#rfs entry

Legacy was born against a backdrop of red stone desert, and grew up on the side of a dirt track road. His mother was a travelling priestess of Kelemvor, and she was regarded with fearful disdain wherever they went. A Tiefling who walks in the shadow of death itself is rarely well-received, and Legacy came to know distrust better than he knew himself. It bred a jaded man, who would come to embrace the stereotypes placed upon him. If he was to be feared, he would become something worth being scared of.

Against his mother’s wishes, Legacy took up a Pact of the Blade and began making a name for himself in mercenary circles. He has become a callous young man, who looks for acceptance in all the wrong places, always running to prove himself against the odds. That sort of pressure makes a person lose their identity, and perhaps that is why he was drawn to inspect a smudged poster outside of a shady tavern that day: “Tiefling bard of Windenburg looking for love!”

Some quick facts about Legacy:

Stubborn as all heck, to an absolute and oftentimes violent fault

His pact weapon is a copper kris he keeps in his boot, and he would sooner kill than be separated from it

Mummy’s boy through-and-through

Will act like he doesn’t mean to be funny, but takes so much pride in making people laugh with his dry wit

Oh so very vain, always keeps himself well-groomed

Well-spoken

The strong and silent type when it comes to large groups of people

Has an extremely expressive face however, so you can nearly always tell what he’s thinking anyway

Will never ever back down from a challenge, even if he knows he can’t win  

Identity crisis all day everyday, he’s obsessed with how he is perceived by people

Not malicious, but would rather people believed he was — he’s just never had many good reasons to think of anyone but himself

Loves a drink, and the occasional handful of fey shroom

I am not my clan.

I was not my clan even at my birth, when they bit the strand between my mother and I and named me Niqa. Every orc has a yoke of his own. We are born with broad shoulders to bear the weight of what our clan insists of us. We are born into fealty, into loyalty. Loyalty or death. And my yoke was like my mother’s, like her mother’s. While my brothers waged wars with the best of our clan, we toiled at the water’s edge with our nets and our lines. We fed the instruments of war our clan made of our boys but I could fight as well, I would fight for my clan if they would let me. 

They spat my sex at my feet like a curse and left me behind.

I was not my clan when food began to run out, when the rivers began to dry. A hard, hot summer made tensions brittle and a lean, frigid winter broke us. The fighting was tremendous; hate covered our village, a layer of ice atop the snow that killed our crops, now threatening to kill us.

When the sun finally came out, we had killed so many of our own it was impossible to tell enemy from friend any longer. My brothers and father were dead, my mother lay dying and all the chieftain could tell me was that this year would be better.

This year would be better.

I was not my clan when I whispered my good byes that night. I was not my clan when I took my father’s sword, when I pulled the torch from its bracing and moved for the last time across the place of my birth, its ground forever stained with the blood of my people, my family. I was not my clan when I lit the lashings atop the chieftain’s hut and waited for him to exit, and I was not my clan when I cut his throat and let him beg me for his life.

They could have killed me when they saw what I had done. They should have; I stood in the village square with his head and watched them come but I felt nothing. Neither fear nor relief. Only the hot blood on my legs.

They cut my tusks and branded me a traitor. Kill one orc and you become a traitor; the chieftain killed many more that winter but no one would demand any better from him. Broken at their feet, tusks blunted by their hateful blades, they left me there in the woods to die.

But I didn’t die.

It was the humans that found me, swollen with flies and breathing my last but as they drew their blades all I could croak was, ‘I am not my clan.’

They gave me a second chance. It was more than my own clan would afford me, would afford any of us. The humans owed me nothing. They had every right to leave me there to my fate, to fear what I was. I was tall and strong even then, a girl of sixteen winters, but I promised them that I am not my clan and they let me prove it. 

I am grown now. No human stands so tall as I, no horse in their stables as strong. Many still regard me with fear, with uncertainty - have I any right to blame them? 

They have let me fight for their queen, an honour never afforded to me before. They taught me to use my father’s sword, gave me purpose. The orcs that pass through know what I am for the size of my tusks but the wise ones say nothing of it; only sneer and murmur in our hometongue. 

But I am not my clan. I never was. 

Personality:

Driven. Niqa spent the first years of her life being underestimated, forgotten and left behind. Her work ethic is hard to beat and she’ll stop at nothing to see her goals accomplished.

Loyal. There’s very little Niqa wouldn’t do for the humans that saved her and gave her a chance to be more. Even when she was still with her clan, what she did she felt was for the good of her people.

Stoic. She’s also regarded as being a little bit hard around the edges, but for the most part Niqa keeps her feelings to herself.

Cliche heart of gold. She’s a tough nut to crack, but there is goodness in her. Promise.

Brave. There isn’t much Niqa fears and she’s more than willing to stand at the front. She’s a tank through and through, and she’s at her best when other people are afraid or someone needs protecting.

The daughter of a human woman and an air spirit, Finis never actually knew her parents but was left with the distant relatives that her mother had sought out due to one of them conveniently being a traveling midwife. Said relatives weren't particularly keen on having a tiny blue child running (and sometimes floating) around their caravan but family is family, even if they're weird. They stubbornly refused to actuallytalk about her ancestory, even though she was blue and could fly and started learning wild magic without even trying, and just hid her away behind their market stalls well into her teens. She eventually left that life behind and began to wander on her own in search of her true heritage.

Finis is a confident, ambitious, and rather short tempered sorcerer. She has a fairly neutral demeanor otherwise, coming off as quite mild and pleasant with a light, soothing voice that is in complete contrast to the fierce, thunderous voice that accompanies her spellwork and fits of rage. Her appearance belies her strength - the only real sign of her regular brawling being the fact that she's blind in one eye - and she can and will break any man she sees as stepping out of line...and a lot of men "step out of line" quite often. (Fun fact: she is a raging lesbian and tends to judge men very harshly.) Despite her very active inclination toward anger, one of her personal in life is to fall in love and have a family of her own that she can care for with a level of dedication that she feels was never truly afforded to her.

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Pyxis Gossamer - blush and eyeshadow Pyxis Sadderdaze - lips  Pyxis Of The Earth - vines tattoo Auralixx Gradient Overlay - sorbets remix Nolan Sims Freckle Overlay Teanmoon Blind Eye Overlays - left eye Kijiko 3D Lashes Version 2

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