@Cheesigator  Look. Look. It says BTUTT. =D It was the closesests I could get it.

Bifrost woke the next morning... Content. There hadn't been anything naughty but waking up on a bed, head pillowed against an arm, a hand still pressed to his chest. A chest pressed to his back. He almost didn't want to move, didn't want to face reality again. Bifrost, instead, rolled over carefully and pressed his face into his bed companions chest, ear pressed against his chest to listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It was nice, to start off like this. So familiar, the heartbeat.

Later on the day, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair tied back in a braid, bandanna covered his ears, it was business as usual and he took a deep breath, sighed. It was nice here and Bifrost was tempted to ask Kirkley if they could stay just a few days, get their bearings. Rest up.

At least, until a strange feeling pulled at his chest and he looked towards the man sitting oh so regally with a book in his hand on a porch. A cup of tea on the wooden table before him. His hair was black, streaked through with reds and greens and he looked royal, he was completely still except for the occasional blink, the occasional sip of tea. A brief look to Bifrost and he found he couldn't look away, like he was drawn to him.

"Ah, greetings," the man said, pushing his hair from his left eye while the other was still obscured, a smile - which made Bifrosts spine tingle from how predatory it was, "I am Reinier. Is it safe to assume you're travelers?" A smile and he nodded to the backpack, the boots. The general worn look of the pair. Bifrost gave a little nod, confused but intrigued.

"Fantastic, I have a proposition for you," He grinned, looking between Bifrost and Kirkley, a strange smile on his face, entertained to a degree, "I have need of a pair of strapping young gentlemen to fetch me something. It's close to Fell, and as a mage, I can't go there," Which really chapped him but they didn't need to know that, "I can sense you're..." He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch the right word, "Different, but not mages." Reinier stood up, the same height as Bifrost but he stood straighter, taller, shoulders a little more broad.

"I can pay you a quarter now, and then the rest when you bring me what I seek." A grin and he held out a bag of money, which was far more than Bifrost would even imagine and he just stared. It was... "Yeah," Bifrost said huskily, not even remembering when he'd decided to do it, "What do you need?"

Reinier pushed the purse into Bifrosts hand, grinning that predators grin, "There is a temple, probably overgrown now, and I need you two to... Get me an item from it. A jewel. A green jewel and it should be embedded in a statue that - actually - kind of resembles you," A flick of his eyes to Bifrost, "But perhaps more... Pretty. There are wards and traps, of course, and the informant that has told me that as of two weeks ago it was still there." Reinier smiled.

"I have ways of keeping tabs on you two. I'll know if you've screwed me and trust me," He looked to Kirkley, lifting an eyebrow, "You don't want to even attempt it. Besides, you look like you could use a little adventure." Reinier looked at his watch, looked at the sky and sat back down to sip his tea and pick up his book again, "Best be going before it starts to rain, you two," He said, bored, clearly having dismissed them.

Bifrost wandered away, a little dazed. Frowning at the purse in his hand.

"So... Supplies?" He said with a silly smile, "Hope you don't mind that I accidentally-on-purpose agreed to go on a fetch quest for a weird guy that gives me super creepy feelings." Bifrost chuckled and tilted his head, "Can't wait to see a statue that looks like me, think he just meant elfy? Probably just meant elfy. Probably even a woman elf. Racist."

@TheHopeseeker  @Legit Violet

It was... A nuisance.

A brief lick of his lips before he sat higher on his rose, pulling at the too tight collar. Had to look official. This was his first outing as an heir. It was important he make a good impression. Kairius had to hold back a sneer, glancing over his shoulders at all the guards. Why so many guards? Because he was going to run a Dutchy. He was going to be a Duke. No pressure.

At least he looked regal.

Sitting tall on his white horse - borrowed, he didn't know a horse, stinky awful beasts that they were. Kairius posed quite the picture, shoulders back, head up, the dark greens and blues of his clothing complimented his shirt and the shiny polished leather of his decorative armor gleamed in the sunlight. Intricate designs sewn into it to display how very not functioning it was. This was all routine. Just a way to pass around the Dutchy's that were still loyal to the Duke. Make himself known. Build relationships.

With an entourage.

Apparently his word of 'I'll be fine, please don't make a big scene' was ignored.

Because there was at least 12 people here. Two other's being Mordecai. The idea of being jumped by rogue mages must have been a major threat. Were they doing this again? Still? Kairius had thought they were all in camps up north... Still, he looked up to the blue sky and sighed, let the fresh breeze push his hair aside and he cast a glance to the Mordecai, also on horseback, on either side of him.

They were so young.

A wrinkle of his nose and the words were out of his mouth before he realize it.

"Did they only send rookies?" The voice was surprisingly deep for such a bright looking man and he pursed his lips and looked between the two, "Have either of you fought before?" The girl couldn't have been more than a teenager, the boy... Kairius wrinkled his nose, much too young looking. Maybe they really did want to get him killed.  The rest of the soldiers were appropriately aged and scarred.

Maybe this meant it would be a very safe journey.

Either way.  "We should take a break soon," He finally said voice clipped, turning to address the soldiers behind him, "I'm getting hungry. It's almost evening."

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Dylan Tyr Winterbourne
Age 33
Gender Male
Species Human
Ethnicity Adelan/Essyrni Connlaothian
Height 6'2"  --  192 cm
Occupation Mordecai
Residence Reajh, Connlaothian

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description   Dylan is an imposing figure. He's tall and broad and built. Finding out he was a mordecai at a young age gave him a head start compared to a few others and because of this he's hard muscle, rough skin and pale scars.  He's not unattractive but when it comes to features perhaps the most interesting thing about him is his eyes, the right being a soft green and the left being the Adelan gold.

His hair is short bangs and relatively long and left loose, except for a few braids that go from his temples and behind his ears to rest over his shoulders. A deep auburn colour, his hair and his green eye compliment one another nicely.

Because of his mixed heritage but his very Connlaothian ability, he tends to stick out like a sore-thumb around the more pure blood lines of Connlaoth. 

Personality   Dylan has a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He is also judgemental, a little racist and he can be quite rude. The country needs him more than he needs it so he has nothing to lose by running his mouth and letting people know what he really thinks. There is no being 'nice' or being 'soft' when you can be put into situations where you may have to fight for your life. 

When he isn't working, he's just as judgemental, racist and rude, he's just a little more quiet about it and it's usually while he's doing something else with his time - he likes to tinker and if he wasn't a solider he'd fancy himself an inventor. Unfortunately for the people that are around him, Dylan is always working.

He trusts no one except for the people he's immediately assigned with and has a bit of trouble with authority. Despite his sense of superiority, he tends to enjoy none-combatant deployments much better. He's not a pacifistic, but not fighting for your life every day is a vacation. Despite his dislike of having to fight for his life, he's taken every measure he can to be very good at taking others.

He isn't an avid follower of Ansgar but he'll say a prayer occasionally and looks down on those that throw their countries religion away.

Magic/Abilities

Dylan is a mordecai, he's never measured it but he has one of the larger 'fiends' of ability and he takes advantage of ever centimeter when it comes to planning.

He's adept with various weapons, his favourites being small ones like daggers and carious throwing items.

Dylan is also an excellent marks man with both a bow and a gun.

Relationships
None.
 --- Though, he's probably looking for a wife to produce an heir for the family estate.


History

The day Dylan found out he was a mordecai was the day his life ended.

More or less.

Dylan comes from a family of mages. Perhaps the mordecai blood ran through his mothers side, a pretty plump red head with too much money to spend, or perhaps it was a hiccup from his father, the mish-mash of bloodlines to create the merchant line that was still going up until the beginnings of the civil war. He doesn't really remember it on purpose. If someone asked him what happened he'd promptly tell them to fuck off and mind their own Goddamn business.

His sister was the catalyst, at least that's what he remembers. He still has the scar on his hip. The burn she'd given him in the shape of her tiny hand- or it had been, it was just a faded smudge now . The whole world unraveled then, the church came and he was collected to be trained as a Templar or something - he couldn't remember. He wasn't mile natured enough to be brainwashed into a church tool.

It was through letters while he trained. His sister had been taken to live in a church with Adhara and mordecai, branded with the mark that proclaimed her mage. It wasn't until the civil war when he was a younger man did he found out his father and sister had been sent to a mage camp and his mother had taken her life.

Dylan shrugged it off. They'd never been there for him - he'd ignore the piles of letters they sent him that he never replied to - Didn't come to visit. Mostly, he was irritated that he had to deal with a business now when that was his dad's job. Dylan had always hated paperwork. He's been managing the past few years, both as a soldier and an unwilling businessman (Mostly he's been paying someone to take care of it).

He's content.

Mostly.

For now.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Nail
Age Appears to be in his late twenties, perhaps early thirties. Doesn't really recall how old he actually is. -At least old enough to drink.
Gender Male
Species 'Hellhound'
Ethnicity Uuuuh... Hellhound.
Height 6'6"
Occupation Trusty Pup
Residence Wherever his potential Boss is.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

Nail is an imposing figure. There's an elegance about him that can send chills up spines. A refinement only learned from sly and elegant creatures. He's tall and broad shouldered, lean muscled and slim hipped. A crown of horns line the sides of his head, starting small and growing larger as they go farther back on his skull. A pair of pointed 'dog' ears where regular human ears could be.

His hair is long and red, pulled back into a tight ponytail and depending on how 'strong' he feels, he has a regular human bottom set of limbs or a strange bipedal doggy set with little paws and a tail and everything.

Personality

Magic/Abilities

As a hellhound he is duty bound to a master and should he fail to find himself one... He dies. More or less, his species has about twenty years where they can be without a master. They make grand protectors because should their master die, they need to find a new one and they are usually few and far between.

Relationships

History

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[ @DragonSong claimed it Quick-quicklike.]

It was always an unfortunate situation, Hero thought, when one of them went feral. The beautiful scaled creatures could be the most intelligent of beings - but also the worst. He dug the heavy side of the blade through the flesh, the meat steaming with the body heat the creature had just been producing. Steaming from the blast of fire it was getting ready to expel out at him - which was good - that was always the best time to kill them. Another saw, one last gush of blood and the head rolled free, one of the horns catching on a small bush so it didn't keep going down the small incline.

"Gods, the inside of these smell like shit," He grumbled, going to the head to saw off the horns with his serrated dagger and once those were off he gave the head a boot and down it rolled, a dull thud as it rested against a rock. Back to the body and off with the gauntlets. Hero took what meat was useful and carved out the various interesting bits the feral dragons had that would be frowned upon to carve out of the more... Intelligent of the species. Then again, even if this one hadn't been feral, it tried to eat him which made it fare game.

Most of it was gross and by the end of his digging around in the dragon's cooling body, he had a sack of weird organs and some horns. The alchemist needed them, she'd said, don't go out and kill one, but if it happens would you be ever so kind as to grab me some of this and one of those? Hero frowned down at his hand and walked over to his horse, picking up his halberd on the way and frowning when it looked like the blade shifted.

Thing gave him the creeps but it cut through just about anything he'd tried it against. It was too valuable to just leave behind. Besides, he'd tried that once and he'd find it everywhere until he started to actively use it again. Could have sworn he'd even seen it blink a time or two.

Hero nuzzled the horse's cheek after strapping the halberd to the saddle and led her away from the picked apart carcass, down past the head to a little creek, where he washed the foul smelling blood from his hands and did his best to wipe off any from his armour. He'd reek for days. Great. 

The horse, Sunshine, gave a restless shuffle away from the bushes and Hero looked over his shoulder curiously. Sunshine was a palomino mare from his mother's tribe - or at least his mother's tribes bloodline. Strong, fast horses, you were lucky if you could get a Duhjari mount. Though he supposed horses weren't exactly in high demand, now that Adela had recently discovered it's preferred mount of friendly dragons.

Old habit's died hard, it seemed. Hero stood up slowly, picking up a rock on his way and violently hurled it into the bushes that Sunshine was side-eyeing. He'd either had a follower or he'd gotten himself into a feral's nest.

Both were the worst of the situation because it was never just a squirrel on the training grounds.

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Herostratus Apostolos. Usually just goes by (and he hates it) Hero.
Age 32
Gender Male
Species Human
Ethnicity Adelan
Height 6'3"
Occupation Outrider Knight
Residence Ketra.


__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Hero is fairly average for an Adelan. Tanned skin. Dark hair. The tell tale gold eyes. He's well muscled from years of training and littered in little scars that do little more than attract little glances from curious onlookers. A somewhat handsome man, Herostratus has never found it helped him on a battlefield and surprisingly, the only reason he isn't covered in terrible scars is because he's a decent fighter. Even when he isn't in uniform he has a strong posture and can command the attention of other people easily by being in a room - which sometimes kinda sucks.

Long hair, usually done in a ponytail or braid, reaches to about the middle of his back - though down and unbraided it reaches a little lower.

Broad shoulders, large hands. He's easily very attractive... But he has one love and it isn't ladies. (Or men!) The battlefield. The effort he puts into his job as a knight keeps him fit and trim. Lacking people skills for the most part, he can be charming and charismatic in his own way - which in part is due to his good looks.

Personality  Calm and collected, he only resorts to violence as a last resort and it shows. He gains no pleasure from killing or fighting but being the best he can possibly manage is an ego stroke.

For the most part, he's good natured - if quiet and would be sooner found exercising (to keep himself pretty) as he would be found reading a book.


Magic/Abilities Hero trained for many years to be what he is. Raised in Ketra, he knew that being a Dragonrider wasn't really on the table for him but he trained anyway. He's talented  with polearms and is pretty darn good at riding a horse. Her name is Sunshine and he regularly stabs things with weapons from her back.

As a side note, Herostratus is, in fact, a werewolf. He goes through great pains to hide this from everyone - his family, his friends (does he have friends?) and his coworkers. He's a run of the mill kind. Chains himself up on fullmoons and does his best not to distrube anyone during the episodes. He does hot embrace his beast and dislikes his mother for giving hers to him.

Relationships

Sunshine - Hero's horse. A great palomino girl whom he loves more than most people.

History

His mother was from a southern tribe and his father was a wealthy man in Ketra. It was a bit of culture shock for her but love held them together and eventually they had Herostratus. An only child, his mother raised him with teachers and tutors and his father had him train with weapons in hopes of being selected to be a dragonrider. With no beastspeaking abilities, it was a failed plan although he was chosen for something else. Hero began his training as a young teen and in his early twenties began the regular tours through Adela.

It wasn't until after his mother died that he began his 'episodes'.

At first they were cause for alarm. He'd find himself alone in the forest, usually naked, and then have to pilfer pants from someones clothes line and make his way back home or to the barracks. As time went on, he began to notice the symptoms - and the cause - and chain himself appropriately to a sturdy pillar.  Despite his affliction, he grew as a soldier. Grew as a warrior.

Grew into a lonely man with a pet horse.


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@Cheesigator  Rated [m] for [m]anmeat!

Damn it was cold.

Bifrost rubbed his hands together, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. It would have been easy to just build a fire or something but no. This was a secret. Couldn't get caught. Couldn't be seen. Well, if he didn't get seen then being caught wouldn't be a problem. Bifrost trudged through the path - some old one, probably used by deer with an alarming number of broken branches from probably bigger monsters.

A bigger monster that only came out on monster full moons and clear skies like tonight.

A bigger monster he'd probably run into.

He'd drawn the short straw to follow the supply cart.

It wasn't his, but the stuff on it could be if he managed to do a good job in snagging it.

Though, almost immediately he'd lost it but luckly he'd found a trail and was following that. Surely this was the supply cart. Going up a hill.Through the forest.

Okay. Fine. He was lost.

Utterly lost.

And cold.

Bifrost's teeth chattered for a moment before he demanded they stop.

Was it possible for hair to feel cold?

It wasn't until he stumbled upon a small clearing did he think to even think about where he was. Or wonder why he kept going up the path instead of back down to meet up with his brothers and lament about his inferior tracking skills -Seriously, why send him? He was a schmoozer, not a tracker - and they'd be off.

That backpack though.

Bifrost licked his lips and took a few steps towards the backpack.

It was just there.

Out in the open. A quick glance around, a brief look towards the sky, another shiver and he descended upon it, opening the ties and rifling through it. Gloves maybe? Maybe some sort of snack or something - he was feeling a little peckish.

Who'd leave a backpack just sitting out here alone? All vulnerable for big bad people like Bifrost to get it.

Needless to say, a talented thief Bifrost was not.

@DragonSong 

Serenity had never really learned about personal space. There had never been privacy and had never really been a need for her to avert her eyes. She'd never been told to not stare. If there was something she wanted to touch, she touched it - gently of course, it wouldnt do to break some priceless vase.  Being in her new home was no exception.

As usual she wore what she wanted - what she'd been trained to wear - which was on the sheer side of nothing. Most of her was on display and while she didnt really pay mind to it when she caught people looking she gave them a bright innocent smile and carried on with her day.

Of course, when she was helping look after the children she wore not-sheer things. Things that covered everything. Things she found quite uncomfortable.

"Master?" She gave the door a single knock before she opened it, she hadnt seen Ifrit all morning and the animal had taken to following her about. Serenity poked her pale head into the door and took a step in before he could answer, pursing her lips at the empty desk.

A moments pause.

She'd seen mistress sitting on it. All reclined and seductive looking. Maybe thats how he liked being waited for? Giving a little shrug, Serenity went to his desk, sitting on the edge before reclining, letting her head tilt back, eyes closed, looking not unlike some offering for her Master. Propped up by her elbows that left her upper assests on a little more than just display.

This was much more comfy than standing anyway. And there wasnt any stifling shirts today - it was a rest day for the mothers of the children, which meant it was a rest day for her as well.

@Heretic King

It had been at least a day.

Minerva was a trembling mess, tumbles of her thick red hair hung to her hips. Mud streaked. Knotted. Her cheeks were puffy from tears and the dirt on her face was smudged from her hands. It was difficult to catch her breath and she pressed her back to a tree.

It was against all odds that she was even here.

Had been able to evade them for as long as she had.

Then a cold hand clamped down on her arm and she let out a startled shriek.

She was going to die.

Minervas heart pounded heavy in her chest, "please dont do this," she begged, eyes closed as more tears welled in her eyes. The cool of the blade pressed to her neck and she let out a low moan. "Please?" She begged, trembling harder.

The man gave no quarter and pressed the blade closer.

Or a weird guy in polished something.

I need to get back into the swing of things because Im awful terrible and lazy and I want to write but I need to... Be excited again!

And being excited about one thing leads to me being excited all the things!

So!

I need someone to rescue Minerva who is sitting pretty in my siggy. <3  shes a spoiled brat. Her dad is a duke and theres potential hitmen after her. Her mother is Evarelia and her sister is Sunniva. : D i havent made her dad yet.

Let me know if you want to help out with that!

I'm not leaving.

Yet.

But on Thursday night I'll be on a plane to Ontario which is like... a four day drive away and then I'll be driving back to BC.

And I dunno how long that takes.

And all I'll have on me is my phone.

and I get kind of carsick? So I might not post much. Maybe.

So this is just an early heads up in case I do indeed do the carsick thing. And I'll be in a car for a long ass time.

So it could go either way. 

Not that I post consistently anyway. ha. =D

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Serenity
Age 19
Gender Female
Species Human
Ethnicity Serenian
Height 5'5"
Occupation Slave
Residence  A Harem


__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description  Serenity is beautiful. Her hair is long - to her hips - a silvery blonde, eyes are large and lilac, lips are plush and pink. She is wholly unique. A rare find. At least, besides from her twin. They are identical. Perhaps a variance in the length of their hair but for the most part they're the same - In looks only.

Personality Shy and demure. Serenity has let her slavery and kidnapped mold her. Where her sister grew to love it - the attention, the gifts - Serenity took the lessons - the dancing, the lessons in pleasure - but she's never applied them. Thankfully, the boisterous sister took the attention and let her sister stay in the shadows - still shining brightly - but less so than the bright happy sister.

Magic/Abilities Serenity is highly trained in the art of 'love'. She's flexible, she's acrobatic, she can dance and even use swords to some degree.

Relationships  Charity - Serenity's identical twin sister.
Master - Serenity and Charity's master. They're part of his harem - he's keeping Charity and waiting for a very good offer on Serenity once the first twin proves to be fertile.


History   Born to merchants in Serendipity, the twins - Ashlynn and Isabella - were young when the family went on a trip through Adela. It was a terrible accident that led to them being taken away. A few bandits. Greedy angry men. They murdered their family, leaving the twins alone. Scared. They were promised things. A new life. a new family. Taken all the way to Essyrn to be sold, they were sold together at a young age and taught to be the perfect slaves. They grew up together and when they time came, Charity was taken to be the Master's pet.

Serenity went on to live quietly, much like a mouse, untouched and unloved - her only friend and sister reveling in her new position and she not knowing what to do with herself. Waiting to be sold. Waiting for her life to start.



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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Kairius Avarali
Age  26
Gender Male
Species Human. Mostly.
Ethnicity Connlaothian mostly
Height 6'1"
Occupation Newly assinged heir to the duchy of Folkvar
Residence  Folkvar - Big Ol' House

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description  Kairius is a decently looking man. Broad shoulders, a trim waist. A 'swimmers' body, he's all hard smooth muscles and strangely pale skin. Kairius is an interesting specimen. A straight nose, almond shaped eyes, the most defining features are a small scar over his lip and the strange shade of lilac his eyes are and perhaps, the strange shade of red of his hair. It shimmers from bright orange to dark red easily. He wears Not So Fancy clothing often and rarely dresses for his newly assigned station.

Personality Kairius has a chip on his shoulder. He believes the world owes him something and he's finally getting his. He takes what he wants, does what he want. Kairius isn't above bribery or force.

Magic/Abilities Mordecai.

Kairius is the child of a strange union. A human woman and a sea creature. Born on land and having never touched the ocean, he's mostly unaware of his heritage and his conflicting natures - strange mystical creatures and his mordecai abilities. These conflict and occasionally he gets blinding migraines but for the most part he's a simple man - strange looking - with mordecai abilities.

Relationships A deceased mother, Kairius was raised by his uncle - the duke - after a fashion. Raised away from his family - or the idea of family - he was raised by a cuddly old woman and he's fairly certain that's the only woman he'd ever truly love.

He's not close to his uncle until very recently and even that is only through letters and proxy's.

History Born to a dead mother - having to be forced from her to be born - he was raised by a wet nurse who'd recently lost her own child. Obviously she took him as her own the best she could. Kairius was an awful child though and he cared about one person and one person only. His Not Mother.

He grew up to be a spoiled person who believed he was owed everything. He grew to take what he wants when he wants it. Now that he's given such a high rank, taking what he wants is an everyday thing.

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@Onilius

It seemed that it was too much to ask for a clean horse.

One that didn't smell so strongly of horse.

Minerva wrinkled her nose in distaste, turning her head slightly to gag behind her hand before she fixed her seat on the beast and pressed her face into her thick red braid. At least her hair still smelled like the scented oils she'd bathed with. Only a few more days.

Well, probably a week, but if they rode the horses hard it would be a few days.

The only reason she'd disagreed to the carriage was that it would take longer to get to the destination. Where ever that was. All the letters had gone through the guard first. Or he got his own. The only thing she got was 'I request your presence,' so... That meant it was too important for a letter, right?

Minerva nudged her horse along, looking at the two personal guards and then the hired sword they hired until the next town - which was two days away. Apparently he knew the routes and all Minerva really cared about was getting to a real bed by sundown.

What a terrible way to travel. She couldn't believe people did this one purpose.

"So," She started, irritated - though when wasn't she? - and she looked to the mercenary who she nudged her horse to so they were riding side-by-side.

On... Oni... Oni-something.

"Did you want to be a wastrel when you grew up or was it thrust upon you like a gross old blanket?"

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__________________QUICK STATS
Name Solaudrym
Age Old
Gender Male
Species Drow turned Drider
Ethnicity Drow
Height 6'8" (Now, 6'0 before)
Occupation Guardian
Residence The Caves

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description  Sol could have been a handsome man, he has shark cheekbones and a square chin, his ears end in a delicate point and he has plush lips that take on the colour purple towards the insides. His eyes are piercing red and his hair is snow white, the sides of his head shaved and his hair pulled into a long ponytail, easily reaching his waist. So, while he was - or could be - an attractive man, the whole fact he's a giant spider from the waist down detracts from this a great deal.

From hips down, it's hard exoskeleton and eight sharp legs. He makes a terrible clicking sound when he walks and he's the proud owner of a spinerette. Something not many men can claim to own. He has a deep loathing for this and has an insane hatred for Drow women.

He has a mantle on, made of fine enchanted silk and it covers a collar he's going to wear for all eternity - no man can take it off.

Personality Abrasive. Sol's people skills have waned over the years and as time has gone by he's slowly gone more and more feral. He's easily angered and slow to calm and when he's angry he can be vicious, acting without thinking. Doing things he then immediately regrets.

Magic/Abilities He's a giant spider man. He was a decent fighter, but now has no weapons or armor - they'd all deteriorated with time.

Relationships None. There are a few rats he keeps around but once they're plump enough they'll be food.

History  Sol was once the prized guardian of his Mistress. Tall and broad for a drow he was the chosen male to father many of the other guards and on occasion the chosen one for a few daughters. It was when they began to bring his daughters to him to father more children that he grew disgusted with the idea and refused direct orders.

Seeing this as an assault to his mistress she'd had all childred fathered by him under two years culled and he was cursed with a drider form, forced to live in the caves and act as guard. Alone. He mourns for the children still, dead because of him but for the most part, he hates the woman he served faithfully for years. Cursed as he is.

There's no way out for him.

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Need a kitten delivered?

Someone dead?

Perhaps evil spirits to be taken to tea and talked down from haunting your home?

Vanir is your guy!

=D Hire him.

He accepts payment in money and secrets.

Though secrets are a little more valuable.

And he's really good at killing people. And kidnapping. Maybe escorting? Mostly killing.

Disclaimer : No matter what you hire him for be prepared for a wild ride 'cause he's got some weird stuff going on that your character with most probably get involved in! Yaaay!

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Vanir
Age Mid-thirties?
Gender Male
Species Human
Ethnicity Adelan
Height 6'2"
Occupation Merc
Residence Everywhere

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Van is a tall man, broad shouldered with a trim waist. He's usually clothed from chin to ankle, wearing bits of metal armor where the leather has gotten thin. He's relatively plain looking. From the left at least.

His colouring, hair and eye, skin, all tell the tale that he's of Adelan descent -perhaps even one of the plains people -  but his right eye. Metal climbs from his eye socket, the iris grey - the actual eye is fine, but what looks like climbing tendrils of metal stain his face. 

His body is littered with harsh scars - even missing one of his nipples! ( which I'll probably forget about )

Personality Harsh. Made to battle, Vanir is no nonsense and if you can't pay him for his time he isn't going to bother. Luckily, he takes many types of currency.

Magic/Abilities  Vanir is lethal with is polearm. There's a mechanism on it that can switch it from a spear to a halberd. Though when it's a halberd it tends to feed.

Relationships  His polearm is an extension of himself. Or something. It feasts on his kills, consuming the bodies (literally) and he grows extremely anxious if he isn't touching it or within close reach. It's sort of like an extra body part. One he's very good at killing with.


History Vanir doesn't remember. Mostly he remembers waking up fully armed beside a smoldering dragon body, bloody with a killer headache, a warm hand and the unfamiliar weight of a strange black halberd in his hand.

He's turned to mercenary work since, making enough to live and spend on little luxuries. He doesn't really know where he's from or what he's doing but he does know that he's good at killing - so why not make a living doing that?

He daydreams about being a royal guard. Someone important to someone important to everyone else.

But mostly they're just daydreams.

__________________THREAD TRACKER
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All Art By Me!

__________________QUICK STATS
Name Bifrost
Age Late twenties- early thirties
Gender Male
Species Human (He thinks.)
Ethnicity Serenian
Height 6'5"
Occupation Bandit
Residence

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description Tall, lean muscled.Everything about him stands out in Connlaoth - but he isn't about to leave. Despite his appearance he's never left the country and is from the north. Both parents were blonde and blue eyed - He thinks, perhaps, he was adopted. Bifrost is easy to look at with a straight nose, plush lips and hard violet eyes. A square jaw and delicately pointed ears that he keeps covered by a bandanna and long dark, forest green hair.  For the most part, as long as he wears a hood of some kind, he's just unusually tall.

Also his canine teeth are little sharper than they should be, giving him a feral grin when he wants to show it off.

Personality  Easily, he is impulsive.  He acts without thinking, has a strange sense of bravado and should it come down to it, he can do anything and everything. However, this is not the case. He is quite mortal (Or so he assumes) and he can bleed like anyone else. Bifrost is quick to put on a brave face and push his less useful emotions away ( sadness and pain ) and he's slow to let himself feel anything.

Trust is easily given, because it's easily taken away should the person make a wrong move.

Deep down he expects the worst of every situation, but is pleasantly surprised when it works out.

Magic/Abilities  Bifrost is a 'nature' mage. He can communicate with animals, 'feel' trees. The forest speaks and he listens. And by listens, he simply takes advantage of. The trees know when someone is in the forest and if one tree knows, they all know and Bifrost knows. He can encourage plants to grow with his blood, of which they grow wildly and lusciously when into contact with it.  ---  Sort of. Bifrost is the most currently reincarnation of a nature god who's domain is near and around Fell. The ability to talk to plants is not magic but part of his very being. He does not remember or recall any of his previous incarnations.

Relationships His brothers are deceased and he is an 'orphan'.
Kirkley
Officially, Kirkley helped Bifrost not also be murdered with his brothers. Bifrost is drawn to Kirkley in a way he's never been drawn to anyone before, it might be the fact he's a giant catdog or just a big comforting guy. For someone so new, Bifrost finds himself feeling an unusual amount of things.
 
History

Taken in by a human family in Connlaoth, Bifrost was abandoned on the edge of a forest close to their house. It was a lovely home, three older brothers. Things were fine until the civil war broke out. Their village was razed and their parents killed. The brothers, then in their early twenties took to the road to bandit. It was a decent living. Day to day. Bifrost learned to brawl with the best of them and he and his brothers kept to the dark mostly. 

It was an easy mark, a weapons shipment and Bifrost was supposed to track it, tag it and go. A little sidetracked, his brothers were where they weren't supposed to be and overwhelmed and killed. Bifrost has been on his own (with a companion) since and is slowly making his way south, doing odd jobs along the way.
 

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BTUTT
Ehehehe Btutt.
The Wheel of Dawn
The pair set out of Connlaoth and find a little inn to rest at, but not without some trouble along the way.
Not So Sticky Fingers[m]
Bifrost meet's his Kirkley and finds his brothers.

@visualspice  ( I hope this works? Let me know if I took too many liberties!)

It had been a few weeks since she'd parted ways with the God of War.

Sunniva had returned to the nearest church, been cleaned, washed and given a new robe. A new blindfold. Time for prayer. Time to reconnect with Ansgar after being in the middle of a warzone - a place she really should have never been. There had been rumours floating about Krah Mordeth going on trial for the very things she pleaded his case for and she'd begged and pleaded to go.

Amazingly, they didn't find it suspicious when she'd had a vision. A vision of Krah becoming a new man. One who wasn't so bloodcrazed. One who could help instead of cause more problems. Instead of hinder.

It was a lie. Sunniva had seen no such vision, but as the most 'blessed' at that particular church and cursed with a strange sickness - that she used to gain their pity - she was allowed to go. Spoke and wove tales about the vision. The blessing of Ansgar. He wouldn't want Krah dead, a blessed Mordecai that he was. There was still time for him to learn. She could take him. She would take him. A pilgrimage. Sunniva wasn't really thinking about her intentions.

Mostly she felt like she owed him something.

Her wounds healed decently, most of them being superficial and skin deep. Or meat deep in the case of her thigh and it angered her that every time she touched it she thought of him.

No doubt, if she hadn't woven her tale he'd be hung.

They were probably waiting for them to go off and for him to kill her. Perhaps for her to falter in her lie but there was no tremble in her voice when she explained this vision of his turn around. Of being a great leader. Of not reveling in the bloodshed. Could he be? Sunniva supposed he could be a good leader but ... There was too much ego.

Still, there were two horses, saddled up for the 'pilgrimage' to the various churches going along the country side. Holy sites to pray at. Ask forgiveness to. Sunniva swallowed thickly, pressing a hand to her chest while she fought the wave of nausea morning had been giving to her the past week but she did her best to remain stoic, hand sliding down to her thigh and she frowned when she touched the tender spot on her leg.

He was to be delivered to here at sunrise. The horses were generously provided by the duchy because in the long run... A violent war crazed man was more useful alive than he was dead and if they could  find a reason to keep him in the war to any degree it would be a good one.

As long as he was on their side at least.

So, impatiently, Sunniva waited, looking a vision in her white robe, hood pulled up. Her tumble of wavy red hair looking like gold in the morning sun and occasionally scratching the horses on the nose when they nosed her for pets.

There would be two choices. Go with the Sister on pilgrimage  or Hang.

@visualspice

Why was he so nervous?

Ciaran flexed his hands and looked down at the horse under him, almost there. He'd been on the road for two days, camped on the side in the grass, ass pressed against the old horse. Old horse was being kind even. Thing was about to croak. A rough large hand was pressed to the beasts neck and he gave a chuckle, finding the familiar bends and turns of the road comforting.

His eyes had fallen closed and the horse meandered the rest of the way there and it was a gasping cry of joy that had his eyes snap open and he stared ahead.

He was home.

Ciaran grinned and waved to the older woman and he nudged the horse along to where his father lived. The clang of metal on metal had his chest tighten and he was off the horse in seconds and standing in the door way, grinning like a fool. The reunion was sweet and the rest of the day melted away with joyful hugs, chatting and ale.

It was later on in the night, the sun was on the way down and he bumped against the pendant in his pocket.

Hay-Gee.

Ciaran's heart started to pound and he sucked in a breath, looking up wildly. He was tired - though when wasn't he tired? - and slowly he made his way to where she lived and he found a rock, threw it at her window and waited with his hands on his waist.

Yeah.

That'll get her attention.

Another rock followed shortly after and he made a long 'hey' noise. She would be home right? Sure, he was a little aled up but... He wanted to see her. Wanted to see what a lovely creature she'd turned into because damn if she hadn't been a cute kid.

"Pssst, Hay-Gee!" He whisper yelled.