An alchemist with a side hustle as a dungeon delver, known as one of a very few who has actually survived several trips into dangerous lairs and labyrinths. In addition to having assisted expeditions led by others, Evzenek has organized and led three significant delves into the depths. Unlike most who dare the horrors of the beneath, his goal does not seem to be mere treasure. Though his physical appearance is that of a prematurely greying academic, he somehow has a reputation more befitting a muscle bound thug with feats of strength and acts of extreme violence accredited to him. Those who have survived delves with him speak in hushed, fearful tones, and warn the unwary to beware his anger. There is more to him than there seems.
A sturdy frame and solid build makes Fyrclian’s five foot ten inch figure appear more compact than it is. Her hair is short, only a few fingerspans long, and bristled to russet-brown spikes with wax. It’s an attractive color, like firelight on the coarse brown of a horse’s hide, but marred by tufts of white hair, the telltale of a scalp scar suffered as a child. Her eyes are a speckled hazel, and she has a sharp heart shaped face with a strong jawline inclined towards jutting. Broad shoulders balance well with broad hips, in turn supporting a slight bow-leggedness in her leather-clad limbs from years spent in the saddle. Her arms show solid muscles built up over a lifetime of hard work, while her calloused hands are long fingered and suggest dexterity. She carries and is skilled with a slightly curved horseman's sabre, but her favorite weapon is a whip. Fyrclian wears no armor but has fine knee-high equestrian boots that are quite thick and protect her legs from glancing blows when she is on horseback. She wears her tartan boldly as both a mantle and a half-kilt. She proudly bears a very fine arm ring awarded to her by the Hengsting Clan Laird to mark his promise to hold open a spot on his Huscarl for Fyrclian until her return.
Marw is a strange sight in most parts of the world, and can barely go ten steps without someone staring at him in gobsmacked wonder. Beyond his alien Haelfinan countenance and pointed ears, he wears ridiculously rare haelfsilver armor and bears a haelfsilver sword. Luckily very few people have any awareness of how valuable they really are or else Marw would be fighting muggers off daily. He seeks something called Rhosyn Du, which translates as `the Black Rose`. He doesn't actually know what it is or what it looks like, but will go to great lengths to avoid revealing that. Surprising for someone of such a long lifespan, he has a tendency towards impatience.
When an outsider looks at Spatz they see a large, hulking, dangerously feral barbarian...and they are not wrong as Spatz is exactly that. He's burly. He's scruffy. He wears no shoes. His finger and toe nails are claw-like and sharp. His icy blue eyes always seem to have a predatory look about them, and pierce the heart of all but the bravest. He has basically no social graces to speak of, and when it rains he smells like a wet dog. Bearing the ancient blood curse of his clan, Spatzenjagr is a Wulfwaren...i.e. a werewolf. Even in human form his claw-like finger and toe nails and sharp feral teeth are a threat to the unwary and he needs no weapon; thus he carries only a large hunting knife which he mostly uses as a tool. He also wears no armor other than a thick fur mantle patched together from the hides of things he's killed and eaten. He wears his tartan in the traditional manner of his clan, as a kilt...it isn't particularly clean.
Thrymri has a large personality; he fills the space around him with his presence and good humor. All but the hardest hearted feel buoyed when near him, and it's the rare person who doesn't enjoy listening to him hold forth on a subject or tell a tale of olden times in grand style. It's true he's a little self indulgent at times, and if being perfectly honest his sense of self importance is perhaps a bit inflated...but somehow most folks find his over the top persona and theatrics to just be part of his charm. Thrymri is careful to make every appearance of his memorable. He wears fancy and well made clothes and a luxurious cloak that was gifted to him by a wealthy widow as reward for his oration commemorating her fallen husband...supposedly. His belt is finely crafted with silver inlay of exquisite design. He wears his tartan as a practical half mantle signaling his Jagrling roots to the observant, and carries no obvious weapons (though he typically has a couple of small but sharp daggers spirited away here or there), but instead relies upon the help and goodwill of others. He is handsome, has great hair, and lively eyes, but despite all of that and his finery Thrymri's most memorable feature is his pearly white smile, blessed by naturally good teeth further enhanced by fastidious dental care.