Lebuin (Medic)

Drusus (Cook and biggest guy in the group)

Faust (Twin 1)

Ferox (Twin 2)

Nicon (One of the people in charge)

Male

Age:

29

Alias:
N/A

Appearance:
Keinan doesn't stick out much at first glance. He's about 5'10", with tanned, medium-toned skin. His build is average, if on the more muscular side of average, but not so bulky in frame that his weight is cumbersome. He weighs about 160lbs. Most of his "bulk," if one can call it that, is in his arms, shoulders, and back; with his legs being on the less muscular and more lean side.

His face is rather squared and angular, with a semi-sharp jawline that is enhanced by a short, well-kept beard. His nose is straight and thin, matching thin lips. His grey, however, are somewhat large and slightly rounded, with a kind (if tired) look to them. His hair, a medium-toned dark brown, has a slight curl to it, though he keeps it cut short as it gets too messy otherwise. Much to his disdain, he's been finding the occasional white hair peppered in. Not enough to be noticed by anyone other than himself, but enough to be rather bothersome to a man who tries his absolute best to keep his appearance neat.

He has few scars; his hands and forearms are littered with small nicks and scratches, but nothing too noticeable and certainly nothing out of the ordinary for a soldier with as much experience as he has. He does have a more noticeable scar on one shoulder; just above his left collarbone, a rounded scar can be seen, and on his back, another similar rounded scar; marking the entry and exit wounds of an arrow. These, however, are his only apparent scars, and none of them seem to have caused any lasting damage as far as pain or restricted movement at any point.

His usual apparel, like most other soldiers', consists of light-colored tan or dull green shirts, usually rolled up at the sleeves so as not to be restrictive. Most shirts are a bit too small in the arms, a bit too narrow in the shoulders, a bit too long... Made for a man who is not Keinan, but he accepts whatever he can find regardless. Pants, usually, fit him quite well, if a bit loose around the waist, but he can deal with that. His preferred colors are medium brown or black, but again, he takes what he can find. His weapons of choice are two somewhat shorter swords, one at his side easily accessible by his right hand, and one on his back, accessible by his left hand. He is well-trained in dual-wielding, and prefers to fight this way as opposed to using a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.

Personality:
On the shallower side of things, he is certainly one to care about his appearance. He also finds a sort of pride in his fighting skill, though he would rather die than admit it, and he knows better than to let his pride get the best of him and cause him to underestimate an opponent.

Keinan is one that needs to have people around. He may not ever get particularly close to anyone, but he makes friends easily, with a disarming grin and a knack for telling just the right joke at the right time to lighten the mood. He can always be seen with a smile on his face, almost always upbeat and positive, trying to see the brighter side of things even in the darkest situations because that's his ultimate coping mechanism; positivity to the point of stubbornness, which can get rather tiring for anyone who just wants to find comfort in negativity. He's never one to complain or admit just how much something bothers him, which leads to a lot of suffering in silence.

It's also a pride issue to some extent. Part of the reason he makes a lot of friends but never any truly deep connections, is that he subconsciously doesn't want them to know. He doesn't want other people to know that he struggles, too. Perhaps more than most. He wrestles with the demons of his past like most soldiers, especially those with over ten years of experience. He wrestles with the pain of an invisible wound that will never heal, hiding it away in the hopes that no one will notice. He wrestles with the fear that if he ever rests... If he ever stops fighting, if he settles down for even a few months, he will never be able to return to this life of adventure and importance.

But these issues never take precedence in his mind. He ignores it, all of it, almost obsessively, hides it behind a genuine, bright smile and an easygoing demeanor. If you ever see him without that familiar grin on his face, it can be assumed that something's wrong, or he's fighting off a headache, which honestly could sour the most positive person's mood in an instant.

Family:
Dunstan - Father, deceased
Meliora - Mother, living
Idalia - Sister, deceased
Amie - Niece, living

~

Aisone (archer)
Orym (medic, grumpy old man)

Alec (swordsman)

Talric (spy guy >u>)
Liam (some angry rebellious kid)

(still wip, character list is not final)

Talric Seimere

Gender:

Male

Age:

28 years

Aliases:

Cael (Kale) Arlett, Amias Theron, Leucos of Casmire, the list goes on, with personalities and backstories for every single one.

Appearance:

Standing at an average height of 5'9" and weighing around 140lbs, he has an average build, though a bit on the lean side and nowhere near as muscular as some of the fighters in the camp. Probably because he isn't a fighter.

He has a slightly oval-shaped face, with fine features and hazel eyes that are almost always narrowed in distrust. His well-kept beard, often shaved completely for various disguises, is a dark brown that matches the roots of his long, slightly wavy hair. The ends of his hair are more of a dirty blond color, bleached from the sun. He usually wears his hair in a messy ponytail or a bad attempt at a bun. It's not that he's lazy, he just rarely has much time to worry about his appearance and he still likes his hair long.

Scar-wise, he has a few. Likely more than a few, actually, but he's not one to bother keeping track. He has gone to great lengths to keep his cover in the past, which has resulted in more injuries for stupid reasons than he'd care to count. None that are particularly noticeable, but certainly there. A slice across his right shoulderblade, a nick at the side of his left knee... Most incurred while running away, in what would seem a cowardly pattern of fleeing from confrontation, if one did not consider his line of work.

It's difficult to pin down a specific clothing style for Talric. Each of his complicated aliases and alibis has a specific uniform and general style in his mind. But when he can be in his own element, as his own person, Talric prefers lightweight clothing; loose shirts, somewhat comfortable pants, and he's often barefoot when the location and situation allow it. He rarely goes shirtless around the general population of the camp, even during the rare occasion when he spars or trains with the others, due to being embarrassingly self-conscious about the various scars on his back.

Personality:
Talric is quiet, in a word. He's very much an introvert, finding excessive socialization to be emotionally draining, which is ironic considering his choice of occupation. He is artistic and fairly creative in general, keeping a journal of his thoughts and activities in the forms of poems, sketches, and just basic journal entries. He is somewhat of a pacifist, preferring to avoid fighting whenever possible. He actually really struggles if he has to really fight and kill. He is remarkably secretive, partially due to his line of work and partially due to just... not wanting to tell anyone.

He jokes occasionally, but usually stays fairly serious unless a certain blonde fighter is involved. Then, it seems the secretive spy is all smiles, joking banter flowing easily between the two, especially when no one is watching. He has a few other close friends, but none he's quite as comfortable around as Gennadius. Yet there are things he hides, even from her, simply because it is his nature.

He is an excellent listener, and when he is in the camp, others often come to him to vent and for advice. He is approachable, despite preferring to be a bit of a loner, which is part of the reason he excels as an information-gatherer.

Family:

We won't talk about them.
(I have no clue but let's say they're all dead)

Hands nimbly worked familiar hair back into a ponytail, using a tie to wrap around the base, golden waves flowing after it. The woman, once satisfied that her hair would be out of her face and way, reached for the sheath leaning against the cot, snagging it and tying the black leather around her waist. Finger brushed against the golden handle for a moment before her attention moved to rolling up the sleeves of her shirt which was a tad too large on her. Not that she minded, easily tucking the bottom into the leather breaches, followed by black smooth boots being pulled on, the pants legs tucked in.

The flap of her tent was thrown open, allowing early morning light to stream in, Gennadius pausing to soak it in. Taking a deep breath of the air, dark blue eyes glanced around to the rebel camp that was already starting to buzz with fighters who were awake. Soft smoke curled up from the food tent, the tantalizing smell of breakfast already filling the area. The first wake-up call, and if you missed it, you missed breakfast. Drusus had a strict rule on that. Lazy people didn’t get to eat, and that was fine with the majority of the camp, the woman included.

Which brought about another point as she looked out, scanning the familiar people as she finally ventured from her tent. She was the only woman there, though most of the outside world who knew of the rebels, traitors to the crown as they were deemed, were not aware of her presence. At least in that she was a woman. Many, however, were aware of the soldier Lycaon, the woman’s alias and one she held with great pride. A man who fought like a banshee, broke the rules of typical swordplay, and supposedly a past disgruntled supporter of the crown. All of which was true except the part of her being a man.

Striding through the camp, she offered greeting nods to those she passed, the woman comfortable and familiar with these men, having gotten to know them rather well over the past years. She trusted them with her life, and they trusted her. They were a pack of sorts, with a loyalty to one another and a hate towards the kingdom that was corrupt in its dealings.

Ducking into the food tent, she was immediately wrapped up in the smells, making her way over to where Drusus worked, setting out plates of food as he finished them. Grabbing one, she leaned against the table to watch him for a moment, “Five tokens says Ferox misses breakfast again.”

“Five tokens says I’m not taking a trash bet I know I would lose since he always misses breakfast.”

Gennadius grinned and shrugged, “I guess all brawn doesn’t mean no brain.” A spoon of food was flicked at her which she quickly ducked from, getting some other poor soldier covered in the morning meal, glares being sent at Drusus. Gennadius knew better than to think the large beast of a man was stupid, but she could not resist teasing him some, the joke long running between the two.

Finding her way to the seats, she plopped down by the medics and a few others she was most comfortable with. Yes, she trusted them all, but there was a hierarchy of who she trusted most. “Lebuin, Orym,” she greeted simply, Lebuin smiling warmly at her in his fashion. There were rumors the two were a thing, but merely because he was one of the most tolerated of the entire group of thirty men. And the only reason for that was he was a gentle man who held a deep-seated respect for other people. He was a humble man, and in a way, the exact opposite of Gennadius in the most workable of ways. But they were NOT a thing.

“Nicon is usually out by now,” she observed between bites of food, glancing up to see Lebuin glancing at Orym while a few other soldiers looked at each other.

“He’s up. Just... preparing for some business,” a nearby soldier piped up, but left it at that. Because there was one thing everyone knew. If Nicon had not told Gennadius something, no one was going to tell her. And a new recruit from the king’s army was something she had not been informed of. Because to be put simply, she did not like bringing new people into her fold when she was perfectly content with the working order of things as they were. And she did not like anyone related to the king’s army, though no one truly understood her rooted hatred.

The man had been traveling since well before dawn. His progress was slow, but steady, taking the more hidden trails over the easier, but more visible roads. It wasn't so much that he himself wanted to be hidden, but it would be best for everyone involved if he was not followed. It was for similar reasons that he had chosen to travel on foot and not by horseback. Sure, the journey took several days longer, but he was in no rush and neither were the rebels who would receive him.

He was going against everything he'd known, by choosing this path. Every decision he'd made for the past ten years had been in service to the king, to his army. And it had all been thrown away in a single day, a single battle. All it took was for him to no longer be useful, and they had thrown him away, cast him out, tossed him aside as if the past decade of his life had been for nothing. He discovered, then, that he was no more than a pawn in the game of power, and the rulers of Vanderian, whose morals he was already questioning, could care less for the well-being of their people.

Instead, he was left to suffer.

It was shortly after his tactless, unceremonious dismissal that he heard of the rebels, and he had been in communication since then, seeking a place for himself among those who spent their lives fighting the tyranny he had suffered under... And that found him here, traveling alone and on foot, with all of his possessions stuffed into the pack he carried over his shoulders.

He spotted the camp from a distance, sometime shortly after dawn. A thin column of smoke from a cooking fire gave away its position, and as he wandered ever nearer, he began to hear the familiar noise of what seemed like any other army camp... Much smaller, of course. Nicon had told him that there were only about thirty men present at the camp, most of them warriors but a few medics and others as well.

Keinan had mentioned his disability to Nicon, not one to intentionally keep secrets, but with the request that the information remain confidential. He wouldn't mind if the others eventually found out, but he would prefer to make a better first impression than merely a crippled soldier.

But either way, the time had come. Nicon had said he'd meet him outside of the camp, as some of the other soldiers had not been informed of his arrival and it was bound to create quite the stir. And while Keinan internally questioned the decision to keep some of the warriors uninformed, Nicon certainly knew the rebels far better than he did, considering he'd never met any of them. What was ten years of experience in the military if he was truly starting over from scratch here?

It wasn't long after he spotted the camp itself that he met Nicon just past the outskirts, offering a respectful nod in greeting.

"You would be Nicon, I assume?" Keinan said, offering a hand to shake. "Unless, of course, I'm at the wrong place entirely, in which case this would be rather embarrassing." A grin followed his words. Starting things off with a joke was his usual approach; tended to break the ice quickly, even if said joke was at his own expense.

Nicon had gone out to meet Keinan, not wanting the man to walk right into Gennadius and her fury. That and he would rather avoid it himself. Seeing the man that was to join the rebels, Nicon stretched out his hand, firmly meeting Keinan’s and offering a good shake. “That I am. A pleasure to have you here Keinan. And luckily it seems you have avoided an embarrassment. Come with me.”

Straightening, he waved the new recruit after him and started the rest of the way into the camp. Nicon was rather nicely dressed with metal shin protectors tied to his boots (really a precaution to one of Gennadius’s favorite assaults), black pants and a neatly fitting shirt with metal shoulder pads that held a red cape to them. There was no doubting that he was a fighter at heart, and a man who took seriously his position, which had a tendency to get annoying at times, though Keinan would learn that in time.

“We always need a good soldier in our ranks. We spend quite a bit of time hitting soldier groups passing nearby and releasing some towns from the king’s grasp. It will be good to have someone with your insight who has actually been among the ranks of the king’s men.” Each step clinked slightly as his sword slapped against his thigh. “At the moment we do not have enough tents for everyone to have their own so you will be joining one of the other men. He’s already aware you’ll be sharing quarters.”

It was like Nicon, straight to business. “You’ve had a long journey no doubt, so I will show you your way to the tent and point you to the showers. Nothing fancy but it’s been rigged rather nicely for ease of use. Unfortunately, it’s only rigged for cool water at the moment but it will serve you well enough. After that, I will have Drusus keep the food going and warm so when you are done, you can have a warm meal waiting for you. We may not have the supplies of the army, but we eat well.”

The man stopped in front of a tent, which at the moment was shielded from view of the food tent which had one side rolled up to keep it from getting too hot. “This will be where you are staying. Most of the others are already eating.” He offered a nod before backing away and striding to join those who had dragged themselves out of bed. His plan? Don’t tell Gennadius and hopefully get her out of the way until Keinan was settled, and then there was little she could really do. Not that she could do anything now, but he wasn’t looking to have the man get a headache quite yet.

Rounding the corner, his eyes fell on Gennadius who was calmly chatting with the others before he glanced at Drusus. “Don’t close up breakfast until everyone gets here. Not everyone is up yet.”

“Since when have we cared about Ferox and the rest of them that can’t bother dragging their lazy butts out of bed?” Gennadius pointed out, everyone else focused on Nicon as if asking if he was going to tell her or not.

“Because today I am being leniant. Or would you like an indepth explanation of my thought process?”

“Oh yes please, sir. Do give me the complete rundown.” It was said in the most sarcastic voice possible as Gennadius crossed her legs, staring the man in the eye. The two were known to go head-to-head. One, because it irritated the woman’s very existence that he seemed to like to flaunt his superiority. Two, because there was still a small amount of bad blood that was settled between them since her first arrival. Not that the two of them would blink an eye to take a sword for the other, but they made clear their differences.

“Get a life Gennadius.”

That was followed by an eyeroll before Nicon settled in a seat and everyone returned to their conversations, waiting for the moment the woman got to be introduced to the new recruit.

"It's truly a pleasure to be here, sir," Keinan responded, falling easily into the formality that Nicon seemed to prefer. Another talent of his; morphing his personality, speech, his entire character into whatever the other person expected of him. A talent, or perhaps a curse, considering he did so unconsciously and often only realized years later that he had donned a mask around certain people since the day he met them. But with Nicon, an authority figure, a measure of formality and politeness was expected, and so he dismissed the thought as he walked swiftly after the man, entering the small but well-kept camp.

Next to Nicon's apparel, Keinan's travel-worn clothing seemed to have seen better days. His dull brown trousers were threadbare in places, though with no visible holes that had not been expertly patched. The grey-green shirt he wore was in slightly better shape, though he longed to trade it for one of clean ones from his pack as soon as he had gotten properly settled in a tent. He wore a light leather breastplate, and both of his swords could be found in their twin sheaths on his back.

"I hope that I can offer something of use," he replied to Nicon's statement.

He had expected the tent situation. A private tent was a luxury that he most certainly had not earned, especially if supplies and space were scarce. The mention of the showers, though, brought a smile to his face as he gave a nod. A cool shower, a tent with only one other soldier to share with, a warm meal? Already, the accomodations were better than those he had been provided with as a soldier for the king.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said with a smile. "I'll join the others shortly."

He watched Nicon as the rebel leader walked towards the meal tent, a sigh briefly escaping him. It felt surreal, all of it. All these years... And now he was joining the enemy. He turned and disappeared into the tent, scanning the empty cots before rather ungracefully depositing his belongings on top of the one that didn't have chests and bags shoved underneath it. Removing his swords from their place, he set them aside, along with his armor, before digging through his pack in search of a fresh shirt. Further unpacking could wait until after a shower.

Miraculously, he'd avoided a headache thus far. He was still waiting for the inevitable, but he hadn't once been forced to stop because of the pain through his entire journey. Perhaps that was a good sign... Or perhaps the next one, when it came, would be even more unbearable than usual, which was the more likely option. It didn't matter, though. The person who needed to know had been informed; there was nothing else to do, except to wait for it.

And right this second, he was going to get a much-needed shower.

He didn't take long, on his way to the meal tent about a half-hour after his initial arrival with a clean shirt and his hair still damp. He was starving, though, having skipped breakfast due to the simple fact that he'd miscalculated the rations for his journey. He'd keep that minor detail to himself, though... No one needed to know about the occasional mental slip-up that he seemed to struggle with.

He stepped into the meal tent, glancing over the occupants and trying to get a general idea of who all was present. Some, Nicon had described to him in the letters they had exchanged, and he recognized them. Drusus, for one; the cook who still stood with the food. Lebuin and Orym, the medics... A few others he recognized from descriptions. He didn't approach the general population yet, instead gravitating towards the table near Drusus that still held a few plates of food.

"May I?" he questioned, just to be sure as he reached for the nearest tray with his usual grin. "Name's Keinan, by the way."

Oh, if he only knew the living, breathing, yelling headache that was lying in wait within earshot.

Since the meal tent was staying open, Ferox had finally dragged himself up, as had most of the fighters lagging behind. The tent was buzzing with conversations now, some even daring to face the wrath of Drusus for seconds, which for once, he allowed. The entire mood was bright and thriving, as it usually was by this time of the morning, Gennadius with her legs stretched out, leaning against the table. She was more of listening than talking, but she was still decently active in the conversation going on.

It was during this time that Keinan had entered Drusus smiling in greeting as he motioned towards the food. “By all means. Welcome to the camp.” The large man grabbed his own plate finally, gesturing towards the tables, where most of the soldiers now sat staring. Not because they weren’t more than happy to bring in another face, some daring small waves, but everyone’s heads turned towards the woman in camp.

Gennadius had heard the unfamiliar voice and name almost immediately, her head turning to lay dark midnight eyes on the stranger. Her body immediately stiffened, not because there was necessarily someone new, but because this someone new was clearly making himself at home. And it was obvious by the stares that were placed on her, that everyone else knew about this. And it was that that torqued her off more than a new recruit. Granted, she was not happy about someone new being brought into the fold without getting a chance to meet and assess him first herself, but they had deliberately not told her.

Granted, had they told her earlier she would not have been happy then but now? NOW? She risked her LIFE with these men and they had the audacity not to tell her that they were bringing in someone new? Someone who they had no idea whether he would stab them in the back in the middle of a fight? Someone who seemed a tad too charming for her liking... someone she did NOT know. Yes... yes, she had trust issues towards new people, another thing no one quite understood.

Standing, her eyes seemed darker than usual as she made her way of to Keinan. “Who the hell are you and what business do you have here?” she hissed, eyes narrowing on him as she came directly in front of him, disregarding personal space as one hand rested on the hilt of her sword out of habit more than a threat. “What makes you think you get to waltz right in here and be one of us?”

“Gennadius! Stand down!”

It was Nicon who had stood up, not wanting to have a duel on his hands in the middle of the tent. Though the moment her head snapped towards him, everyone sank back into their chairs, their attention suddenly shifting anywhere BUT what was going on. The soft murmur resumed, though everyone knew the worst thing that Nicon could have done was done. But he was in a mood now too.

“Oh now you’re going to treat me like some soldier are you?” she snapped, her attention shifted away from Keinan to Nicon. “You forget we aren’t in the army. We don’t play by the same rules and I sure as HELL am not standing down because you decided to work behind me back.”

“Take this outside....”

“I’m taking it right here.”

Nicon made the move to retreat to avoid damage to the tables and bystanders, stepping outside with Gennadius close behind. Too close behind, her hand reaching up and grabbing him by the shirt collar as she shoved him further back. “You can try and kick me out the first moment I step into this camp, but you invite some random stranger in without blinking an eye?? I remember the hoops I had to jump through... and you still treat me like an outsider and don’t even give me the BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT???”

Her hand was wrenched off as Nicon’s hand gripped the handle of his sword now, well aware of where this explosive behavior was leading. “That was YEARS ago Gennadius! DROP IT ALREADY. And maybe I DID because you are explosive, immature, and IMPOSSIBLE to deal with!”

There was a low hum in the tent for everyone who heard.

“Oh, YOU BASTARD!”

And out came the swords as the two brought steel to steel. It would not end in any real injury, even in her state, Gennadius not about to bring actual harm to someone on her side. But he had crossed a line in her book that she was not about to let be crossed.

"Thanks," he said with a grin, taking the plate in his hands. "It's an honor to be here."

He noticed that most of them seemed to have noticed him now, and they all seemed friendly so far. He even saw a few welcoming waves, but everyone seemed to be oddly reserved, almost as if they were trying to be discreet about noticing him. Hiding, even... Everyone glancing uncertainly in the direction of one person.

He hadn't even made it to his chosen seat yet when another fighter stood, apparently the one everyone had been staring at judging by the cold fury on her face. Her- There was a woman in this camp? A woman who was quite visibly rather angry about his presence here, no less?

He stopped, setting his plate down on a nearby table in hopes of still eating it when the chaos had passed. Even when the woman approached him, far too close for comfort with her hand resting on her sword hilt in what seemed to be a threat, his usual calm and relaxed smile hardly faltered. His swords had been returned to their usual place on his back after his shower, though he had left the armor in his tent much to his current regret. He did not move to draw his swords, however. The last thing he wanted was to worsen the situation or the woman's anger; which, judging by the others' reactions, had been expected upon his arrival.

By mentioning to him that some fighters had not been informed, Nicon had clearly meant that one volatile fighter had not been informed.

He stood with his palms visible, meaning to show her that he was no threat, with the added benefit of moving his hands closer to his swords in case he did have to defend himself. But he did not retreat, and his gaze was steady as he met hers.

"My name is Keinan Aimar, I was told to come here," he offered, glancing briefly at Nicon. No plea for help could be seen in his expression, merely seeking the leader's reaction to one of the fighters confronting him in this manner. Perhaps this whole interaction would have gone a bit smoother if Nicon had informed her before now... But honestly, he was a bit stunned at the moment, still attempting to cool down the situation before it came to a fight. Which was difficult when he didn't even know the name of the woman who was so furious at his presence.

"I just got here, actually, haven't even unpacked-"

Nicon's shout cut him off, for which he was grateful as he took a half-step backwards, clearing his throat quietly. He watched as the woman, who Nicon called Gennadius, turned on the supposed leader of the group with an impressive level of spite. Insults and accusations were hurled, the other occupants of the tent attempting to return to some form of normalcy as the animosity between the two seemed to build, Nicon stepping out of the tent with Gennadius following angrily behind.

For a solid ten seconds, the tent was silent, the angry yelling from the two outside clearly audible from where he stood. Most of the men attempted to return to their meals or whatever shreds of conversation they could salvage; a few looked apologetically at Keinan. And for a moment, he debated returning to his meal, the warm food still looking rather appetizing even though it was fresh about an hour ago...

But the shouting outside seemed to have exploded into a proper fight, judging by the sound of clashing steel, and he felt more than partially responsible for it. With a final glance over the gathered men and a slightly impulsive smile, he ducked out of the tent, squinting for just a moment so his eyes could adjust to the light before drawing both of his swords, approaching the fight without hesitation. As soon as he saw an opening, he stepped wordlessly between the two, smile vanished and eyes deadly serious as he caught the edge of her sword with his.

He moved with the ease and grace of an experienced swordsman, quick and light on his feet, handling his swords as extensions of himself and not as mere weapons in his hands. Every blow of hers, he blocked and countered with a fluid movement, keeping track of her every technique, attempting to memorize her fighting style though it changed in an instant. His style changed to match, and despite his exhaustion from travel, he actually seemed to be holding his own against her.