reward, so Stirge pledged his loyalty to him, and the future loyalty of his kin as their prince and future king: King of the Frelen. Some years has passed since that, and Stirge is an active agent of Dr. Cidd's designs, which are rather obscure and beyond the scope of interests of Stirge. The Doctor is fullfilling his part, and he is doing his, that's all that cares: that the wheels are moving. But now somethig new is on the table: a different shadow comes from the West across the seas, and Dr. Cidd seems most interested. Still, Stirge cares little for now about this new element: it doesn't threatens his schemes of genocide so far. However, if this new element turned out to be threatening to him, his plans, or Dr. Cidd, he would not hesitate in temporarily re-adjusting his aim. Perhaps soon he will need to do so, as the shadow approaches to the Keep-City Of Ashturias, where the lair of Dr. Cidd is concealed, and he needs the good doctor alive... for now.

PHYSICAL PORTRAYAL: If the Abeil can be quickly described as anthropomorfic honey bees, Stirge, as a Frelen, is the anthropomorfic version of a bald-faced hornet. Abeils are somehow compact due the way their insect frames are designed to be endurant and strong despite lack of mass, but Stirge breaks out of this model, for his frame is elongated, thin, elegant, and of a lustrous black with white stripes, what makes him look like a tall and dark abeil dressed in formal clothing or as an alien knight dressed in dark armor. Upon his own renaming, he had developed han habit for sharpening the pointed surfaces of his carapace, like someone giving shape either to nails or to some wood carving still part of a tree, so the natural "spear shape" that forms on his head carapace as a sort of helmet detail has elongated considerably and acquired a deadly sharpness, almost as a black spur. Stirge face is snow white, with a faint hue of cyan in contrast with the yellowish hue of Abeil skin. His big almond shaped eyes are of emerald green, clear as crystals, thought it takes a bit of effort to discern the pseudo-horizontal pupils on them, in contrast with the dark and visibly polarized violet eyes of the Abeil. Like the Abeil, he has an stinger on a secondary abdomen attached to him by a long and movile cartilaginous chord akin to a secondary vertebral spine. However, different from the Abeil, Stirge has the outer side of this secondary abdomen heavily armored with chitinous and spiked plates. Like the Abeil, his four fingered hands end in claws, thought his are possibly twice as sharp as the ones from the fiersest soldiers of the abeil army, as he is almost the half of a torso taller than them. However, unlike the Abeil, he is completely bereft of fur or hair of any kind, while his head is slightly more plated and elongated than the one of an Abeil warrior, and slightly more in the likeness of an Abeil juvenile queen. In fact, in contrast with the stout Abeil warriors, Stirge might seem delicate and femenine due it's thinness, yet not less fearsome. Pretty much like the beefolk, he is devoid of clothing and, if truely needed, he only carries around an utilitarian belt of sorts to carry the exact necesary tools to finish his missions on sechedule and, as soon as possible. If it can be helped, he will assure nobody sees him. Curiously enough, his scent smells like peaches, in contrast to the abeil who invariably smell like honey. From time to time, Dr. Cidd would see Stirge roaming around the catatonic but still alive Shuldatma who seems to repose on a far more gentle dreaming on the watery chamber the good doctor has her on for further study.

PERSONALITY: In one occassion, Dr. Cidd said to Stirge "A son that rapes his own mother deserves no mercy". Stirge simply replied "A mother who tries to kill her own child deserves such an offspring." Stirge proffesses no religious belief of creed, but the closest thing to such is his almost manic grip to the concept of utter, equivalent, and absolute retribution. Only one idea burns more passionate inside him: the chance to control others. Control was exactly what he lacked when was developing on his chrysalid and the poison was inoculated on him. Now he enjoys taking it from those who wronged him, depriving them of it and seeing them despair as much as he did when he could see no hope or exit to his own fear. Despite this, the heart of Stirge is still capable of love, it is just that there is not yet a being to which such love can be directed as he is yet the sole member of his own species, and the Abeil are beyond question in such regard. And yet, he did questioned such when he was before Shuldatma. "Can I love her? Can I spare her?", but the answer was emphatical and brutal, as the monster he had been branded, for the burning hatred for the female who betrayed every single noble and pure feeling he had was and is far more vibrant and fiery than any other thing on his darkened heart. Still, perhaps the most redeeming quality of Stirge, along with his refined taste for culinary prowess, is the fact that he is loyal and faithfull to his promises, for he see no gain in making a promise that is not going to be fullfilled. He doesn't considers himself that twisted, and his monstrous rage is completely focused on the Abeil. Outside of that, his outlook on the world is absolutely neutral, for he has no business with the hume, or the eldalie, or the khazad. He has come to cleanse the world of the Abeil, to get ridd of them, to exterminate each until the last child and female. He can care less for the squabbles of men and elves and dwarfs. However, if one of them dares to interfere with his plans is a different story. This applies quite as well to Dr. Cidd himself. Stirge understands well Dr. Cidd rescued him out of the necesity of him and his psychic abilities, abilities he is barely learning to use and that, at some point, he will be no longer of use to him. But, for now, he is of use to Dr. Cidd, and he needs the good doctor to finish that "alternative" to the raping of every Abeil queen in hope one could bare healthy offspring after such a brutal attack. Stirge knows that it is his duty to preserve his kin and ensure healthy offspring but, somehow, this duty doesn't seem as pressing as his drive to wipe out the Abeil from TayBalé as whole, along with the treasured fantasy of capturing Queen Jananeeth and raping her to death in front of an slaughtered abeil hive, and having no other than her to give the last scream of horror in the name of all the Abeil kin upon beholding the frelen offspring, came out from her own body, hatch to devour her alive. Stirge can certainly not conceive anything more pleasing that such an idea, and he constantly toys with it and cares really little for whatever can happen after that. He is practical, silent, swift, the perfect assasin, agent and servant. He calculates every step before taking it, he observes and studies before every act. Failure is not an option, and every chance is already contemplated on his schemes. He is the methodical invader, the one who shall find the right and weak spots where to attack, the one who will sting only once to kill, and blink his eyes just once, for doing it more would be a waste of energy. His plan is going to be executed as a masterpiece symphony of taste, as the ultimate dish and dessert. Every probability will be carefully calculated, measured, weighted, studied and addressed properly. The Abeil will be undenniably exterminated, extinguished from TayBalé: the chance of failure is 0%.

MEMORABLE QUOTE: "Scared? This is only the beginning: we will hunt you down, we will burn your homes, kill your soldiers, defile your queens, eat your offspring, none will scape, none will survive. One by one you all will cease to exist, without praying, without mercy. We are here to take what is yours, until nothing is left of you... and it begins now... with me, ... mother."

THEME SONG/MELODY: "The Demons From Adrian's Pen (Remix Version)" from "DooM"