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Charnabontes Snáwceald of Clan Ismeræscettung-
Charn the Frosthearted
A creature stands before you decked out in chainmail armor, bearing a metal shield and carrying a longsword and crossbow strapped to either hip. It's clearly related to dragons, with claws where hands might be and a noble, though dangerous looking face. There are frills about its neck annd horns swept back behind its face. A beaklike mouth remains closed, and its eyes bear a tinge of emotion; a discerning eye would detect a fine blend of sadness, bitterness, and regret. Smooth, silver scales cover where the creature's body is visible. If it stood still, one could easily mistake it for a statue.
In the lone bar of the Outpost, Charn the Frosthearted has a reputation for despising cheese. For the price of drink or meat on a skewer, the jaded soldier will spin a yarn for why.
Perhaps a year ago, Charn says he served honorably in what most sensible people might consider a noble organization -- one of the knightly orders out west. Because he looked so shiny, the order made ol' Charn carry around a flag with a big dragon on it and bash people's heads for a living. One day, ol' Charn, he was invited to one of these high-falutin' parties nobles are wont to throw after a long day of fighting, and he grabbed a piece of cheese off of the wrong plate. Next thing you know, words are exchanged--words like "halfbreed monster" and "pompous inbred," and VOOM, Charn was sent to the Outpost to join the Irregulars. He's not ashamed of himself, but cross at the whole affair. Just don't pass him the cheese--never the cheese.
Caleb is 5'8" and weighs about 150lbs. He has shaggy dirty blonde hair down past his ears, a light complexion with a face full of freckles, and sky blue eyes. He wears the gray and yellow vestments of his order when not girded for battle in a full suit of chainmail. The sigil of the Feudal Order is emblazoned on the face of his shield as well as painted in a wooden pendant on a leather cord he wears around his neck.
Caleb believes order is essential to preserving civilization and the church he belongs to, being related to civics and statehood, is an important part of keeping the machine running. To his mind, a general state of anarchy and permissiveness would be tantamount to living on the first layer of the Abyss. He doesn't necessarily have any personal convictions one way or the other about whether the State should prohibit or restrict behavior that doesn't actually hurt other people; but if a law were passed to that effect, he would be just about the last person to question it. Indeed, he has never had reason nor ever will to question the authority or integrity of his betters in the church hierarchy. He would die to protect consecrated ground.
Caleb was born and raised in a small hamlet about a week's march from the Outpost but received a classical education and formal training as a priest closer to the capital. After finishing his studies and being ordained, he made the trek that so many had before him to see the wound in the fabric of the world that is now the cause of so much strife and social upheaval. Caleb hopes to restore something resembling order in what has become an entirely lawless place, by his reckoning, seeking first to make a name for himself with locals as a trustworthy man of the cloth before establishing a shrine there and then a chapel dedicated to the Feudal Order.
"I'm sure we've all made decisions that we've come to regret. I'd like to live longer so I can regret it more, I'm sure you understand." -Able
Physical Description Able has just recently come to accept his appearance and is able to reveal his Tiefling features without fear of assault. His horns, once filed down to stumps that could be hidden under a tight fitting skull cap have been allowed to grow - the tops of the coiled spires like a Gazelle's horns are still flat nubs, but the horns are nearly to their full length of two-feet. His skin is dusky red and his eyes gold. His tail lashes behind him and gesticulates with his words.
History: Like all Tieflings, Able was born marked from birth by a sin an ancestor committed. It was a hard life and he was abandoned, abused and unloved. It was Belial (or one of his lieutenants) that offered Able his abilities. Given the ability to instantly and magically win over friends just so he would have [i]the chance to prove himself was irresistible. But now that his life isn't in jeopardy day to day he has come to regret his decision - there are other ways to fit into society, even when so few will give the benefit of the doubt. Now he must fulfill the terms of the pact while looking for an escape.
Personality: As a matter of survival, Able always had to be that: able. He adopted it as his name as a teenager and claims he honestly doesn't remember what he was called before - though undoubtedly many of the things he was called are simply unrepeatable in polite company. For him, survival meant being able to turn his bullies into allies, even if it was only when they were alone. His 'friends' would still bully him in front of 'normal people' but they wouldn't break his nose - just pound him a time or two to show how they stood up to 'evil'. He remains quick to try to win people to his side and ready to take a fall before he gets truly hurt.
Height: 6' 1", 158 lbsTraits: Some of my best friends were originally going to lynch me; I prefer to be alone so I don't have to always be 'on'.Ideal: No fate is fixed. It's not too late to change your destiny.Bond: I will find a way to forswear my oath and win my freedom.Background: Charlatan
Hey, all -
It looks like I'll be belatedly joining you. My PC is a Wood Elf who goes by Eryndir, and he wears leathers with green and brown earthen tones, bearing the insignia of the Gladestrider Irregulars. He has not yet arrived at the Outpost, as he was on his way there when you first encounter him in (what I presume will be) the coming scene.
There's not much that is publicly known about him at this point, since he hasn't been seen around the Outpost before, but he's got average Wood Elf features. Tall (about 6'2"), lean, long brown hair. (Much like my profile pic.) He's relatively young in elven terms, though could be anywhere from 30-75 years old by that measure. His expression tends to to be solemn, but not quite dour, and he tends to be quiet, though not quite sullen.
Cor'val is little for a wood elf, just over 5ft in height, with skin the color of burnished copper and dark green eyes. His black hair hangs in neat dreadlocks, often tied back into a bun. When not wearing his worn leather armor, he typically dresses in a loose vest and pants, while leaving his feet bare. Hailing from an isolated, mostly unknown tribe of wood elves, he isn't possessed of much social refinement. He often stares too long at people and things, wanders into private areas, or invades personal space. He hasn't completely grasped the concept of personal belongings, and often picks up small, unattended items that he either fidgets with and likely breaks, or he outright steals to play with later. While almost never stealing anything of monetary value or real use, he has a growing collection of random spoons, buttons, knickknacks, and the like. He isn't necessarily introverted, but he doesn't speak often and prefers to listen and observe all these interesting people. When he does speak, his common has a strong elvish accent and his voice is soft and musical.