Name

Deirdre Niamh Barr

Age

23

Gender

Female - she/her

Species

Human

Sexuality

Lesbian

Strengths

· Some medical knowledge

· Determined

· Confident

· Extroverted

Weaknesses

· Short-tempered

· Easily spooked

· Selfish

Name:
Tirith

Age:
Seems late 20s to early 30s

Appearance:

Tirith is almost always seen in his armor. He wears thick padded armor that’s been worn down over time and leather boots. He has short black hair and a full beard with greying streaks. The right side of his mouth has been torn, an injury suffered in the war, and as a result, his teeth are always showing. He has grey eyes and a slight tan due to his time in Meridian. He usually carries a heavy bag with necessities and additional clothes for the South where it’s much colder. Alongside this, Tirith also carries a heavy greatsword with him, a handy weapon that has proved its value with the dozens of scratches and nicks on it.

Tirith also has a tamed wolf that accompanies him. He uses it to detect any eldritch nearby, hunting, and more. He took it from its pack when it imprinted on Tirith at an early age so he has never worried about it turning on him. Tirith also never saw a need for a proper name and as a result, refers to his companion as “Wolf.” Wolf has a dark monochrome coat with a white feathered cape marking. Wolf has multiple scars hidden under his fur.

Personality & History:
Tirith is a stoic character who’s equally blunt. He knows that his job is only to finish the job, not to ask questions. Tirith has done questionable things for the right price but avoids harming people. His world is very black and white: the payer and the payee and the good and the bad.

Originally, Tirith was born in Meridian to a family of poor farmers, much like the rest of the people who lived there. He had every intention to follow in his family’s footsteps and live both a comfortable and quiet life in the countryside and eventually retire and die there as well. It would’ve been a humble life, one that many people in Kadath were unlucky ever to experience.

However, the world had other plans.

Eldritch sightings were rare in Meridian, but not unheard of. This in itself was both a blessing and a curse for the people in Meridian who had grown complacent and were ill-prepared for the onslaught of a single monster. The majority of his town was wiped out by the eldritch, leaving only fragmented families and orphans in its wake. Tirith only survived because he hid underneath the bodies of his mother and father.

His hatred of the otherworldly began here and he committed himself to destroying them. Tirith eventually traveled North to Ante and entered their army in hopes that he’d be able to prevent others from suffering the same fate his town did. But Ante’s army was not to protect Kadath, but rather the prosperity of Ante. He never went on a single crusade South to vanquish the monsters of the Deep. Rather, his sword was always pointed at Post because Ante feared their potential rebellion. After the first battle between Ante and Post, Tirith became disenchanted with the garrison and left.

Now, Tirith makes a living by taking odd jobs on bulletin boards in Post and guarding wealthy families and traders from bandits on trade highways. He lives on a day-to-day basis without much thought to his future.

Other:
None at the moment

The carriage jostled over a particularly bumpy stretch of road, knocking Deirdre's shoulder painfully against the wooden door. She grimaced and forced herself to sit upright, hugging her pack against her chest tightly. The old woman across from her snorted loudly in her sleep, Deirdre glowered at her. She hadn't slept for nearly three days; she couldn't help but distrust the woman's caravans of guards who glowered at her whenever she stepped out of the carriage.

She supposed she'd gotten a good deal out of it, though. The woman hadn't asked her to pay of any the companies' various fees in exchange for traveling along with them. It could have been a disaster, offering to 'heal' the woman's crooked, arthritic hands in the middle of a crowded market square - but it had worked out well enough. The woman's eyesight was so bad that she hadn't even been able to spot the ring on Deirdre's finger, pulsing slightly with power. She believed that Deirdre was blessed with some sort of healing power, and who was she to tell her otherwise?

The old woman snored again. She refused to deal with the caravans of guards trailing after them, insisting that they were vagabonds and criminals who had only taken the job to steal from her. It fell to Deirdre to give them instructions and orders. She wasn't sure if some of the guards even knew that the older woman existed, much less that she was the one actually paying for their services. Deirdre still wore the robes and jewelry befitting a noblewoman of Ante, so she supposed that there wasn't any harm in letting them think that she was their benefactor.

The carriage rumbled to a halt. Deirdre leaned closer to the door; she could make out the sound of a few voices arguing. She sighed deeply and stood, smoothing her cloak and tucking her ring into the secret pocket sewn into her robes before she shoved the carriage door open.

They were in the thickest, most verdant forest Deirdre had ever seen. The tree trunks stood so closely together that she could barely see what lay a few feet off the path. The lush canopy overhead blocked out most of the sun's rays, but a few pushed their way through here and there, casting dazzling dapples of light on te green forest floor.

Deirdre cleared her throat. "Why have we stopped?" The two guards before her completely ignored her words, engrossed in their argument. The wolf that trotted alongside one of the caravans shot her a brief look, then redirected its attention back to the carriage driver.

Deirdre sighed in frustration and ducked back inside the carriage, slamming the door behind her. The old woman ceased her snoring at the noise, only to resume with a vengeance a few moments later. Deirdre flopped down on the wooden bench opposite her and drew her ring from its secret pocket. The band was a shining, brilliant gold, a blood-red ruby set elegantly in the center. Deirdre brought it closer to her face, savoring the hum of power that emanated quietly from it; it had always reminded her of whispering, a soothing voice assuring her that all would be well.

The carriage finally began moving again with a great creak. The arging outside had ceased, and Deirdre let her head fall back against the bench. Exhaustion was beginning to creep into her limps, and her eyelids felt ridiculously heavy. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her pack. It couldn't hurt to rest her eyes for just a few minutes. The old woman's snoring would probably stir her from any sleep she managed to get, anyway.

The group continued their trek Southward. Despite walking for hours, the sun bore down on them relentlessly and while his body began to tire, his mind did not. Tirith had the same issue back when he lived in Meridian. When the sun never slept, the human body seemed to follow in its footsteps. The only solace the citizens of Meridian had were their thick and heavy curtains that blocked out the majority of the light in bedrooms. The mind only allowed the body a peaceful sleep when it was fooled into believing it was nighttime.

Unfortunately for them, there was no respite for the near future. When it was time to make camp, they’d take turns in shifts and since he was the odd man out now, chances were high that he’d be picked first. “Heel, Wolf,” he snapped and his companion immediately obeyed and walked so close that Wolf was almost a tripping hazard. Though well-trained, the wolf had a habit of growing curious when they were in Meridian.

They kept walking and occasionally, he’d hear snoring inside the carriage. It was difficult to tell if it was the noble who was snoring since the colored curtains were down. If it was, he found it rather amusing. During his short time in Ante, the difference between the working class and nobility was like night and day. The difference was so stark that there were times he wondered if it was even true that all people shared a common ancestor.

After a few hours of an uneventful time, they slowed down to a halt at a small clearing. It wasn’t possible to see the sun from where they were now, but he guessed that the sun was to his right considering the way the shadows of the trees fell.

“Al’ight, get unpackin’. We’re gonna be ere’ for no longer ‘an six.” The man who chastised Tirith earlier pulled an oil lantern from his pack. He poured some oil into the lantern and then lit it up. Whenever the fire went out, six hours was up and then the group would leave and make the last leg of their trip.

“Get unpackin’ everyone. Abe, Jasper, and uh..” He looked around for the last person in his group, but when he couldn’t his attention turned to Tirith. “You. Help set up the mis’sus’ stuff o’er ‘ere. Set up a small fire ‘ere and the rest of y’all are adults. Unpack ‘yer own shit.”

Tirith stationed himself close to the client’s tent and he let his rucksack fall with a heavy thud and laid his greatsword flat on the ground. He unrolled a worn blanket from inside pulled out a candlestick and made a small indent into the stick to indicate two or three hours. Digging into the ground with his bare hands, he positioned the candlestick upright and lit it. “Wolf, rest.” It was tempting to have Wolf stay up with him, but he needed the animal’s nose and ears to work properly, especially if there was someone on their heels.

Tirith pulled her luggage from the back of the carriage and the three of them immediately started working on the small tent. The winds in Meridian were usually warm so most of the people who came on the journey could sleep in the clothes they travelled in. Though, he supposed it was different for a noblewoman in the middle of a group of men. She probably wanted privacy away from the ruffians.

It didn’t take long to set up the entire tent so he couldn’t help but find his eyes wandering over to the carriage where the noblewoman was. When she stepped out of her vehicle, he was rather surprised by her appearance. Her hair was short and fiery. Boyish was what Tirith would’ve described it because he lacked the vocabulary to call it otherwise. She walked differently than him with airy steps and a graceful gait. It came so naturally to her that he wondered if she knew anyone who could tell she was of a different pedigree than the rest of the common people at a glance.

When he accidentally caught her eyes, he immediately turned away to shield his scarred half from her. Despite the wounds being years old, they burned with shame. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He never really liked talking much. With his disfigured mouth, talking too much usually entailed drool and Tirith didn’t want to have to wipe his spit in front of the lady.