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Standing there cutting quite a figure in spite of his height is what could be a gnome, if it weren't for the fact that he's nearly the size of a small dwarf. Definitely gnomish eyes and nose peek out just over the top of the raised collar on his simple black cloak. Inside the slightly open front of the cloak, it's possible to see his arms, hands, and it is quite evident that this gentlegnome is dressed for success, though his hands do look somewhat odd, what with the left being gloved in black, and the right being bare to the weather. A large, somewhat messy shock of black hair falls all around his head nearly down to the raised collar on his cloak, and almost entirely hides the shining holy symbol Navor resting in the middle of his forehead upon a neat headband.

Drakar is older-looking - appearing to be just past his prime - but well muscled, but unusually slim and lithe for a half-ork. His body bears numerous scars across the surface of his tightly corded muscles from previous battles. He often appears rash and quick to anger, but for the most part it is a ruse - a shield of expected behavior he raises to divert attention away from his sharp eyes and quick wits.

Almost always, he wears an unusually quiet heavy mithril breastplate whose surface seems to shift with the shadows, greaves, and helmet but no clinking chain and little between the large plates, trusting to his nimbleness to keep attacks from reaching the unarmored spots between. He conceals his face behind the blank face mask of his helmet, with a large, wrap-around eye slit - reinforced by two vertical bars in the middle - providing his field of vision. The helmet itself is designed to not cover this sides of his head, freeing his ears to listen. Flowing out the back and sides of his helmet are long black dreadlocks of hair, adorned with bone beads here and there. He wears several bandoliers and belts across his body holding pouches full of herbs & potions.

On his hands he wears a pair of vicious looking spiked guantlets that grip a a spear, and a longbow as primative and savage-looking as he is. Across his back is a quiver of arrows, his bedroll, a large leather scroll case and a massive greatsword hanging straight down the middle.

Trotting beside him is the largest wolf-like creature you've ever seen. An ugly beast whose face looks like someone crossed a hyena with a sabertooth; with pitch black fur showing beneath masterfully-worked brass-colored scale barding. Standing easily as high as the back of a large horse, the direwolf's head comes up just below Drakar's armpit. The brass has a dulled sheen to it that does not reflect light and a pattern of leaves worked into its surface that are lacquered to protect the metal from the elements.

The direwolf - Narush - has an ill temperement and suspicious nature of humanoids, having suffered years of abuse and neglect at their hands. Drakar is the only one he seems to care much about, and the two of them seem to share the equal respect of pack brothers. Neither one acts like the other's master or leader, but their actions have the easy flow of long-time comrades. More recently, Narush has come to accept Kyran Wakefield as another member of his pack.

Korg Magnusson presents an imposing figure, standing a towering six and a half feet, and looking to weigh close to three hundred pounds. This impression is not diminished in the least by the full suit of plate armor he wears, in a dull gray sheen but obviously of superior craftsmanship... and ornamented with spikes that seem anything but ornamental. Across his back is slung an immense sword, the hilt projecting over his right shoulder, and the tip about even with his left knee. Both the sword and armor look to be very well maintained, the dull finish being intentional rather than a result of corrosion and neglect.

Looking closely at Korg's face starts to draw into question whether or not he is actually human; he bears the square jaw and faintly greyish-tinged skin (and longer than normal canines if anyone has a chance to see his teeth) that would indicate half-Orc blood, but other than that he looks human. None of it would be enough to bring his race into question if it weren't for his size. His hair is cut short, black and unkempt and his eyes are brown. A large scar runs from the bridge of his nose down his left cheek to his jawline, and there is a nick taken out of the top of his right ear. He also seems to never actually be clean shaven or going so far as having a beard, instead always having his cheeks and jaw covered with stubble.

Kyran Wakefield stands around five and a half feet tall and looks to be somewhat young to be adventuring (about seventeen years). His eyes are a sharp brown and his hair is black, with very minor silver highlights. His skin is very white, as if it's had minimal exposure to the sun. Despite this, not a single scar, scratch, bruise, or blemish can be seen on his body.

On his back he carries a very well-made full length bastard sword with a minor enchantment on it. Over that he has a vicious-looking and shiny spiked shield. Slung over his shoulder is a well-made ordinary backpack, and as armor he has a chain shirt that some would describe as mithril. His clothing is plain and ordinary: A grey cloth shirt with a leather vest, leather breeches, and a faded green cloak. On his feet are sturdy, but quiet shoes, and around his neck there's a simple silver chain which could be assumed to carry the medallion.

As a wolf, he is large and black and with a couple minor streaks of silver down its muzzle. An unnatural spark of intelligence seems to be behind the creature's eyes.

Lesedi stands just over five feet. She's dusky skinned and elfin, with braided, coppery brown hair that falls to mid-back and dark green eyes. Strands fray from the braid here and there, as she's done it more to keep her hair out of her eyes than any sense of fashion. A red starburst pattern is on her face, the hollow circle that composes its body on her right cheek with four long, pointed rays spread evenly. They very well cover the right side of her face, and a shorter ray, only extending about an inch, is between each of the long ones.

She's a thin woman, but it's a muscular sort of wiriness, and she's not unattractive by any means. Lesedi dresses simply: she wears a cotton, forest green tunic and pants combination beneath the brown of her studded leather and boots. Her two-handed, curved falchion is below the grassy green of her hooded cloak - certainly better made than the rest of her clothing - while her pack's above it. She has a quiver at her side but no visible bow.

Segev Stormlord is a 23-year-old man of plain appearance. His unemotional expression sometimes quirks into annoyance, sardonic humor, or intrigued interest, but usually returns to a carefully practiced mask before too long. His blond hair is cropped short, and his blue eyes are faded rather than striking. He seems unassuming at first glance, but there is an intensity of focus about him that can set more perceptive people on edge. Almost invariably dressed in loose, all-encompasing black robes, he replaced the sandals he used to wear with a pair of stout boots after his first adventure. The blisters and inconvenience of the sandals was unacceptable. However, due to the aforementioned robes, it is often difficult to see his feet at all. The robes are secured by a strong leather belt. However, the belt itself is more in place to provide a secure place to hang things than to hold the robes. A chain holding his spellbook, a sheath for a wickedly curved dagger, and several pouches of varying sizes and security of closure are arrayed along its length.

He also carries an iron-bound black oak quarterstaff in his left hand, which he uses as a walking stick when traveling. For additional incidental protection from the environment, he has a cloak (also black - his wardrobe isn't particularly creative nor varied) with a hood that he wears over everything else. When not adventuring, he often replaces the belt with a simple sash with fewer pouches hanging from it. He still wears the dagger, though sometimes hides it in his voluminous robes, so as to avoid upsetting people.

Achmuid Diasstacht Ruanntich Miruint Lannstucht has the pale milk complexion typical of her people, with very dark eyes and her hair is a queer shade of brown so dark as to be nearly black with dark golden highlights. ("It's not black, it's dark liver chestnut!" 'Uh, oook.') This is quite long and kept smartly braided in an intricate knot around her head. At 5"8', she is a wiry 130 lbs. She is habitually dressed in a vest and riding leathers dyed to match her hair, a curious little blue wool cap trimmed in fur, and sweaters in various shades of blue. The sword by her side looks more like a curved executioner's cleaver. Her overall effect is quite dangerous but feminine all the same. In fact, outside Rochlad the typical effect is "Holy ****, who the hell is *THAT*?!"

Dunnstacht is her Rochlad-bred stallion, a lanky golden buckskin with one hell of a nasty temperment. As per Rochlad tradition, his incisors and canines are capped with gold inlaid steel serrated on the back edge and his face is tattooed around the eyes and muzzle elaborately in such a way that details his pedigree if, of course, one knows how to read the designs. These designs are also etched into Achmuid's vest and riding leathers in gold.

Though petite in size, Menaria's glowing personality and smile hides the fact of her small size. At 5'4" and weighing around 105 lbs, her creamy tan colored skin is smooth and unblemished. Having long luxurious black hair, a little below the buttocks, brings out the blue in her sapphire eyes. Her eyebrows are slight and dark like her hair. Her face is round and reflects her jovial mood. Her nose slightly comes to a point at the end, making her face seem nobile yet serene.

When near her the smell of flowers in the springtime crosses your mind, whether it is the soap she uses or the shampoo in her hair. She often wears dark blue clothing, ranging from shirts and leggins to robes that have a slit on both sides that reach all the way up to her slinder hips.

She keeps her bangs tied back in a leather strip, but allows the remainder of her hair to flow freely. She carries no visible weapons, and wears armbands about her upper arm with the designs of a dragon in flight upon them. Her fingers long and slender and her nails long and curved slightly. Her stance is calm and assured. And adorned around her neck is a necklace--a golden ankh with rays coming off the top. During the warmer days, she wears sandles that almost wrap up to her knees; in the winter/colder days she wears knee-high leather boots. A pair of leather bracers with the hint of an enchantment are all the armor she wears.

Standing not-so-tall at 4'6", Roland doesn't appear to be very intimidating or very hostile. He is clearly a monk, his head shaven clean, his tattered monk's outfit nearly spotless, yet still worn from travel, but the man seems not to care. He appears to be in his early 20's, but his eyes carry much more wisdom than one would estimate. The tattoo of the symbol of Ryl on his right inner- wrist dictates that some of said knowledge could possibly be god-given. His peircing stare and cold black eyes seem to see all around him, and the gentle, quiet movements of his body appear to be both practiced and easy at the same time.

Roland's face is that of a man much larger than he, with a firm jawline and handsome, bronzed skin tones. One can tell from the short man's build that he must either do a lot of walking, or that his outfit weighs about 200 pounds. Either way, nothing about him seems out of place. His demeanor is that of a man so selfless that people inherently know that he is good and honorable. The only odd thing is that it's hard to tell where exactly he might be from.

Tanda stands relaxed, almost five and a half feet tall and built trim like a well-made sailboat. Her auburn hair is swept back behind her ears with a few wispy bangs over her forehead, and barely fails to reach her shoulders. Her eyes are blue, but a closer look reveals some green flecks in them.

The first thing most notice about her in a combat situation is her armor, which more closely resembles a dull-finished rust-red leather unitard with three straps securing the front and small metal plates and bands carefully concealed over its surface, allowing for a great deal of protection while maximizing range of motion. She also wears soft but sturdy knee-high boots, and a staggered metal vambrace on her left forearm. A composite shortbow and quiver of arrows are slung across her back, with a black-hilted rapier riding on her left hip.

Her traveller's outfit (worn when she wishes to play up her femininity) is remarkably prosaic by comparison, with a white short-sleeved blouse, black leather vest, and a black knee-length skirt with straps and buckles holding shut a slit down the left thigh. Most of the time, however, when not expecting trouble she wears a loose green shirt with pockets and tight leather breeches.

Tana would make beautiful woman, had he been born a female, alas he was born male. His emerald eyes only enhance the golden tresses that wisp gently around his ears and fall to just below his shoulders. The ornately adorned pommel of his scimitar curves over his left shoulder, a light crossbow hanging off his thick leather belt on his left side, opposite his dagger. A bolt case nestled neatly just behind the dagger.

His armor has been buffed to remove any shine, even though it is usually concealed beneath his green silk shirt. He wears wine colored leather breeches with knee length black walking boots (the soles are well worn showing many years of continual use). Tana's lazy look and semi-amused expression tend to never change, even when engaged in combat he continues to look more bored than excited. (This is a long practiced look.) He is never without his broad-brimmed black hat. He uses it to keep the sun off his skin as well as a cover over his head when sleeping under the stars. And on the odd occasion when he is caught out in the rain, it does wonders to keep him dry. On his left arm, Tana wears a buckler in what appears to be more of an absent-minded manor than as shield, though he quickly brings it to play during weapons melee.

During the winter months Tana will buy a heavy coat usually either black or wine colored to match his breeches, which he quickly gives to the first needy person he sees once the snows have passed, preferring to travel as lightly as possible.

Tana is much like the nomads from the great wastes, quick to give aid and slow to ask. Even though he was born in Freehold, he knows little about the town, having grown up in the desert caravans of his people. Although he comes from a people that brown with the sun, Tana’s skin never changed from its milky white complexion of birth, this may be due to a partial albinism.