A living legend, Angar is not only a warrior of great strength and courage but is also known for his sharp tongue. Perhaps a bit uncommon for an orc, he values victory in the battle of words just as much as victory in the contest of arms.

Provoking his foes into mindless rage with barbed insults, Angar can easily make them forget about their tactics. While Angar himself prefers to keep a cool head in battle. He is known to gather grisly trophies such as skulls and bones of the slain. Some say it helps him to always remember the cost of men's folly and blind fury.

Basher has never honored Skinwalkers' traditions and never believed in Ch’arocah legends. The only thing he believes in is brute force. 

Having been exiled from his tribe in his childhood, he went to the south over the Redspike Mountains where he served first as a scout for the Ordun lords, then as cutthroat and torturer. Basher never speaks of his past and has never uttered his real name that was given to him by his mother. What makes him proud is his current nickname - Basher.

Known only as the “Delver”, this mysterious Dark Elf female has been selling her skills as an assassin and master poisoner for many years. With her mind as sharp as the quarrels of her crossbow, she excels at taking advantage of and multiplying her victims’ weaknesses. And though her origins are not known, some speculate that the moniker was earned by her ceaseless interest to old Elven ruins scattered across the continent. No one knows what she seeks there, but those unfortunate souls brave or foolish enough to assist her expedition for coin are rarely heard from again. 

It is a common assumption among Skinwalkers that the bigger one’s horns or antlers, the stronger one is. That is, of course, a vestige of their bestial nature, one that is often proven to be untrue. The Flesh-Tearer is a very good example of this. Despite his fear-inspiring name, he is no fearsome warrior but a wise healer who can keep others alive.

The secrets of handling herbs were passed to Flesh-Tearer from his father, just like they were from his father’s father before that.

Fellhounds are hellish creations of Siroth, his beasts of war. As they pass, these vicious hounds leaving charred pawprints and the smell of sulphur behind. According to ancient legends, seeing one foretells the unfortunate observer’s imminent death. And, considering the sharpness of the fellhounds’ steel-like fangs, it is not hard to see why.

Yet those that somehow capture and tame the beast may take great advantage of their protective magic.

In his childhood, Gator’s magical ability was out of control - presenting a danger to himself and others. Were it not for a travelling magi belonging to the Coven, he would have likely killed himself with one failed spell or the other. But fate saw fit to give the young lizardman another chance and provide him with tutors open-minded enough to pass their knowledge to a creature many would not see as anything beyond a beast. Such good fortune was not wasted, and when Gator returned to his people, it was a full-fledged mage, well-versed in arts that not many shamans would dare to replicate.

The profane hierarchy of Siroth’s legions is not unlike that of the mortal nobility in Teleria. There is protocol, a certain twisted propriety in demonic dealings, there are ranks and titles. The Marquis and Marquesses stand high in this hierarchy, serving as tacticians and commanders of the Demonspawn hosts.

Some they there were mortals once, before Siroth’s servants came to Teleria. Driven by fear or ambition, a terrible pact has been made by the nobles to retain their status, yet at a dear price - their very souls. Servants of Lumaya say that any mortal to be foolish enough to sign such a pact lives on in torment, their consciousness entrapped in suffocating, eternal darkness. Survive they will, though most will - in time - beg for the release of death.

And yet there is never a lack of those who are willing to test these tales for the promise of power.

Skink was never particularly liked among his tribe, both due to his cunning nature and a knack for finding trouble. But he was still given an opportunity to serve in the vanguard of many raids - an honour given in the hopes that he would one day get himself killed. That, however, never happened, and Skink now commands the loyalty and respect of an ever-growing group of young warriors, much to the displeasure of his rivals. Skink believes that one day he shall overtake his detractors to become the greatest leader the Lizardmen tribes have ever known.

Born in the sewers of Ireth, the creature now know as the Slitherbrute, had to survive on scraps in the large city. Stealing meat and fish from the stands on the market, his luck soon ran out and his arm lost to an angered butcher’s hatchet. 

Doomed to die in the gutter, he has only survived due to luck and the kindness of his fellow destitutes. And in the end, life as a cripple toughened the lizardman and forged him into a relentless bute. Now grown and with his arm replaced by a crude and vicious blade, he is still said to terrorize the streets of Irith at times in search of the butcher who took his arm - but perhaps that is merely an urban legend born of the Slitherbrute’s terrifying appearance.

Oldbeards can live for hundreds of years, something that has given them their name. But while their bodies continue to grow even in extreme old age, their intellect stops developing early on in their adolescence. Though what they lack in wits, they readily make up for in sheer toughness.