Category: Tertia Worldbuilding

The Factions of Tertia – Rogue’s Gallery

The Rogue’s Gallery is, as one might suspect, an organization of rogues who have the simple aim to collect as many riches as they possibly can. However, its members do not build their fortunes in the organization’s name. Instead, they employ a necessary amount of selfishness to remain in a constant state of competition with each other. In truth, the collecting of riches is just a means to an end, for the truer goal is for the rogues to hone their skills to perfection. Every member of the gallery found themselves there after living lost lives, where they had no place or purpose. The rejects of society who would have otherwise died in isolation. People done wrong by the failures of culture and government.

For these people who went on to join the gallery, they found kinship among each other. The rogue’s gallery is a family, one where its members constantly keep each other on their toes. With regards to their targets, even other members of the rogue’s gallery aren’t safe. In fact, it is encouraged that the rogues attempt to steal from each other to expose carelessness among them. If one’s fortune is not properly protected then they run the risk of losing it all. No hate is harbored when such occurrences happen, only bolstered wills to improve. Every three months, all the members of the gallery will gather and their fortunes are measured.

The five richest members of the gallery become ‘the wanted’. Traditional wanted posters with their names, faces and exact fortunes are created and spread all throughout the base. This encourages the other members to aim for the wealth of the wanted, though these top five don’t attain their status through luck alone. Rarely will the names on the wanted list change, a truth exaggerated by the fact that a dead man maintains his position in the rank 5 spot. The one who holds the rank 1 spot holds a title beyond just ‘wanted’. They are the effective leader of the gallery, the ‘prince of rogues’. A title that has not been passed since the gallery’s founding. One all the members vye for, yet not one that the holder will give up so easily.


This is the man who both created and stands atop the rogue’s gallery. Unarguably the most skilled swindler in the organization and perhaps even on all of Tertia. Just a completely mundane man who doesn’t have a lick of magic in him. A human, through and through. The richest human in the world, his overall value surpassing that of even Erth Gilgamesh. Though, if you were to see him yourself, you wouldn’t believe that statement. More often than not, Curb takes on the appearance of a dirt-covered homeless man draped in torn rags. A far cry than what one would expect from a guy who could own any clothing he wants.

This visage is the crux of his front, the method through which he does business. He’ll sit on the curbs of a city’s streets and play the role of a beggar, waiting for someone who knows of his true business to come along. For those who participate in less-than-legal social circles, his homeless persona is rather well known. No surprise, given his extraordinary skills. Wealthy folk will stain their polished shoes to meet with Curb and drop gracious bags of money into the hat at his side. Sweat on their privileged brows, they whisper into Curb’s ear the task they wish him to do. If it suits him, he’ll carry out the request to the most favorable result. There have been incidents where actual homeless folks have been mistaken for Curb and given these exuberant payments instead, a bi-product that suits prince of rogues just fine.

He based this method of roguery on how he lived before becoming the infamous man he is today. As he was born a human, he was designated a life of redundancy from the outset. Humans were an outdated species in a world of Magia, lesser in every respect. There was no place in modern society for people who were simply inferior. No work or benefits existed for them, the world had no interest in supporting a species fated to drag their feet. This was a truth no matter where you went, especially between the time after the war on alignment and Erth’s rise to fame. The world ailed after the misaligned kin left their mark and no one would reach a hand for the humans who tried to get back on their feet.

Curb was born only a short time after the war’s end as an Apurtan citizen. A country whose people have historically been enslaved and abused for labor due to the former richness of the land. Yet, here, even slavery was considered too good for the likes of a human. They worked slower, got tired faster and died quicker. No one would want a toy that breaks so easily. Curb grew up in a society like this where he and every other human were left to die on the streets. It was miraculous that Curb even reached his adult years. From a young age, he became accustomed to freezing nights and beds of treaded stone.

While his perspective was narrow, he wondered if all humans had to live as he did. He knew the fate of those in his country but he wanted to know if the unfair hand dealt to humans was a global constant. His dreams were always filled with such thoughts, of lands he didn’t know where humans would invariably be made to suffer. Nightmares, nightmares, on most nights he woke up red with both anger and despair. He thought, if it were only him that had to suffer that way then it would be fine but the fact that others were subject to such fates was unforgivable.

In his days of just barely avoiding starvation by eating anything he could put in his mouth without subsequently regurgitating, he learned a fact that would change his life from then onward. That Magia were complacent, especially when it came to the relationship between themselves and humans. Because of their belief in their innate superiority, most of them went around without a care in the world. They wouldn’t catch any of the diseases that cut through the human populous and they certainly wouldn’t lose a bout if an outraged human lashed out. With their noses raised so highly into the air, it was easy for Curb to start picking their pockets.

He didn’t start out as the prince of rogues he is today. The malnourished and sick body he had back then wasn’t good for much of anything. Most things were a blur, leading to his being caught a couple of times in his earliest attempts. Though, he was never taken seriously enough to earn a cell in a prison. They’d have taken care of him better than the streets did. Thanks to that, Curb kept getting more chances to improve. As history has already told, he improved a lot.

Curb’s targets became riskier, what started as meager pick-pocketing escalated into full-scale heists of wealthy Frantumeran estates. He became healthier as he ‘acquired’ proper food and drink and medicine, taking enough to give to others who were left homeless. Oddly, even after attaining enough of a fortune to live a decent life, he continued to live off of the streets. That was, until, he was hit with inspiration. He remembered the nightmares, the visions of people from other lands who suffered the way he did. People with no place, no hope; for them, Curb wanted to present the opportunity he made for himself. He founded the Rogue’s Gallery as a secret organization where he would train these people into professional swindlers.

Many refused to join the gallery, many others simply didn’t have it in them to make it as rogues. Despite this, in the few that did become fully-fledged members, the gallery thrived. It became a place where passion once lost was re-ignited, where these people would dedicate the entirety of their being. While meant to be secret, the success of the gallery has caught the notice of many other factions throughout the world. Not least of all Pradas’ Serikaat, who offered to support the gallery and even create a guild in its name. Curb refused this offer and continues to refuse any like it, for it was the failures of such governments that spurred the creation of the gallery in the first place. It was made by the neglected for the neglected and Curb intends for it to stay that way.


Once a soldier who fought as a part of Kuwaweka’s military, Koll is a veteran who survived the war on alignment. He was born a handful of years before the misaligned kin made their way to the world, when the quarrels between people were what threatened Tertia’s peace. As a child, all he knew were the raids from enemy armies that forced he and his family to move from place to place. It was as if his life was forced to begin anew once every few months, after fires spread and took away the friends he made in the last. Not the least of his misfortune came from his Kuwan heritage, a culture that valued genetic strength above all.

Like Curb, Koll was just a human. In the eyes of the Kuwan mentality, that made him the lowest of the low. Scum that wasn’t even worth the air he breathed. Even within war shelters, Koll and his family were kept separate from those with ‘potential’. In Kuwaweka, being mundane was a deformity that people would condescendingly look down upon. The fear and anxiety brought by the wars put the sheltered on edge and they lashed out at those most vulnerable. Koll and his family suffered constant physical and verbal abuse and much of the time they even had their rations taken from them. Despite these conditions, Koll’s family taught him to be positive and obedient. Up until the day when they were taken to be used as meat-shields.

They went without a fight, for the way of the Kuwans meant that those with weaker genes were sacrificed for the strong. The misaligned kin came to the world only days after and, against the odds, Koll survived. He grew into a young teen and, similar to his family, was taken by the military to be used as essentially meat. A body to get between a misaligned kin and some upper-class family. He did not fight this, as his family had taught him he remained complacent. He was among the first generation to be trained to use the firearms invented by the Skarvans and actually proved to be an outstanding talent among his peers. By the time he was actually sent to the battlefield, it would be no exaggeration to say that he was the most skilled gunman from Kuwaweka.

His proficiency proved to be an irreplaceable boon in the battles against the misaligned kin. In both his offensive and covering fire, he was responsible for a countless number of rescued lives. For all of his feats he should have been considered a hero, yet his return to Kuwan soil after the war’s end gave way to no such fanfare. A human he was and a human he remained, thus he was forced back into a life of squalor. People who he believed to have become his siblings in arms, people who wouldn’t even be alive were it not for him; they cast Koll out onto the streets without so much as a second thought. It was as if the war on alignment had never happened, as if the blood he gave for his country was inconsequential as the blood of a human.

Koll was nearing middle-aged and he knew that with his human lifespan he would die long before the people who left him out on the streets. His patience had reached its end, he was done with the obedience that his parents and his country had conditioned into him. After all he had been through, he wasn’t about to just wither away on some street. With what little he had left, he left Kuwaweka on foot to journey the continent and find a way to live life to the fullest. He had nothing of value to trade in exchange for nights at inns, so he slept on the streets wherever he went. The fact that he was human made him outcast no matter what borders he crossed.

In this time, he became a listener. He met and talked with others who had no home and learned their stories, the hardships that they had faced. He learned how each country would undervalue the lives of humans in one way or another, though he did not allow the sorrow to impede his journey. As payment for just their words, Koll would share whatever he had on him with those homeless before moving on. For each border he passed, more years had been taken from his life. He was becoming old yet still he was no where near the fulfilling life he yearned for. That was, until, he happened to come across Curb.

Curb had already founded rogue’s gallery at this point, in that sense Koll was fortunate to find him when he did. Koll had gone far from his home, from a western country to one that bordered eastern waters. His selfless sharing of any food and drink he came across had visibly taken a heavy toll on him, his scarred, soldier’s body had become thin and spindly. Little more than bones and wrinkled skin, if nothing were to change then his journey would have ended there. Still, as he asked Curb to tell his tale, he maintained a kind smile. The two talked for a long time, until Curb brought up the subject of thievery.

Even though Koll had turned on the ways of his country, he had never considered breaking the law so blatantly. Curb was dead set on getting this man to join the gallery, so he urged Koll to try it. It took a little bit to get through the aged man’s reluctance but Curb had gotten used to protest during scouting. Without much else left to lose, Koll was convinced into picking the pocket of a passing Ignia and in that moment adrenaline rushed through him. The theft ended in failure, as Curb expected, it would have been next to impossible for a tall man like Koll to pull off something like that undetected. The two escaped the scene and Koll realized with the beating of his heart that he had found it. How to live life to the fullest.

Curb gave Koll the best meal he’d had in his life and convinced the former solider to join the gallery. Koll was initiated and, surprisingly for his age, he picked up the ways of rougery exceptionally quickly. His natural dexterity was unlike anything Curb had ever seen before and Koll used these skills to climb up to the second highest rank in the gallery. While he was saddened upon hearing the news of Kuwaweka’s assimilation into Circadia, the happiness he gained from the gallery could not be taken from him. He believed that the self-destruction of his homeland was inevitable regardless due to its ideals. Now that it is gone, Koll has all the more reason to live as fully and richly as he can. Not just for himself but for the lost country he once fought so hard to protect.


Runa Kasper is the last surviving daughter of the Kasper family, who were formerly revered magic engineers in Vasara. The Kaspers made a name for themselves by perfecting the manipulation of magic within a Magia’s body, which allowed them to achieved desired evolutions without being bound to environmental conditions. Theoretically, this genetic engineering would allow a Magia to take on the most preferable body properties to craft their most ideal and optimal bodies. The Kasper family was the best at performing these ‘surgeries’ and made their fortune off of such procedures. While Runa never learned the process herself, there are a handful of very highly skilled mages still capable of this craft.

The fate of the Kasper family came down to one thing; greed. The attention drawn to the family for their richness and expertise didn’t all come from the right places. Many in Vasara were, and still are, enamored with power and when the idea that they could obtain perfect bodies reached their ears they wasted no time tracking down the Kaspers. These people, no better than cultists, pressured the family into altering their bodies to the rumored ‘perfect’ state. When the family attempted to contact the authorities, they were kidnapped by the power-hungry. The kidnapped family consisted of a mother, a father and three daughters.

Caught in such a predicament, the parents immediately began to comply with the whims of their kidnappers. They were the only two trained to perform the body alterations, the daughters were not yet old enough to have the knowledge. To protect their children, they carried out the body perfection process on the body of the leader of the kidnappers; Ike Lapile. Yet, by the end of it, he was not satisfied. Unarguably, he had been optimized as a Magia, but as a living being he still believed himself to be lacking. He wanted more power and he wholly believed that the Kaspers could give it to him.

The Kasper parents begged, claiming that they could do no more for him. Ike would not hear such complaints, he wanted a body that would surpass all other life on Tertia. He handed the family books on lycanthropy and Vera evolutions and told them use that knowledge and concoct a perform form within a week. The Kaspers were smart but not impossibly so, learning the rituals used to make Vera would take months just on its own. Furthermore, with no test subjects, they had no guarantee that their body-crafting would work regardless. When they brought this up to Ike, he told them that they did have test subjects. Three of them, in fact.

The parents studied night and day, refusing sleep for the entire week to implement Vera evolution into their craft. Any time they closed their eyes and sleep threatened to take them, they would immediately see the nightmare of having to perform such an unsafe experiment on their daughters. They knew the risks, if they failed then their subject could rapidly warp into a Head or just die from the contortions of the body. The week passed and the kidnappers asked if they had completed the perfection surgery. They were far from it, unthinkably so, yet they still said yes. They had made a plan, if the procedure were to fail and the subject’s body began to warp then they would hope for the distraction to be enough to make an escape.

Then, Ike saw that all of the daughters were still untouched.

He was power-hungry but not that much of a fool. He was also aware of the risks that such a procedure could carry and wasn’t willing to undergo the new perfection surgery without seeing it first. Frustrated, the Kasper parents refused, until Ike threatened to kill all of the daughters right then and there. They would risk one daughter or lose all three right there. Trapped, the parents were forced to pick the daughter they were practically guaranteed to murder with their own hands. The eldest daughter, old enough to understand all that was happening, offered herself up before her younger siblings.

As predicted, her body went out of control and threatened to warp into an unruly beast. Without hesitation, one of the kidnappers executed her before the process could complete. The parents were given another three days before the next test. They could not focus any more, they were too sick and sorrowful and full of rage. The three days passed and they had made no progress on the perfection surgery. The middle daughter was used as the subject and her body could not handle the procedure. During the morphing her bones stopped suiting the flesh around them and she ended up little more than a bloody mess.

Only one daughter was left. That daughter was Runa, though before she could be used as the next test subject her mother stepped up. It was impossible for either of them to kill another of their daughters, so Runa’s mother begged the father to use her body in the next test. Runa’s father wanted to deny this request but couldn’t possibly do so. He understood better than anyone else the exact feelings she was going through. Using her as the subject was a mercy, even though it, too, ended in failure.

Runa’s father had one chance left to get it right or he would have nothing left. He considered just offing himself but knew that Ike would just kill his last daughter to be rid of any witnesses. The only chance for her to live was for him to succeed in carrying out the perfection surgery. Only then would his daughter have a chance at escaping. He spent the patience of the kidnappers to its very limit to give himself the best chance at achieving a miracle. When his time ran out and Runa was splayed before him on a bed of stone, he put the legacy of his entire family name on the line. The gods must have smiled upon him for as the procedure came to its end, Runa was still alive.

His daughter’s body had been altered to bear the features of countless beasts; a humanoid chimera. Ike and the other kidnappers were overjoyed and celebrated as if Runa’s father were their good friend. Grin on his face, Ike voiced his belief in the Kaspers’ abilities and stated that he looked forward to the next day, when he would make Runa’s father perform the surgery on him. Runa awoke that night and when she did, her father told her that she would have to escape alone. Runa, still a young girl, was traumatized by her experience but understood the importance of her survival. On that night alone, the kidnappers would let their guard down. The father was too valuable to kill and they had no use for Runa any more. This was her best chance at getting out alive.

Runa and her father escaped their confinement using a magic explosive he cobbled together. Runa ran, as fast as she could, while her father made a stand against the alerted kidnappers. He was untouchable, they could not harm him after he had proven his ability to perform the surgery they sought after. He bought his daughter plenty of time to escape out into the world and into the nearest town. She cried as she attempted to tell the people there what had happened but what they saw was not a hurt little girl. They saw a monster, a horrid creature created by a madman. They did not listen to her words and instead cast her out into the wilderness.

No matter where she went, Runa’s words fell on deaf ears. Anyone who saw her would chase her off and the rumors following her sightings made her out to be the hideous work of some cultist. She grew up in the wild, as a beast, only entering settlements on occasion to steal food. Her meeting with Curb happened entirely by chance while he was in Pradas intent on obtaining an airship for himself. It was a ridiculous heist to pull but the prince of rogues was always finding new ways to make his title more impressive. He caught eye of Runa stealing food from some street merchants and, intrigued, followed her into the forest. There, he found out what she was.

What followed turned out to be a shock for both of them as Curb became the first to sit and hear out her story. Empathetic as he is, Curb was outraged by the things Runa had been through. He harbored such hate for those kidnappers that he would have killed them were they anywhere near, yet it was unlikely they were still in the same place. Unsure of what to do for Runa, he invited her to join him on his little mission. It was a spectacular heist, magic flew everywhere yet all of them failed to stop Curb’s plan. When he and Runa rode off to Crobayoris on that airship, it was the first time she smiled in years.

Runa has since found her place in the Rogue’s Gallery, consistently within the top 5 ranking members. She is still haunted by her nightmarish past but she now has a new family, one that won’t ever be taken away. She intends to one day return to Pradas to find out if her father is still alive somewhere. If he’s still being used by those kidnappers and, if he is, to rescue him.


Aurpegia is an Aljani from Esnaquizar with perception so great it’s as if she has 360 degree vision and hands so fast it’s hard to believe she only has two. Aurpegia was taken from her family at a young age to be sold to an Esnaquan noble as a slave. While the work of the Virtue and decisions made by the Crobayoris Court of Justice made such things socially unaccepted, it is a practice that sadly continues in many places. Especially to Aljani, who are still seen as lesser to even humans due to lingering association with Gonel. They’re traded in a manner not dissimilar to animals and kept like pets by the scum of high society.

Aurpegia was to be one of these pets, kept by the infamous merchant baroness Hestor Rucher. The baroness’ reputation preceded her, she was a hated woman who purposely went out of her way to crush out smaller merchants who were just trying to make a living. Once they were left dirt poor and hopeless, she would offer to take them in as slaves. If they refused, she would use her influence to make their lives awful until they either starved, dehydrated or were ravaged by disease. This was the kind of sociopath that Aurpegia found herself under, just to be an ‘exotic’ addition to her lineup of living objects.

Her life was as awful as one would expect. She and the other slaves had to eat from bowls on the floor, were walked around with chain collars, locked in rooms until they produced excrement and then made to clean it with their hands; just to make them seem more like animals. The baroness would grace them with her presence every once in a while to gush over how cute they were, naked and dirty with bloodied knees from crawling around. Speaking was prohibited, that was reserved for people. The punishments for lashing out against the baroness were unspeakable. This was the life Aurpegia would have lived were it not for a heist pulled by Runa Kasper.

This was the first of Runa’s big heists, she hadn’t even placed in the gallery’s top five by this point. She had heard of Hestor’s interest in hiring exotic ‘workers’ and things didn’t get more exotic than Runa. She easily managed to infiltrate Hestor’s estate and was sickened by what she found there. When she saw Aurpegia and the other slaves, the heist was flung into the back of her mind. She was reminded of the cave she was kept in when she was younger and refused to ignore what was happening. She covertly unlocked the slaves’ bindings and told them to escape once she drew attention to herself. She put on a show, caught the eyes of all the baroness’ enforcers, yet the slaves did not run.

They just stared. Their eyes were empty, they were completely broken. It was truly like telling a group of animals to run away. They simply couldn’t process the idea. Runa couldn’t just sweep them up, so she took what she could. One young girl among the slaves; Aurpegia. She returned to the gallery with the young Aljani as her only prize, more valuable than any material good. She saved a life. She asked Curb if what she did was wrong and what they could do for Aurpegia. Rescuing a life was never wrong, but Curb couldn’t think of anywhere in the world they could bring an Aljani to have a good life. Runa’s act would have been pointless if she were just sent to another bad place, so they decided they would raise her in the gallery.

It took a long time to heal Aurpegia’s trauma. At first, she wouldn’t eat any food that wasn’t put on the floor. She was scared of everyone and couldn’t bring herself to speak even a word. Runa kept putting off heists to sit and stay with her, even though the other gallery members were happy to take care of her. Runa slowly got the young Aljani to open up, squeak a few sounds and eat with the rest of the gallery. Aurpegia would watch Runa refine her skills with the other members and eventually showed the want to join in. Runa thought that she would be alright once she became a part of the regular training but when she decided to try her next heist Aurpegia did not want her to go.

That was when Amsden came into the picture. Aurpegia was immediately obsessed with his mask-making ability and the two helped each other to become more comfortable with their situations. Amsden took care of Aurpegia when Runa was out and made masks and outfits for her. It helped her recovery greatly when Amsden introduced the idea of taking on a persona, becoming someone who didn’t have to be the same as who she was. She quickly became more confident and started to show some serious potential in rogue training. Runa returned from her heist and when she did Aurpegia made her promise to bring her along next time.

Since then, Aurpegia became a skilled masked rogue in her own right. Still the youngest member of the gallery, she very recently managed to reach the wanted list with a big heist in Casc. She’s made everyone in the gallery proud but a part of her is still there at Hestor’s estate. When she removes the mask, she returns to being the anxious mess that she was. When she grows up more, she aims to become a hero like Runa. One who uses her skills to save people around the world, because lives are worth more than any treasure.


Amsden Dover was an Ilex who came from the fashion country Halevina. Despite all of of the success and celebration that Halevina was remembered for, its society was a shockingly harsh one. It was like Vasara, except with fashion instead of magic. If your skills weren’t up to par then you were fated to sit in the shadows at the bottom of society. There was only one way to live a truly successful life; through immaculate design. Any other work, any other industry, would give you just enough to get by. Practically every Halevinan practiced some kind of craft in their free time, trying to put together a magnum opus that would elevate them to fame.

The Dovers were one of countless families who, for generations, just couldn’t catch a break. They tried making clothing, accessories; they tried everything, yet they were simply never good enough. They were starved, both of resources and recognition, until Amsden was born. Many bards would come to Halevina to purchase fanciful and iconic garb for themselves. Amsden looked up to these bards and the stage personas they made for themselves, projected in the clothing that they wore. In particular, he had an affinity for the masks that separated the face of the person from the face of the performer. He grew up idolizing a handful of masked performers, which led him to what would become his area of expertise. The crafting of masks.

While a limited skill, Amsden’s talent in mask-making proved to be utterly exceptional. The designs and creative enchants he placed upon them were fresh and fantastic; upon his graduation he was set to be the first in his family to attain recognition as a true artist. Then, the nightmares started. The spread of Circadia was not unknown or unpredictable, what prevented the people of the swallowed countries from running was a mixture of fatigue and hubris. Even though they had seen other countries swallowed before them, each of them believed they could push back against the nightmares. They were the generation that survived the misaligned realm, after all, and they were prepared to fight once again.

Pointless battles. Halevina went just like the rest. They prepared their military and gathered allies but the attack that killed them was no mere wound. The nightmares refused them sleep, until their brains were exhausted and borderline dying. When Circadia’s forces actually came, Halevina was protected by bodies only fit to faint. While it pained him, Amsden was one of those smart enough to abandon his country. Other Halevinans may have stood strong in the pride of finally having attained recognition but Amsden was more intelligent than that. He and a group of others fled the country, but the nightmares followed.

Those who began to experience Circadia’s nightmares were cursed. Once the curse took hold, the nightmares would not cease. The only two ways to attain freedom were to give up your mind to Circadia or perish. Just a week after their escape, Amsden was the only one of his group to not have committed suicide. Instead, he worked towards another solution. What he made was what he was born to make; a mask. One that, so long as he wore it, would repress Circadia’s curse. For a time after that, he attempted to find and aid others who escaped from Circadia’s invasion with his enchanted masks. Yet, no matter what, their struck mentalities would end up getting the better of them and they would take their own lives.

Amsden hit a low. His country was gone, his masks were rejected. He wondered if he would be better off just giving up as well. Unable to take the pressure of Circadia’s spread any longer, he ran to the far side of the continent where he met with Curb. Curb was actually the one who approached Amsden, asking where he got the mask from. In the end Curb convinced Amsden to make masks for the members of Rogue’s Gallery. Of course, he couldn’t be a part of the gallery without becoming a rogue himself. Amsden found a place and purpose in the gallery but even then he never let himself become complacent.

On the outside, he seemed much happier. He took to the roguish ways quite well and he was happy to have a family again, he was even ecstatic when he got the recognition of being on the wanted list. Nevertheless, the thoughts of Circadia always scratched at the back of his mind. The reason he chose to remain with the gallery and become a rogue was because he wanted to return to Circadia. He wanted to become skilled enough to infiltrate its capital and unveil some kind of weakness in the nightmares. Becoming one of the five ‘wanted’ was a sign for him, he believed it meant he had reached that level of skill. That’s what his proud Halevinan blood told him.

Without a word to the people that became his family, he went off on a suicide mission to Circadia. Those foolish enough to go into Circadia of their own will never returned, it was as if the nightmares were omnipresent within those borders. Miraculously, Amsden became the first. He managed to steal a magic item from the deepest fear, one named the ‘lonely eye’. The very item that allowed them to scry their lands with such precision. He was soon thereafter hunted down by the nightmares but by then he had already well hidden the lonely eye. Unwilling to kill him, the nightmares implanted one of their own into his mind to extract the information. Thanks to his mask, he resisted the possession.

Despite his resistance, this was effectively the end of Amsden Dover. The nightmare in his mind would slowly eat away at his will and when it took over the deepest fear would retrieve the lonely eye. Amsden was willing to die with his secrets but the nightmare folk in his mind exerted enough control to prevent him. However, he would not give in so easily. He escaped the confinement that the deepest fear placed him in and went back on the run. He reached Chwalu before he realized that he wouldn’t be able to get back to the rogue’s gallery. On his way, he heard the rumors of a phantom thief. One who went by ‘the Fox’.

The things he heard about the Fox sparked something within him. The memories of his childhood, of those famous masked bards that he used to look up to. In his mind the Fox seemed like a spectacular sort of person. Amsden decided that he would meet the Fox and pass his will onto them. With respect to the phantom thief, he even temporarily took on the moniker ‘the Wolf.’ He followed the Fox’s trail to Qing Mai, where he engaged in battle with the Fox and their party. There were so many things he wanted to say to the Fox that he simply couldn’t. The nightmare in his mind controlled his movements more and more, in his last moments it even controlled his words in an attempt to keep him alive. He was slain by the Fox’s Akoran ally and died as he wished, with the deepest fear none the wiser to his secret.

Rogue’s Gallery later found out about Amsden’s death but they were unable to figure out the situation regarding it. A confusing scenario still in investigation. Amsden remains placed as the 5th ‘wanted’ as his fortune is yet to be found, but for the one who finds it they may uncover much more than just gems and gold pieces.