EDIT: Here it is.
Name: Heath
Birthdate: April 18th (Aries)
Stat Allocation: +2 Speed, +1 Strength
Unique Class: Mist Berserker
Personality: He is usually calm and composed when discussing the matters at hand, often coming across as a little cold, but when faced with an opponent he becomes a bit of a hothead. He's perfectly willing to lay down his life to take down an enemy threatening either himself or an ally, and lately that seems to be more and more common. He isn't above a tactical retreat, but it isn't exactly his first option.
Physical Description: Working on a picture actually.
Background: He can't say he doesn't miss the Wood from which he was born, but he also can't say that he remembers it to its full entirety. His memories are blurred like the dense Mist that shrouded the dense woodland of his home, but the memory of his shame haunts him. Looking back he regrets saving that outsider that was stupid enough to wander into their Wood and guiding them out. He occasionally asks himself if it could have been different had he turned a blind eye to the man's cries, shuttering at the very fact that he could consider something so cold. It wasn't saving his life that he regretted, but his exile that swiftly followed it. Lost, and not wishing to be driven mad like exiles before him he left the heavy mists of Jagd Ilbroth to the far north of Archades. He hoped that he could retain his mind and still make it to the city, but it was a long walk and it would take days. It was a day into his walk that he came across a group of people digging wide, deep pits. Upon seeing people moving baskets from a pit he rushed them blindly, already lost. Had they not been mining nethicite he might have killed a few of them. It didn't take long before they simply knocked him out and dragged him away before he did some actual damage to them. After a day or two of being held in a cage with materials he was conscripted to work for them as a smuggler to avoid being left behind and hungry.
Fifty years later he is now, at the age of eighty he makes the best of his life. He knows he can never return to the heart of the Jagd he called home to renew his connection with the Wood, and they may hunt him like a common criminal. He knows the church doesn't like his presence, but he keeps his eyes open, looking for a chance to sell himself as a sellsword for the desperate. It doesn't pay well, but he enjoys it.
I'll be working on the art by the way. I'll leave links to character portraits and sprites as they're completed.
All character portraits
All character sprites
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