Welcome to Gaia! ::

ESSENTIALS

• Name: Mechthild Schweinsteiger
  
• Nickname: Mette, Schweini (Piggy)
  
• Age: 20
  
• Social Class: Peasant (from a farming family)

APPEARANCE
Build: Mette is tall for a girl, with a robust frame of lean muscle. Her skin is peach, scrubbed pink, with a light scattering of freckles. Despite all her time spent under the open sky, even if it were possible to tan in eternal winter, she would probably still just burn. The fingers of her left hand are impressively marked with a vicious collection of scars, some more faded, some less. These are not tokens of battle. This is a testament to the soul who can handle a sword adequately, but still not be able to come out of being hastily tasked (despite being the eldest child, she is the last choice) to prepare a meal for a houseful of children unmarked.

Hair: Her unremarkably ginger hair (perhaps a little more strawberry blonde at the crown) is roughly chopped, as if sections were seized at random and cut with a blade at whatever lengths would keep them out of the way. The bottommost locks dovetail down her nape, spilling a little past her shoulders, the rest of the cut feathering out confusedly around her face.

Face: Her eyes are lightest honey brown, rimmed darker around the iris, wide and bold and framed by lashes that are short, but thick and surprisingly dark for the colour of her hair. These are what most would notice first upon meeting her, perhaps distracting a little from her generous but unsophisticated mouth - and, she secretly hopes, her nose. It's a little snub, the tip slightly up-turned, looking just a tad too small for her open face. It isn't bad, but she's pretty sure the heroes of legend weren't much in the way of snub noses, and dearly wishes she had inherited her grandfather's hawk nose to cut a truly dashing figure in a tale of yore instead.

Clothes: Before joining the Swords, she wore clothing suitable for farmwork and emergency babysitting for six younger siblings - which is to say, absolute rubbish. Any old clothes in the household, usually already rescued from a more affluent household's trash heap, were mended however many times over as necessary to circulate amongst all members who fit them. Within the house, she does not wear a skirt, but in company she reluctantly obliges a short, slitted wrap over her trousers for convention's sake. The idea of taking care of her appearance is foreign to her.

PERSONALITY
When Mette was seven, she declared that she was Mette no longer, but a boy named Lothar. When papa got home and switched her for running around outside buck naked (just once, round the house, before running back in because it was too cold) - for she had been told that was what boys could do - and setting a bad example for her little brothers and sisters, she cried "Death before dishonour!" - for that was what grandpa had taught her - and kicked him in the shin, running away from home for two days before hunger and the promise of mama's stew persuaded her back. In the fifteen years since, little has changed.

She should have been born a boy: she is practically one, enjoying men's work, whether it simply be heavy lifting or, her favourite, combat, preferably loud and boisterous, and ending in good humour; she does not hate women's work, well understanding that skills such as cooking and needlework are amazing in their own right, but she is utterly baffled by their execution, and dreads being tasked with them. She is rather gullible, eager to believe fantastic tales, and, being set in her beliefs once acquired, finding it difficult to let go of them even after hard proof to the contrary. She is prone to violence as the solution to her immediate problems - her brain, in any case, is poor, poor backup if this solution fails. And she does still love mama's cooking best.

She is open and honest with all, treating newly-met strangers as old friends - and totally oblivious to the concept of personal space (greet at your peril). Duplicity eludes her: quick tongues that deal with such frustrate her, a frustration that she takes to her fists to dissipate (if not upon the offenders themselves, well, training dummies will have to suffice). Once she learns to mistrust a person, only the word of one much respected will convince her to withstand their presence.

Her dream has always been to join the Swords and engage in glorious battle, proving her valour and worth. She does not fear failure, for she is certain she will never back down from a fight, and to fall in battle is an honour of its own.

Her place of solace is the battlefield…or so she would like to think, for she has never actually been in one, if bar brawls don't count. In lieu, it is probably the training grounds, with the unmitigated joy she feels upon being allowed to freely wield a sword…a sentiment she's had the privilege of only for all of her brief time with the Swords. Prior to this privilege, she'd felt most at home in a cluster of rambunctious children - not to mother, naturally, but to roughhouse and tumble with, to sport with and laugh, and retell grandpa's swashbuckling tales, for that was the way it had always been through her childhood, her younger siblings clamouring about her, and she had had what she rather considered a glorious childhood.

ABILITIES
Mette relies most on her brute strength, accumulated from a lifetime of farmwork, but it is not much more than 'above average', and would be easily outmatched by an opponent trained for it. Thankfully, she is also nimble enough (perhaps from a lifetime of dodging papa's well-meaning but stinging switch), which might aid her somewhat in such a fight. She is relatively able with the sword - her grandfather had been a Sword and had trained her some in her childhood, but passed away before she could become skilled with it. Thus, the sword feels good and natural in her hands, and she may have the edge over her fellow recruits in this, but she is far from anything that could be called expertise.

Her best friend is her sheer perseverance - any task set to her, she will work tirelessly at until completion. She is one of those for whom repetition holds no boredom in the face of duty: even scrubbing toilets from dawn to dusk may bring some measure of satisfaction from a job well done. While she is at least bright enough that of instructions she never needs telling twice, she finds it hard to think in curves, and may toil for days at a task that needs a more ingenious solution without progress. In other words, she is an excellent follower, but not much of a leader, nor innovator.

She has a way with children, playing with them as if she were an overgrown child herself (which perhaps inside she still is) - but only the rowdy ones. The shy ones leave her at a loss, and she has inadvertently scared a few, for which she remains very sorry.

HOBBIES
She loves most to train with her sword, eager to match her grandfather's skill as her memory marked it. Ever since joining the Swords, she has also thrown herself into the idea of training her body - she eagerly exhorts methods to build strength from those who know more, and attempts them all with gusto, even the ones she finds a little odd, such as adding raw eggs to your morning drink.

Whenever she sees a trinket she can afford, or a token she can retrieve, she will procure them as souvenirs for her young siblings back at the farm; they are always on her mind. But being fond of children in general, she has sometimes lost these intended gifts to unintended pint-sized recipients inquiring after them curiously, through sheer dint of 'not being able to have helped it because they were so cute'.

BACKGROUND
Mette remembers her grandfather, on her mother's side, a bear of a man, a grizzled old Sword; he had begun training her with his blunted old weapons when she was too young to even properly lift them. She remembers his stories, of valour, of honour, the privilege of dying a proud warrior in the field. Most of all she remembers his tales of his last deployment to Blackwood, the horrors that lay within, and the exceptional accomplishment of vanquishing such horrors. Her head is filled with these stories, with the dizzying trials of the forest, with going out in a blaze of glory, and as soon as her parents could no longer hold her to the home, she joined the Swords.

What she did not know were her grandfather's nightmares, his blind screaming when he did things he could not understand and looked down at the changes to himself that the doing wrought - that his death was not an accident, as she'd been told. She jumped at this chance to prove her worth in the most grueling battleground of all. If she is lucky, she may well go out in a blaze of glory.

ESSENTIALS

• Name: Saxen Delaine
  
• Nickname: His siblings used to call him Del when he was younger.
  
• Age: Thirty-two
  
• Social Class: Artisan

APPEARANCE
Most people would describe Saxen’s facial features (after a few thoughtful ‘um’s) as average. Other that a slightly crooked nose (broken a couple of times during his hot-headed younger years), he is extremely plain while never being ugly. He is for the most part, easy to overlook, until you get him angry. Then he bushy eyebrow come down and a fire kindles in his brown eyes. It is then you know he means business, and it is not a look you ever want to see aimed in your direction.

His hair has been haphazardly cut short. Upon becoming a new recruit as a Sword, Saxen decided it would be best not to have the long hair he had sported all his life. So he hacked it off as best he could with a knife, refusing to ask anyone for help, and ending up with messy, dark-brown hacked up mop on his head. Try not to mention it.

As his main facial features are average, so is his body. He is neither overly muscular nor skinny. His height is the same, with no one able to call him short but no one able to say he’s tall either. He tends to wear modest, plain clothing. Like most people, a lot of a layers, with little adornments. Functional and warm clothing in browns and greys.

PERSONALITY
Saxen is a good person, but these days it is often overshadowed by a dark melancholy that keeps many people from attempting to get too close. Poison words slip off his tongue often before he means to speak them, and while he regrets it each and every time, he makes no more to repair the distance he had made between himself and others.

No longer as hot-headed as he was when he was a younger man, Saxen has developed a certain level of patience. He is hard to anger, and will usually simply stare at a person in disdain when they try and cause trouble. Just keep in mind that it is not a good idea to be the last straw; Saxen Delaine angry is not a man you want to meet.

Saxen has always had a good work ethic and is not afraid of any hard work, sitting up long hours into the night to get orders done. He has a very solid man. When he makes a promise he keeps it, and you can always count him as being reliable.

Contrary to popular belief, he is still capable of a smile, though they are rare. Laughter has not passed lips in a very long time.

ABILITIES
Though he has no real skill with a sword, Saxen is a hard-worker and is good with his hands. As quick learner, basic techniques should be picked up quickly. His people skills are hit and miss. It usually depends on what kind of mood he’s in. Being fairly melancholic a lot of the time, many of the younger recruits would probably find him company boring and Saxen can’t be bothered trying to change any thoughts they might have on him.
Saxen knows how to read and is good with numbers.
Easily overestimated; it can often work to his advantage.
Good at following orders.

HOBBIES
Woodcraft: Saxen can often be finding whittling pieces of wood into various shapes. When he completes a piece, he ill give it to the closest person at the time, offering it as a gift.
Reading: Quite fond of a good bit of literature, Saxen likes to loose himself in books on his time off.

BACKGROUND
Saxen Delaine grew up as a carpenter. All the men in his family had been carpenters, as far back as anyone could remember, and he had no issue in following the path that had been decided for him before his birth. Despite being a rather hot-headed young man, prone to getting into fights every few days, Saxen found a loving wife. His child-hood sweetheart, the two were lucky enough to marry, and eventually a child was born; a beautiful baby girl who lived only until her fifth year, suddenly struck down by sickness.

The death of a beloved child is a powerful thing. Those who know Saxen before would say it destroyed him. It turned him inside out and once he had slowly picked himself up, he was a different person. He gave up the craft that had served him so well his entire life, turned away from his family, and chose to find another path, something that would help him forget.

Saxen Delaine, at the age of thirty-two, picked up a sword.

ESSENTIALS

• Name: Ariadne Snowshorne
  
• Nickname: Aree by her younger siblings
  
• Age: 19
  
• Social Class: Half-mask or Noble (not sure which?)

APPEARANCE
Short, just under 5’, and wiry. Ariadne isn’t as pale as many, and her skin has a slightly reddish tinge. She keeps her hair cut short and it is naturally straight; it’s dark-brown, almost black. Her eyes are a vivid, dark green. Ariadne usually has a grim expression on her face. Her clothing style is practical, and she won’t wear dresses unless it’s for a formal occasion (one of the few times she’ll wear makeup). She does have a thing for the color red. She has a set of scars on her forehead from a hunting accident involving a predatory bird.

PERSONALITY
Ariadne is quick to anger, but rational and controlled. To those who don’t know her, she seems to be almost perpetually angry. Friends (or, uh, allies) and family know that she’s just very, very serious. Ariadne has no time for frivolities and childish recreation! There’s work to be done, dammit! And if there isn’t work, there’s training or chores. Only on the sixth day does she truly relax. Granted, her
idea of relaxing is as wild and challenging a hunt as she can find (which, yes, is more than a little creepy) or long rides on her lochear. Alone with one of her animal hunting companions is one of the few situations where Ariadne feels at ease. If she’s feeling particularly stressed, she may go for a long ride, even if it isn’t the sixth day. She usually feels guilty about this later, though.
Ariadne has a complicated relationship with the Blackwood. On the one hand, she’s afraid of it (not that she’d admit it), and has no particular interest in exploring it (though that might be because she’s never really thought about it). On the other, she feels indebted to the spirits she imagines killed her sire. Ariadne frequently leaves out offerings for the spirits, hoping they’ll be received by the ones who passed their righteous judgment so many years ago.
Ariadne’s deepest, most private dream is to personally acknowledged by the Speaker. She desperately wants to be told that she is clearly her mother’s child, not her sire’s, and that the blood of nobility runs true in her. No one knows of this dream. No one ever will.

ABILITIES
Ariadne, as small as she is, isn’t very strong. She is, however, agile and has proven to be competent with the short sword and the spear. She can use a bow to hunt (on foot), but not in combat situations. Ariadne is able to keep a calm mind under stressful situations and make clever and decisive moves, but she lacks imagination outside combat. In social situations, she’s not terribly useful. She’s far from friendly, and doesn’t have the silver tongue necessary to resolve disputes. Ariadne is too grim to be personable, and has a hard time making friends. Her greatest strength lies in her courage and obstinate refusal to back down when the going gets tough.

HOBBIES
Hunting, both with and without the aid of animals.
Lochear riding (is that a thing?)

BACKGROUND
Ariadne has a massive chip on her shoulder. Unfortunately, Ariadne is the product of something that shouldn’t have happened. Her parents never treated her any differently from her siblings, but she was very obviously not her father’s biological daughter. The circumstances of her conception and her obvious physical differences from her father and siblings are a source of rage and shame for her, and it had to come out one way or another. Being a sword gives her the discipline and sense of purpose she craves.