Description: This man is unhealthily muscled, almost every single one of his veins is visible when he is not flexing. His shirts and pants tend to be short and undersized for him due to the difficulty of finding a good tailor. He has a long golden beard with little hanging trinkets. His voice is smooth and creepy, always level, but somehow just slightly unnerving.

Personality: He is a very happy person and has lots of energy. To put it simply, he's a very lovable idiot. He has zero loyalty and will suck up to whomever is within range, in the hopes of being moved to a better position.

History: Born in a small village he learned the ways of the warrior from his father. He was an athlete and attended two major summer competitions. He never won. Recently a tribe of orcs attacked the village and all able bodies who could hold a blade were quickly armed and sent to the walls. Ivellios fought at the side of some of the regions greatest heroes but was never overshadowed.

Motivation: He is wracked by social anxiety; and to fight the greatest warriors and to fight in the greatest battles ever

Ideals: Fighting, Athletic, Optimist. Flaws: Insane, Fearful. Occupation: Bricklayer

Voice: Old thin voice

Possessions: 11000 cp. 1 Superior lock.

Description: A man with a cold, calculating air about him, he tends to wear a large violet jacket. He wears a small hat to cover his moderate length green crest. His eyes are a pleasant gold.

Personality: He loves telling others what to do and how they should feel about things. He is a logical person and will generally grow upset if things defy logic and science.

History: He was a bastard born out of an affair, and his father always resented and mistreated him for it out of spite. When he came of age, he joined a caravan that would eventually take him to the capital. He would practice along the way and, when he arrived, be apprenticed to a Bricklayer. He has worked as a Bricklayer like his father before him.

Motivation: He is unsatisfied with his job; and his relatives are trying to arrange a marriage

Ideals: Opinionated, Logical. Flaws: Antagonistic. Bonds: Job, Family. Occupation: Bricklayer

Voice: Speaks like tongue is numb

Possessions: 10000 sp. 1 Minor magic item. 1 Minor magic item. 1 Minor magic item. 1 Minor magic item.

Description: What flesh remains visible is marred by burns. He wears tight fighting clothing, which leaves very little to the imagination. He has no hair. He wears round tiny glasses practically rammed into his face.

Personality: He is business-like. He takes instructions and follows them to the letter. He is skeptical of what others tell him and is slow to trust.

History: Born in a small village he learned the ways of the warrior from his mother. A gypsy cursed him at a young age, leading to his ugly appearance. Recently a tribe of giants attacked the village and all able bodies who could hold a blade were quickly armed and sent to the walls. Vilberg fought at the side of some of the regions greatest heroes but was never overshadowed.

Motivation: To fight the greatest warriors and to fight in the greatest battles ever; and he'd like to take his coworkers down a peg

Ideals: Fighting, Professionalism, Logical. Flaws: Ugly, Shy. Occupation: Jeweler

Voice: Deep voice with rolling R's

Possessions: 5000 sp.

Description: He is wearing a tight blue one piece outfit complete with pants, hood, and a cape, and carries hammers. His hair is black and curly. He tend to wears goggles to shield his eyes.

Personality: He considers himself the protector of his home. He feels this is his duty and calling. He is cautious and jumpy. He reacts to every sound and lacks any concept of subtlety.

History: Rolf was raised in a hard working conservative environment. His father was supposedly a charlatan fortune teller, but he insists his father was legitimate. He has set out to sabotage the competition.

Motivation: To be a Weaver again.

Ideals: Fighting. Flaws: Fearful. Bonds: Guardian, Job, Religious. Occupation: Apothecary

Voice: Rhymes sentences (sorry)

Possessions: 270 pp.