#humanskel

THE PRINCESS ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Human FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Princess of Iskaldrik

Iskaran first born. Cunning enough to climb, sharp enough to rule. It didn’t matter that you knew the laws like the back of your hand, and it didn’t matter that you had the same hard disposition of your father. It’s been said that Iskarans are cut from the very stone they mine: stubborn, rigid, and unforgiving. You’d never sit on your ancestral throne because you were born a girl. One simple incident of birth and that meant you were destined to live on the wayside, to someday marry a Jarl’s son and birth his heirs. You could pick up a sword if you wanted to, maybe they’d even call you shieldmaiden, but your worth would never be measured by what you could do and would always be counted by what you could give. You were your father’s greatest pride, you could see it in how he praised you and favored you. Attended by your handmaidens - the daughters of nobles that were placed adjacent to you because under your delicate skin there was steel they might be able to absorb. You were to be sent far away, a polictical gambit with a husband you’d not meet until you arrived, but then suddenly your father fell ill. You and your brother had the huscarl’s ear, and as the man who was both your patron and jailor ranted and raved for the last three years from inside his room, you have begun to know what freedom and agency tastes like.

CONNECTS

THE HEIR: Sibling THE HAND: Interim King

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee Iskaran Royal: FC must be Turkish

THE SMUGGLER ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Human FACTION. Nightingale OCCUPATION. UTP

You were young when someone reached their hand out to you with a coin. You’d stood on the corner of a dirty street in Frostvang, a ragged cloak that was all you had to protect you from the cold. Only one person saw you, a woman with a kind smile and ears that made her stand out from the rest that passed through. No one else would’ve noticed you, in fact, no one usually did. But that coin got you a meal that night and you never forgot about it. Iskaldrik was built for your kind, not hers, but you kept her secret as she left, and you grew up with fondness in your heart for magic in a place that only held hatred for it. Your curiosity only made you smarter as you grew, and when the woman returned one day, seemingly having not aged, she offered you a choice. She told you to hold your breath, and you’d find the way. So you followed, you dove beneath waves and emerged someone new. Pledging yourself to Boethiah you held no regrets, but you also knew you needed to return home. And as your home country crumbled around you, you did what others could not. You planned escape routes, whispered in ears false tales of refugees going elsewhere, and ran with those who had nothing but the cloaks upon their backs.

CONNECTS

N/A

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee

THE SHIELD ~

NAME. Freydis AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Human FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Jarl

Unbroken in the barren fields, the Iskaran plains are a brutal proving ground for youth, but you grew to be more so. You, the troubled daughter of a farmhouse that nobody would have bothered to remember. You, the daughter of worthless grain, were destined to till the flour from the earth until your hands were as worn, weathered, and weary as the parents who raised you. Stories of the sea and the foam permeated your youth, but in those tales, there was no room for the miller’s daughter; there was no heroine amongst men who claimed their glory on shores you’d never see. The bite of the frost against your cheeks, the sting of the cold against your tongue, you never knew a person could be venomous until you looked into the hateful gaze of the Jarl who said your family owed him everything. His inheritance was an accident of birth; yours came when you challenged him to a trial by combat. He laughed, they all laughed, a shieldmaiden from nothing but dirt and sticks - they said you were nothing, and they shattered your shield, so you used the splinters to gouge out their eyes. Then they called you Jarl. Icefang the undefeated and unbowed. When they challenged you, the girl from nowhere, it was your turn to laugh, your turn to rule, and your turn to be cruel.

CONNECTS

THE HAND: Interim King

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee Female Jarl: FC must be Female.

THE HAND ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30+ SPECIES. Human FACTION. Warrior's Guild OCCUPATION. Interim King of Iskaldrik

Before he was King, Orhan was your friend. A trusted man at arms that you gladly fought beside on the Astorian plains. That was where he earned his rank, blademaster, they called him. Orhan was a prince with a second title, a man who was an artist with an ax and a spear. In some ways there was a part of you that both loved him and envied him, you were both born with talent but he was also born with the blood right to rule. You were the humble son of a drunk and a simple arborist that hailed from the Skjaldwood. You shouldn’t have been anything, but still, being nothing was enough to save his life before the conflict came to an end. When he returned home he denoted you Kingsguard upon his ascension, and then Orhan looked at you, he smiled, and he called you Huscarl. King Orhan Gökhan was your friend, which would only make what was to come harder. The King was a man of Iskaran honor, so what did it say about you that you helped his changeling child and disregarded daughter poison the mind of the man you loved? Maybe, had the King been well, Aetheron would not have advanced so quickly. Now, on the road, it will take time for Orhan to recover, but you know that it is only a matter of time until he does.

CONNECTS

THE HEIR: Ward THE PRINCESS: Ward

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee

the deal~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Human ( Darkfriend ) OCCUPATION. UTP

A family of hunters prepared you to meet a violent, dark end; dying young wasn’t that strange in your family but somehow you thought things would be different for you. The odds weren’t exactly fair, not when you were up against something that could break through walls or move at the blink of an eye. Spells that could kill you before you ever saw where they were coming from, and enemies that didn’t care about natural laws or things like that. Brutal beginnings beget a brutal life and when you hit that ground you were dead in an instant. It should have been over then, but through the dark a voice brought you back; unfinished, you were still unfinished. Your bones snapped back, your body fixed itself, and from the place where you’d hit the ground you stood up again. Ready for a second round. So long as the scales were tipped then you would just keep coming back again and again. That felt fair, that felt right, the hunt was on.

the tracker~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Human ( Darkfriend ) OCCUPATION. UTP

A pseudo parent far too young, you did what you had to do in order to get your sister out of the pit where the two of you were raised. The two of you were a unit of your own, a reinforced team of two, it was you and her against the world. The Eye saw a pair of siblings with a chip on their shoulders and turned you into a set of soldiers. A hunter’s life was often brief and violent, you were the older brother and it should have been you that paid the price but instead the sister you loved was torn apart by a pack of the very same beasts you were trained to hunt. Hardened, bitter, and trained to kill; The Eye might have been ready to move on and put the past behind them, but you never did. Dead on the floor, that should have been the end of you, but instead another came to you. Something dark that spoke to the hatred in your heart, He found you and laid a hand upon your soul so you could rise again: Darkfriend, your hunt continued.

the breaker~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Human ( Darkfriend ) OCCUPATION. UTP

You weren’t born into this life but destiny didn’t care what you wanted, you lost everything when you were still just a kid. Too young to know what had happened, and much too small to do anything about it. A family of hunters found you, they looked into the crime and knew that there was a hatred in you that was never going to die. You weren’t raised to be a weapon, but they gave you the choice and after everything it was a no brainer. Generations of journals and a history of weaponry, it was all at your fingertips now and you used everything to your advantage to hunt down and kill the things that had torn your life apart. Broken and beaten, you won but it was a pyrrhic victory that was going to cost you your life. Instead of death you met another, a dark promise, and a debt that you’d spend the rest of your mortal years paying. Stay the hunter, stay the killer, stay the breaker and death would never be able to take you.

The Assistant~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. Ancient & UTP SPECIES. Human ;) AFFILIATION. The House of Bianchi OCCUPATION. Marzia Bianchi’s Personal Assistant

Eternity is a long time when you’re serving an Eldritch God. Human in every sense of the word, except that you’re older than dirt. Puppet? Meatsuit? There’s no word for what you are, but you’ve been making Marzia’s appointments for as long as you can remember. You and the Mayor have been all over the history books, yet somehow no one ever seems to remember you. Oil paintings? Photos? Mona Lisa? More like Marzia Bianchi. Keeping up with the times is easier than everyone says it is, social media is a breeze - it’s definitely easier than that time Marzia had you go apple picking for one of the fallen. Everyone remembers Nero, but people don’t realize how hard it was when the Mayor told you to find a lyre that he liked. Talk about being particular. Split atoms? Marzia calls that the Bianchi method, you’ve been telling her for years that it really took off. Hey Vice, do the thing. Hey Vice, what’s that movie I like? Hey Vice, can you get me a reservation for that restaurant on that street? Maybe it’s time for a vacation. Or, at the very least, a raise.