The Island Singer
Eclipse
West
Archery, Performance, Occult, Awareness, Sail
The Island Singer was, in his previous life, one of many. A lone wandering shaman-musician, he’d travel between the scattered uninhabited islands of the Far West and sing to them their stories, reminding them of their shapes so they could remain strong in the face of the corrosive tides of the Wyld.
Then came the storm, and the great beast rising from the waves, and his arrows flying like shafts of dawn to pierce its heart. Now, The Island Singer still travels between distant islands, and sings to them their shape. But he can do more. So much more. He’s cautious, careful. Slowly learning the limits of his power and what he can and cannot do.
But he remembers the legends of the First Age. The stories of entire continents lost when the great Fey armies cracked the walls of Creation and washed over it in a tide of chaos. He wonders at the myths told of golden heroes who could forge whole nations out of the Wyld and restore all that were lost to it’s endless chaos and tides.
Soon, he will sing new songs. Not the lands as they are, but the lands as they could be.

The Monster Hunter
Dawn
North
Archery, Survival, Investigate, Athletics, Ride
In every generation of young warriors, there’s one like him. Brash, undisciplined, rebellious. Stronger, faster, and downright better than his peers, and assuming that this means the rules that apply to them don’t apply to him. The elders of his tribe of nomadic mammoth hunters rarely pushed it. Such young ones, they’d learned, eventually came up against something they could not survive on their own. They’d either learn, and mature into fitting material for future Tribal Elders, or they’d die and provide a valuable life lesson for the others.
But when The Monster Hunter was faced with a rampaging mammoth of ice and lightning and endless rage, he took a third path of blinding solar light and swift merciless slaughter.
He knew what it meant. It’d never happened in his tribe, but it’d happened in others, and memories were long. Soon, those with the blood of dragons would come to slay him, and any who stood beside him. He made his farewells to his tribe, and traveled south to the great cities to await them. He would die in glorious combat.
But the wait was long, and the city he sheltered in was besieged by a serpent of shadows and mist that came in the night. So he killed it. Then there were the undead forms of all those who’d frozen to death in an ice storm on Calibration, so he killed those as well. Then the many tentacled thing that crawled up from caverns deep beneath the city, the eagles of rotting meat that spit acid and worms, The Songdancer and his cavorting snow apes…
Each new challenge excited him like none before. By now, he’s barely remembered that he’s supposed to be awaiting his death. And with each new kill, he begins to wonder a bit more… If he’s able to slay these beasts that so threaten the southern cities… What would happen if he turned his attention to one of them instead?

The Wandering Gunslinger
Night
South
Archery, Resistance, Medicine, Dodge, Linguistics
He was a lawman, once. If you could call it law. It’s a dry, sun-scorched land. Endless plains, towering mesas, and canyons that twine like cracked shattered veins in the earth. Settlements are remote, isolated. Clustered around sources of water, sources of gems and gold. The Scarlet Empire’s ruled in all but name for more generations than any mortal blooded can remember, and the laws they pass are concerned with little beyond making sure the gold and gems flow north to The Blessed Isle and enough people remain alive to mine them.
But bad law is still better than no law, and he did his best. He had his rout. He had his badge. He did what he could to ensure the good and just prospered and those that’d prey on them did not. But then the Empress vanished. The Great Houses grew desperate. And the laws became girded with iron spikes and twisted chains to wring every last drop of blood from the land.
So he turned in his badge. Explained his reasoning to his superiors in a profane and public manner. And somehow survived the attempted execution when the Unconquered Sun Himself took him on instead.
Now he rides the wastelands, from settlement to settlement. He has no badge. He has no authority. But he has the light of the sun within him, and he knows what is right and what is wrong. And he will root out the corruption, and greed, and evil of his country one black-hearted backstabbing varmint at a time.