Caldera's Plotnotes

by **Elias Caldera** on December 8th, 2017, 2:07 am

Threads that Need Grading at Some Point

Culture Clash
At the End of Your Rope
A Succor for Sorrow
Memento Mori
Righteous Work 1
Righteous Work 2

by **Elias Caldera** on December 8th, 2017, 2:08 am

The Squad

Unit 1

Name: Taliya Solaire
Race: Human
Place of Birth: Ravok
Date of Birth: Winter, 495 AV

Skills:
Long Sword [75]
Reimancy [65]
Projection [52]
Glyphing [50]
Unarmed Combat [40]
Horse Riding [38]
Animation [25]
Gadgetry [25]

As an up and coming apprentice within the Ebonstryfe, Taliya was a talented and cunning young recruit with few equals among her jealous peers. Deadly with a blade and naturally gifted with a number of magical arts, many thought her destined for greatness as part of the order, and none more so than her sister Liana, the only one whom Taliya had ever truly respected. Together the sisters Solaire were unstoppable, and Taliya often followed in the footsteps of her older sibling with reverence and awe, hoping to one day to become just as good as she was, or perhaps even a little better.

Unfortunately for the sisters however, fate had different plans than the ones tied to it.

During the early days of Spring in the year 509 AV, a ravenous and rampaging horde of Yukmen descended upon Ravok's shorelines without warning, catching a contingent of apprentices undergoing routine training exercises completely off guard. Among them were Taliya and Liana, who soon found themselves fighting on the front lines for their very lives. By the end of the bloodshed that followed, Liana lay dead on the battlefield and Taliya lingered not far behind, her body mutilated and her soul balancing precariously on Dira's doorstep. Either by a miracle of Rhysol or sheer determination alone, Taliya ultimately survived, though her world had been irrevocably changed forever. With the creatures having claimed one of her arms and her once fierce will just as savaged as her body, it seemed as if the girl's bright future had come to an abrupt and dismal end. Such indeed appeared to be the case until the day the apprentice was granted a surprise assignment by an unknown benefactor within the Black Sun. The mission -its details vague to say the least- only ever promised that it would see the young warrior stationed far abroad in distant, foreign lands. With little say in the matter and a desperate need to escape the traumatic memories of her past, Taliya reluctantly agreed.

Since that time, Taliya Solaire had effectively disappeared from all known records.

It wasn't until some nine years later did the apprentice finally reemerge. Though no longer an apprentice, nor a child by any means, Taliya had become a full fledged soldier in the Ebonstryfe and returned home to Ravok a hardened and much maligned woman with new powers and skills that would put most paladins twice her age to shame. Most curious of all however, was the metallic and artificial arm she wielded in place of her missing one. Powered by the arcane art of animation and supposedly cursed with a rebellious mind of its own, this strange magical construct was merely a single piece in the grander puzzle that was Taliya's missing years. For her part, the sorceress doesn't speak about what went on during that time, nor does it seem to have diminished her ambitions any. As passionate and irascible as ever, now that the young soldier has returned to her homeland she aims for greatness and glory as all those worthy of it do. Whether Taliya can overcome both her harrowing past and the new challenges of the present in order to actually seize that destiny however, only time will tell.

Unit 2

Name: Alistair Valmont
Race: Human
Place of Birth: Mithryn Outpost
Date of Birth: Summer, 468 AV

Skills:
Great War Hammer [70]
Bodybuilding [65]
Flux [54]
Shielding [52]
Horse Riding [50]
Wax Axe [45]
Large Steel Shield [45]
Leadership [30]
Instrument: Lute [25]
Juggling [22]

Standing at nearly six and a half feet tall, Alistair Valmont is a veritable mountain of muscle and menace, towering over both ally and enemy alike with unsettling ease. The barrel chested giant is a particularly terrifying sight to behold on the battlefield, especially so when clad from head to toe in heavy plate armor and swinging his massive war hammer around with the ease of a toddler his toy. Despite what his imposing size and bloody accoutrements might incline some to believe however, the fallen knight is in fact a man of genuine compassion and thoughtfulness. Though he may now serve a dark god in a wicked city, the ideas of honor and selfless piety instilled from his old life have not yet been extinguished... at least not completely.

Almost always found with a pipe between his teeth and the faint aroma of sweet Kenashi tobacco wafting about his person, Alistair has a natural charm about him that not only stems from his peculiar southern drawl, but also his downright jovial and chummy demeanor. For all intents and purposes, the old warrior comes across as someone you wouldn't mind sharing a drink and a laugh with. A truly amiable fellow who can spin a tale and get the crowd cheering with a parlor trick or two he picked up during his years abroad. One could hardly be blamed then for their surprise if they were to notice the plethora of Sunberth gang tattoos on the big man's hulking arms, or the deep and seemingly self-inflicted scars that mar his flesh, each of which tell a tale darker than the last.

Yet things were not always so for the once proud knight.

As a sergeant within the ranks of the Syliran Order, Alistair had little claim to fame save of course for his infamous temper, which was once described by his patron as 'a brewing storm, one that could rain down at any moment and upon anyone, friend and foe alike.’ Due to this, the giant often found himself reprimanded for his uncivil and violent tendencies over the course of his humble knighthood. Things seemed to come to a head in the Summer of 513 AV when a warrant was abruptly issued for the Knight Sergeant's arrest. The crime; murder. The sentence; death.

What exactly had transpired that could have led to such a drastic turn of events is a secret the old knight keeps close to his chest. What is for certain however, is that when Alistair fled Syliras, he did so with the curse of Wysar branded unto his flesh and blessing of Rhysol just as prominent.

After his fall, Alistair wandered the region for a long time, forlorn and adrift. From Kenash to Sunberth and everywhere in between, the knight's listless journey seemed destined to end in tragedy until finally, unable to withstand the whispers of the Defiler plaguing his mind any longer, a ragged and downtrodden Alistair finally surrendered and set foot upon the docks of Ravok some five years later. There he found the Ebonstryfe waiting for him with gracious smiles and open arms, the word ‘brother’ dripping from their lips like a serpent’s venom. Though never truly convinced of his place among those he had once sworn to destroy, it wasn't long before the Syliran crossed paths with Elias Caldera, a young and freshly minted commander at the time who saw in Alistair the same potential Rhysol likely did. Elias promised the grizzled knight a new path if he joined him in his crusade, one filled with purpose and dignity, the two things Alistair had always felt he’d been denied his entire life. Since that time the exiled knight has become the Caldera's right-hand man and most trusted confidant, and while their beliefs and morals are often at odds with one another, Alistair has never once faltered when it comes to following his commander into the jaws of hell time after time.

Unit 3

Name: Decima
Race: Kelvic
Place of Birth: Sunberth
Date of Birth: Spring, 513 AV

Skills:
Snake Spear [85]
Composite Longbow [72]
Whip [70]
Endurance [60]
Acrobatics [52]
Kukri Dagger [45]
Throwing Daggers [45]
Brawling [40]
Hunting [40]
Tracking [40]

'Decima' has only ever been a name. Just one of many countless the battle hardened and brazen young gladiatrix had been given in her past. Names like that were merely embellishments to be worn and discarded, a means to get the crowds of the arena cheering and the men with money betting. Unlike the others that came before it however, Decima is one that comes with a particular distinction, for it is the name the bearded vulture Kelvic wore the day Rhysol blessed her with her freedom.

As good a reason as any to keep it, Decima figures.

Originally born in Sunberth, her mother was a retired prize fighter of some acclaim while her deadbeat father was known only for his exorbitant debts and his loud mouth. His untimely demise early in her youth ultimately saw Decima's family enslaved and sold off by the local Daggerhands who came to collect. Eventually purchased by an eccentric Nykan lanista, the two children underwent cruel and grueling training to become gladiators themselves. While their mother's luck and skill eventually ran dry and she perished in the ring, Decima and her brother Dominus quickly earned themselves a reputation of renown. Fighting everywhere from seedy back alleys to the great coliseum itself, the siblings proved ferocious competitors individually, but united became truly unstoppable. Soon their talents landed them in Ravok where a grand tournament hosting the greatest warriors from every corner of the world was being held. Though the fighting was fierce and the Ravokian crowd just as viscous, the siblings inevitably arose from the smoke and blood, victorious. To their surprise, and the surprise of their disgruntled master, it was announced that the winner of the tournament was to earn their freedom from bondage forever. The catch?

There could only be one.

Faced with the prospect of turning on one another for something they both desperately desired, the Kelvic duo instead turned their weapons on the world that sought to divide them. They had decided that if they could not know liberation together, then they would at least embrace death together. A bold declaration that infuriated their contemptible master. In response, he ordered wave after wave of his guardsmen into the arena to silence them both once and for all. Like the gladiators who had come before them however, these men stood no chance, cut down by two of the finest fighters Ravok had ever known. Such was their prowess and bravery that when there was no one left to face them, it was only Rhysol himself who dared to appear upon the blood soaked sands. Impressed by their skill and taken by their defiance, the Defiler extolled the siblings glory and bequeathed to them not only their freedom, but also a place within his holy army, and all to the thunderous applause of the thousands in attendance.

Since then Decima has served in the Ebonstryfe loyally, content to kill in the name of her dark lord as opposed for mere coin and applause. Though her oath to Rhysol hasn't nearly been as unshakeable as her bond to her brother, few can deny how the vulture's skills make her an invaluable asset to the ebon-clad legions. Despite this, the animosity Decima receives from those forced to consider a Kelvic their peer in undeniable, yet is something the newly minted soldier actually revels in. Her time in the arena has shaped Decima harshly, and she never feels truly at ease unless embroiled in conflict. In the thick of the fight is where the ex-gladiatrix calls home, and her attitude reflects as much. Tough, hardheaded and never far from trouble, Decima's uncompromising and passionate demeanor would often see her steeped in the brawl she so interminably seeks if it weren't for the judicious rational and incessant voice of reason that is her brother. As a faithful fixture never found far from her side, Dominus's endless lectures may leave his younger sister groaning and grumbling in exasperation, but the truth is the vulture is never more at ease than when in his presence, because she's knows that even though they may have traded the arena for a battlefield and one master for another, no matter the challenges faced before them, no matter the obstacle standing in their way, together they will always be unstoppable. They will always be family.

Unit 4

Name: Dominus
Race: Kelvic
Place of Birth: Sunberth
Date of Birth: Spring, 512 AV

Skills:
Gladius [75]
Duel Wield [60]
Unarmed Combat [60]
Wilderness Survival (Forest, Marshland) [52]
Poison [50]
Meditation [50]
Medicine [45]
Herbalism [42]

Its easy to pick up a sword and fight. Dominus knows this because he was only a whimpering pup when his hands first gripped the hilt of a blade and and was bid to swing it by his madcap master. First at training dummies and sacks of sand. Then eventually at targets who were not so content to sit still and be split open by some mewling runt and his rusty sword. Since then Dominus has become a master of his craft and learned that while it was easy enough to fight for fighting's sake, in the end the truth test of one's spirit was what they fought for. For the jackal Kelvic, that was never for things like glory or fame or to satiate some vulgar lust for violence. Though he was a gladiator who had competed and killed in countless arenas, he had only ever fought for one reason, and one reason alone; his family.

Like his sister Decima, Dominus had been enslaved and indoctrinated into the life of a gladiator at a young age. Unlike his sister however, the jackal had never truly garnered a love for bloodshed as she had. Though he was a more than a capable warrior in his own right, Dominus focused more on teaching himself the art of healing, as all too often his meager skills proved to be the only thing separating his rambunctious sister and poor mother from Dira's final embrace. Yet, even despite the young slave's best efforts to save his kin, it could never be enough. For while he could keep his sister safe as long as he was fighting by her side, he could do nothing but watch in helpless horror as their mother was forced unto the sands time after time, her body and mind withering under the relentless pace their greedy master had set for his best earner, until at last the day came where she was pitted against an opponent she simply didn't have the strength to defeat anymore.

While Decima was devastated by the loss, their mother's passing had a much more profound effect on Dominus. His rage, something he'd learned to squash and hide at young age, overcame him. He became an animal that not even his sister recognized anymore and he swore vengeance upon his cruel and insane master whatever the cost. It wouldn't be long before he was finally given the opportunity to sate his wrath. A tournament in Ravok led to the siblings being freed from their bonds, and after their miraculous liberation by the lord of Chaos himself, Dominus wasted little time in hunting down his former tormentor. Unfortunately, the Nykan had fled the city when he realized the danger he was in, denying the Kelvic his justice and compelling the contemplative Kelvic to seek peace within himself as much as any man could, or risk losing his mind to the fury he'd allowed to overwhelm him. This peace he eventually found in the hallowed halls of the Ravok's esteemed temple, wherein the revered word of Rhysol proved a balm for his beleaguered and battered soul.

When the grace of god alone is not enough however, Dominus often finds himself seeking the verdant tranquility of the outdoors. Something he'd been denied nearly his entire life in captivity, Dominus now delights in the serenity and calm of the lush wilderness, often escaping to the forests and marshlands around Lake Ravok when not constrained by his Ebonstryfe duties or acting as his combative sister's warden.

With his newfound freedom and his responsibilities as a soldier of Ravok, the young Jackal seeks only to better himself. Studious, composed, and deeply spiritual, Dominus -despite the absurd name bestowed upon him by his former master- is the furthest thing from a warmonger, but also understands that such a thing as harmony is not always possible in service to Rhysol. As a compromise, the jackal takes solace in the fact that he no longer sheds blood on the whim and whimsy of pathetic men, but instead for a greater purpose -A holy purpose- one which he has committed himself to utterly and unwaveringly. Now, only if he could convince his sister to do the same.

Unit 5

Name: Sabel Dorne
Race: Human/Dhani Mix
Age: 18
Place of Birth: Kenash
Date of Birth: Winter, 501 AV

Skills:
Summoning [75]
Familiary [70]
Morphing [60]
Alchemy [42]
Astronomy [45]
Subterfuge [35]
Larceny [32]
Cryptography [32]
Short Sword [30]
Small Steel Shield [30]

A young woman whose lofty dreams and eagerness to prove herself are matched only by her fierce intellect and stubborn will, Sabel Dorne may not be the greatest warrior or the most talented leader of men, but what she lacks in martial ability and confidence, the summoner more than makes up for with the help of her many, many 'friends.'

Born the daughter of a Dhani slave and her Kenashian master, Sabel would have likely never have seen the light of day had her father not loved her mother enough to set aside the shame of her birth. Instead of raising the girl as his own however, the master had her sent away to Ravok where his distant relatives could better see to the child's upbringing. As it happened, those distant relatives turned out to be none other than Galatos clan, one of Ravok's most powerful families, and Sabel soon found herself adopted into the shadowy household with open arms. One would expect that being groomed by the likes of such a feared and distinguished lineage would have afforded the young Dhani many amenities in life. On the contrary however, most of Dorne's early youth was spent sheltered and secluded from both the world and even her family. Reclusive and soft spoken to a fault, the young sorceress often retreated inward when faced with the troubling prospect of venturing outside and meeting new people. Instead she opted to engross herself in her passion for magic, eventually seeking companionship only in the strange and wondrous creatures she was able to summon into our mortal realm. When she at last reached of age and was ready to affirm her path in life, many expected the young girl to pursue this peculiar infatuation for the arcane arts as a career, or even follow in the footsteps of her adopted family's business. Instead, Sable shocked everyone when she proudly declared she would be joining the Ebonstryfe instead.

This was considered a jest by those who saw the girl as nothing more than introverted bookworm and dabbler of meager magics, but when the mage emerged from her Crucible as one of Rhysol's chosen, it became clear this was no mere passing phase. As a fully fledged soldier of Ravok, Dorne isn't exactly what most would consider a model recruit. Overly meek at her worst, pedantic at her best, and far too impressionable in between, Sabel often comes across as more a child playing pretend than a true warrior of the Eternal City. Truth be told, its very likely the young woman would have never survived her basic training had she not eventually found herself been caught up in Elias Caldera's crusade. Fortunately for the bright young mage, the commander saw great potential in the girl and invested himself in both her training and her education. Now that she has finally struck out on her own, Sabel endeavors to repay her fathomless debt to both the Galatos and Caldera, while also balancing her obligation to god and country as well. A precarious and daunting challenge to say the least, but one made all the more perilous by Dorne's childlike ignorance of the world at large and her generally excruciating naivety.

Still, with the aid of overly protective and whimsical familiar Baz, and a heart filled with a resolve to do her family proud, Sabel seems determined to find her own voice in this world and is poised to shatter all expectations to the contrary.

The Company

Falcon

Name: The Falcon
Race:
Place of Birth:
Date of Birth:
Occupation: Ebonstryfe Commander
Unit Designation: The Talons

Skills:

Words Words Words

Vargas

Name: Vargas
Race: Sevra
Place of Birth: Suvan Sea
Date of Birth:
Occupation: Ebonstryfe Commander
Unit Designation: The Reavers

Skills:

Words Words Words

Malachai

Name: Malachai Quinn
Race: Human/Drykas
Place of Birth: The Sea of Grass
Date of Birth: Spring, 466 AV
Occupation: Paladin of the Ebonstryfe

Skills:
Voiding [80]
Short Bow [74]
Tulwar [70]
Horse Riding [60]
Horsemanship [60]
Wilderness Survival (Plains, Forest) [55]
Auristics [52]
Leadership [42]
Tactics [40]
Carving [36]
Hunting [25]

Soft spoken, earnest and notoriously levelheaded in the face of danger, Malachai Quinn is an undeniably imposing presence both on and off the battlefield. Though seen by some as overly cautious and and even lacking in resolve to do what needs be done, Malachai's men follow him out of sheer respect and hard earned admiration, hanging on his every word not because rank dictates they must, but because loyalty allows them to choose to. Both a sorcerer and a swordsman of great repute, the Paladin has seen combat all across Sylira and beyond, and uses the lessons of not just his past victories to guide his judgement, but also his mistakes, of which there have been many.

Once a high ranking officer within the order of the Ebonstryfe, Malachai Quinn was stripped of his command after being tasked with annihilating another company of soldiers suspected of betraying their oaths and abandoning their sacred duty. As a loyal patriot and warrior who had served his nation for decades, the zealous general carried out his orders without question. The fighting that followed however was more fierce and brutal than predicted, and by the end both companies had been completely decimated. Malachai had lost his entire troop, every man and woman under his command fallen to the blades of those they once called 'brother.' When the Paladin learned that their enemy had never truly been suspected of heresy, but had instead earned the ire and wroth of a high ranking Black Sun operative who'd simply used Malachai's men as his personal punitive force, it broke the once great general. He condemned his order, his god, and his oath to both, but not before he managed to fling the Black Sun Priest who had gotten his men killed into the deepest, darkest part of the void he could find.

Malachai spent the next three years in the depths of a Ravokian prison, tortured and questioned relentlessly, until at last the day came for his chance at redemption. Assigned a rag tag cadre of convicts and criminals cobbled together from all the worst parts of his city's darkest corners, Malachai and his expendable troops were sent far and wide across Mizahar to fulfill the wicked will of their Ravokian masters. Their purpose was to die for their country, and if they were lucky, their sacrifice would gain them at least some measure of dignity to which they could use to barter for theirs souls when they met their great god in the afterlife. If they were worthy of atonement however, they would find their way back home, victorious and forgiven.

In the end, of all those who left Ravok under Malachai's command, only one other returned alongside the fallen soldier.

Malachai was lauded as a hero upon his triumphant homecoming, and while he accepted his reinstatement as a proud Paladin of the order, it was was clear the man that had returned was not the same that had left. His time both in captivity and abroad had changed him. No longer did blind faith and holy zeal fuel the fire of his resolve, but instead something else guided his path. Something that now drives the Drykas warrior to dangerous and treasonous lengths to see his mysterious goals fulfilled.

by **Elias Caldera** on March 31st, 2018, 6:00 pm

The Caldera Manor

For over five hundred years the Calderas have known not but strife and turmoil. Condemned by the very blood that flows through their veins, tragedy and conflict have loomed over the descendants of this ancient line for as long as any can remember. It is no surprise then to learn that the house which has held host to such ceaseless sorrow over the centuries has fared little better than those that once called it home.

Since the foundations of the original manor were raised in 101 AV, the estate has been subsequently besieged, plundered, beset by plague, burned to the ground more times that can be recounted, and at one point, even sunk to the bottom of the lake. Incredibly, the mansion still stands to this day in spite of everything endured, a testament to the unyielding tenacity that has come to define the Caldera clan over the generations. Needless to say however, the villa is far from the first of its kind, and this latest inception restored in 516 AV is a far cry from the sheer grandeur and magnificence that once exemplified the estate in its glory days. Even so, today the manor still wields a tangible air of resplendence and majesty designed to inspire awe as much as it is to accommodate. Some might even suggest its pomp and opulence are a bold attempt to compete with that of the five great families of Ravok themselves.

Situated upon its own acre long platform within the Merchant’s Ring of the city, the estate stands three stories tall and is topped in the domed architectural design of typical Ravokian fashion. Surrounded by a tall wooden wall that extends around the perimeter of the large property, entrance is achieved solely by the platform’s personal dockyard, though very few are permitted access beyond this point. Upon disembarking, one first encounters something quite unusual in a city like Ravok; greenery. Imported from the mainland at great personal cost generations ago, the entirety of the platform is covered in lush grass growing from a sturdy layer of topsoil. At the heart of this floral display of wealth and power, sits a large and intricately carved stone fountain cut in the regal visage of the holy Voice herself, Myleena Vos. More statues and stone carvings can be gleamed across the elaborate courtyard, and more

still lining the entrance to the chateau itself. Many depict Rhysol’s great champions from ages past, but amidst these marble renderings of humbling renown also stand poised the depictions of long dead and glorious Caldera heroes from times gone by, at least those who were bold or arrogant enough to proclaim themselves as such in any case. All in all, the design and outward appearance of the manor is meant to impress upon those approaching with astonishment and envy in equal parts. Once one draws near to the thick double doors that lead inside however, an air of something else quickly descends upon those who reach inside.

Something deeply unsettling.

Within the mansion, visitors are greeted by the main hall, a grand and palatial room where two elegantly curved staircases frame the entrance to the grand dining hall beyond. Dark curtains sway silently from the windows alongside massive banners draped from the railings that bear the black and gold crest of house Caldera, an imperial motif that resonates throughout the entirety of the residence. From there, one may turn left into the finely furnished kitchens, storage chambers, and servant’s quarters respectively. Or right, where the spare bedrooms and lavish baths reside. Towards the rear of the residence are the cordoned off laboratories where magical mysterious are unraveled, as well as the recently renovated smithy, the source of the near constant pillar of black smoke emanating from the manor’s chimneys. In fact, the sounds of metalwork can often be heard echoing throughout the halls at odd hours of the day, and the entire mansion itself radiates with an undeniable undercurrent of listless djed birthed from the labs. To those more inclined to the arcane, they may also notice that underneath the haze of magic lie in wait numerous glyphs and runes inscribed seemingly everywhere across the chateau. Though many are disguised and hidden from plain sight, there are some that stand out blatant and brazen, as if

designed to be openly used.

Upstairs however, is a different tale, for on the second floor is where the lords of the house dwell. In these garnished and stately master bedrooms do the heads of the family rest, unless of course they are instead at toil amidst the heady aroma of ink and parchment that emanate from the offices and library. In stark contrast, the basement is where those who have angered the masters are imprisoned, locked away in dreaded perpetuity within the old, rusted cells that wait patiently in the dank darkness below, eager to play host to any new unfortunate guests.

Despite the luxurious and extravagant design of the home and the prestige almost desperate in its display, there is an endless… unease about the mansion that permeates every room and quiet corridor like a chill wind. The countless lanterns and chandeliers about the mansion are lit diligently day and night, yet seem to burn just a bit too dimly against the cold, creeping darkness barely held at bay. When quiet, it is a particularly eerie place to behold, one where shadows linger and lurk in every corner, and strange sounds haunt the estate in the dark hours of the night.

One may get the impression there is something wrong about the manor, something very off, but whatever it is, great pains are taken to keep it hidden beneath a veneer of fine polish and expensive tastes.

Rueger

Name: Alaric Rueger
Race: Human
Place of Birth: The Suvan Sea
Date of Birth: Spring, 455 AV
Occupation: Butler

Skills:
History [20]
Leadership [10]
Archaeology [10]
Cartography [10]

Rueger is a seasoned and disciplined man who carries himself with a stern, no-nonsense severity akin to that of a battle hardened soldier. Rarely ever seen without a scrutinizing grimace upon his leathery face or his hands tightly clasped behind the small of his back, it may surprise some to learn that the steely eyed old butler was actually once an avid explorer in his early days.

World weary and well traveled, Rueger has in fact beheld more of Mizahar's dark secrets and vast wonders than most men ever will in their entire lifetimes. From the cold capped peaks of Avantal to the wind swept sands of Ahnathep, the Syliran born native has seen much in his time, having grown wise and wizened with each new journey further into the unknown.

The path of the wanderer was not always the one Alaric had envisioned for himself however. As a youth he had aspired to join the Knighthood of his homeland, but when his character was called into question by the knights, Rueger was found lacking. Dejected and disheartened, he left his city in search of a different purpose, but as the days on the road turned into weeks, and the weeks stretched into years, what became an escape had soon turned into an aspiration all its own. Unfortunately, nothing good ever lasts for long, and so it was that Alaric was eventually captured by slavers during his travels abroad and brought to Ravok in chains. Purchased then by the Caldera family, the slave quickly earned his freedom in no small part due to the unwavering loyalty he displayed towards his master and then patriarch of the family, Drommund Caldera. In time, he also came to see his master's heirs, Torian and Caiden, as his own sons in a way, vowing his fealty to them both till the day he died. It was a loyalty the faithful servant continued to prove over the years as he chose to stay on as the family's attendant instead of embracing his newfound liberty. Since then, Rueger has diligently served two generations of the clan, returning again to offer his services to a third when news of Elias's efforts to reforge the house of his ancestors reached the old butler. Rueger now considers it his duty to serve the young master as part of his oath to the boy's father. Having sworn himself once more to home and hearth, the wizened old butler has pledged to aid Elias in his relentless crusade to see the House of Caldera rise from the ashes and ascend to prominence once more.

Isabella

Name: Isabella Crowley
Race: Human
Place of Birth: Ravok
Date of Birth: Summer, 500 AV
Occupation: Slave

Skills:
Politics [20]
Intelligence [20]
Cooking [5]
Cleaning [5]

Brash, prudish, and unafraid to wield a pretentious wit sharper than most blades, Isabella Crowley is all things a proper slave is not. Yet for all her conceited airs and the genuine brilliance that hides beneath the pompousness, there is no escaping the half sun brand of servitude burned into her hand, no matter how hard she may try.

Once a member of the prestigious and prominent Crowley dynasty, Isabella abruptly found her life upended when her sister was accused of heresy. As the head of the family, Lorna's cataclysmic fall from grace and subsequent execution by the hands of the Ebonstryfe ruined the merchant clan overnight, and those of the household that were not wise or fleet enough to flee Ravok in the aftermath soon found themselves hunted and devoured by the city they once called home. Destitute and on the run, it seemed as if Isabella's fate was destined for the gallows just like her sister. That was of course until the day she met Shiress Underhill, who beheld the wretch of a girl on the streets, desperate and doomed, and with a single act of such pure charity and kindness, rescued the young woman from what would have been her certain demise. In spite of the fact that they were complete strangers from completely different worlds and owed one another nothing, the kindhearted healer was determined in her efforts to save Isabella and would not be dissuaded by the daunting obstacles in their path. It was only after employing Elias's aid in the matter was a permanent solution found however, and Isabella was shortly thereafter taken in by house Caldera as a slave, as it was the only means in which the consequences of her former life could be absolved and her new one allowed to begin.

Isabella has since sworn herself to Shiress wholeheartedly, vowing to serve the Zeltivan mistress who saved her life with all of her ability and cunning -despite countless protests to the contrary. To describe her affection for Shiress since then as 'zealous like' would be an understatement, as it is little secret how Isabella both revers and admires her savior to a degree of near worship. Acting as Shiress's handmaid, advisor, personal attendant, and everything in between, Isabella is content as long as it means she is never far from her lady's side. Unfortunately, her duties around the manor and toward the rest of the family all too often see her pried from her idol's company.

For Isabella, having to debase herself to such a level as to do menial chores might have actually been worse than dying, and she treats her daily duties around the house as one would expect a former aristocrat reduced to slavery would. Today, she can often be found stomping around the hallways of the Caldera manor, usually dressed in fine garb unbefitting her role as a humble servant and with a constant sneer upon her painted lips that would leave even the staunchest of men wary of approach. Only Rueger's harsh temperament, or the sight of Shiress herself is enough to snap her from her brooding stupor and back to the work for which she is quiet unsuited for. Yet, for all her flaws, Isabella is far from without her merits. As her sister's protege and greatest student, the young Crowley grew up steeped in her family's trade, understanding both numbers, trade, and the complexities of Ravokian politics like few others could. Despite her status and the stifling restraints that come along with it, Isabella's talents are ever growing and have proven more than useful to the Calderas since she was made part of the household. Though it may not be the Crowley name she serves anymore, thanks to Shiress, Isabella has something of a family once again, and this time, she will allow nothing to tear it away from her.

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