Desani Moon, Paladin

Flae

A Fae Illusionist with a dark heart, but a good soul.

Sabian Mortis

An evil Teir'Dal Necromancer.

Gore Bloodfeud

Warforged Blademaster.

Jellied flesh and broken bone slip and slide off the Adamantine plated thick set body. A constant flow of blood seemed to trickle across the surface making the contstruct glisten and shimmer in the twilight. Assembled and given life in the great Forge of House Cannith, this Fleshcleaver was birthed through magics thought impossible, its sole purpose to dismember fleshed opponents. Many Warforged were created as generic battle machines, kitted out with all manner of combat accessories to enable them to face other similarly equipped 'forged. However, behind all battle hardened 'forged troops were soft fleshed Masters conjuring their orders of war. Gore was assembled to strike hard at these fleshed leaders. His Adamantine plates could pierce and shred flesh even without the bladed weapons of Valenar blood steel they were adorned with. His body coloured with scarlet to ensure maximum fear in his enemy. Blood would run constantly over his thick skin. The warband Gore was assigned to, became known as the Strikeforge, a collection of fleshcleavers designed to act as strike troops in battle, dropped in behind enemy lines and afforded the purpose of stripping flesh from bone, spilling blood and cleaving the minds of the fleshed ones who control the 'forged armies. Taking out the Masters slowed the advancement of the conjured troops. Each warband would be assigned a single master, one who would remotely control their position and combat goals. Always fine tuning the strike, adjusting the kills. After the demise of Cyre towards the end of the Last War, Strikeforge found itself decommissioned.

Fleshcleavers were deemed far too dangerous to be allowed into normal circulation. Many were dismantled. Some without the tight control of a Master were found to have turned renegade, following other less controlled Masters, even following other rogue 'forged units as if they were fleshed leaders. Gore was lucky, he was traded to a small outpost requiring his strength primarily as a work unit. The Master he was assigned to, didn't care of his blood soaked past, he was only concerned about how much lumber he could chop or stone he could split in a days work. Culling trees or stone did little for the Fleshcleavers state of mind. Battle tremours would take over him, and he would decimate houses and vehicles sub conciously. The tremours grew more feirce and darker, uncontrollable, his basic instinct, to cleave flesh, had come back to haunt him. A dark day indeed came about as Gore surfaced from a tremour having slain six fleshed workers. Blood trickled past his eyes as he realised what he'd done.

Immediate deactivation was demanded. As they assembled around him to dismember his body and unhook his mind with dispelling magics. Something inside him engaged. His inner core split slighty. The tremours that took six lives had only been a taste of what power could be unleashed with a Fleshcleaver unhinged. Gore collapsed in a pool of blood. He rested. The bodies would noticed with the coming daylight. The blood would run into the water supplies and give away his position. He would require a new Master. Someone who could command the Fleshcleaver mind. Someone who could contain a killing machine that walked a fine line between dutiful service and tremour induced chaos. Gore would search out such a Master. Eternally.

Tegana Soul

Born deep in the Hoarfrost Mountains, secure inside the dwarven settlement of Soranathold facing out onto Mirror Lake, the young girl was raised under the religious guidance of her mother. The girl was baptised in snow as Teghannarak Soularath, the Soularath family were well respected for their jewel and armourcraft amongst the skilled trades folk of the Soranath Clan. Indeed the elaborate breastplates made by Teghannarak's father were almost legendary amongst the other dwarven clans in the Mror Holds.

Teghannarak enjoyed a relatively peaceful childhood raised in a time when the dwarven clans had put axe and blade down and settled their differences with diplomacy and negotiation via the Iron Council. Almost coddled by the Church of the Sovereign Host, Teghannarak dutifully took up the ecclesiastical duties that were asked of her. Gentle of spirit, she would spread her divine inspiration amongst the clan with much enthusiasm, however, she considered the robes of the Church most drab, so she took to wearing off cuts and experimental pieces of Armour that her father had forged. She would often find herself in the forge, excitedly trying on new shining plate. She became interested in her apparent strength to carry such weight on her shoulders. And led to quite a trivial contest between other dwarves to test their strength with a baton. Flailing the baton and beating a sheet of steel plate, to measure ones power in the diameter of impression made. Teghannarak always felt blessed with power in her heart and in her hefty arms. The Hosts will surged through her.

Although her direction was intended to take up the cloth and preach, Teghannaraks divinity usurped her destiny and edged her more towards channeling her good into a combatant guardian of all dwarven kind. Against her mothers wishes, she enrolled for cleric duties, that combined over enthusiastic preaching with defensive combat practice. It seems her fathers blood flowed more readily in her than her mother had anticipated. Adventure seemed to beckon to her, at the end of her training as a battle cleric. More than she realised. It broke her mothers heart, and steadied her fathers hammering arm, as he beat Teghannarak's coming-of-age set of Armour over a melancholic anvil of loss.

Leaving the clans and the Hold, equipped with youthful exuberance and her fathers Armour she made her way to the fabled City of Towers, Sharn. A place where magic and industrial machines come together. A place where all walks of life converge and mix in equal parts. It was time for Teghannarak the dwarven girl to adopt an identity befitting an adventurer in such a cosmopolitan and multi-cultured city. She mixed with the city life for a while before gravitating towards the not so respected academic institute known as Morgrave University. Street talk and rumour guided her towards this temple of skewed knowledge and intrigue. She shortened her name to allow the non-dwarven tongue to speak it easily. Her appearance to most was one of a hefty swollen lady in shiny Armour, so her name had to diffuse the prejudice. She took the name Tegana Soul. Hopefully retaining enough similarity to her true name as to do honour by the Host to her family name and her clan.

Bewitched by the city and the University, Tegana swiftly took up the challenge of preaching the way of the Sovereign Host and yet learning more about the history of the city and the different races and their cultures. Never had her eager mind had so much diversity to feed upon, using her divine teachings as fuel she began settling in to academia paying her way with research opportunities that seemed to come her way without her trying. Several of these 'opportunities' involved some exploration of lands further afield, as well as a lot of book work. More and more, her direction was almost being guided unknowingly into harsher and more dangerous expeditions. And Tegana thrived off the excitement it presented. Her jewelcrafters eye had caught a liking for the artifacts that were being revealed in these so-called research outings. The most recent expedition had her praying in battle Armour on her way to the lands of the Giants, Xen'drik, to a city called Stormreach....