"I-I'm not scared of you."



STR 14 (+2) | DEX 14 (+2) | CON 14 (+2)
INT 10 (+0) | WIS 14 (+2) | CHA 10 (+0)

Saving Throws: Wisdom +4, Charisma +2
Skills: History +2, Insight +4, Sleight of Hand +4, Stealth +4
Tools: Thieves' tools, Disguise Kit
Languages: Common, Halfling


Armour | Scale Mail | Shield
Weapons | Spear | Holy Amulet

Age: 20 | Height: 3"2' | Weight: 37lbs

Cayden is a halfling of average looks and stature - brown, curly hair, freckled skin, not quite plump, not quite thin. He wears scale mail armour and carries a shield emblazoned with the crest of Yondalla, Mother of Halflings, Protector and Provider. Well, for him, it's a shield. For anyone else, it's a buckler. Around his neck is an amulet with the same crest - much older and more worn than Cayden is. Underneath his armour, his tunic is a light blue, with a hood coming up and around his neck. And, if you look closely, you might just see, tucked inside that hood, a small fuzz of brown fur...



Main Mood: Nervous | Fave Food: Honey and bread | Pet Peeve: Cold nights | Style of Battle: Hang back and heal/Panic

Cayden is a quiet type, usually content to keep to himself, and likes to hide in small spaces - not out of fear, but because he genuinely likes them. He is terrible at talking with strangers, even allies, but once you get to know him, his stutter will fade slightly and he will talk smoothly and easily with you, though still slightly quiet and reserved. He is open with his emotions and is most affectionate to Pepper - the daughter of his previous mouse, Mint. Beneath all of this, though, is unseen bravery that even Cayden doesn't recognise - the strength to keep fighting even as his allies fall, the burn to protect them from those who would do them harm.

Cayden doesn't really remember his parents. It's a bit sad when you think about it, but Cayden knows that grieving has its time, before you must move on. For the better part of a decade, he lived alone on the streets of Baldur's Gate. Fighting or tricking the other stray children, picking pockets, and so on. All he had was the amulet his parents gave him, and he guarded it closely.
But not all of his life was like that. One winter, food was scarce, and the rags he wore were not quite enough to keep him warm. He begged passersby for something, anything... but people didn't have much. And when one merchant kicked him in the side and shouted slurs at him, he fled. Starving and hungry, he slowly gave in, crawling into an alleyway and letting the darkness take him.
Death was warm. Like a loving embrace. He opened his eyes... and saw a halfling woman, with long golden hair the colour of a wheat field, dressed all in green, and carrying a shield, with the symbol of Yondalla emblazoned upon it. "You must be tired, my darling..." she said. "I understand if you want to sleep... but you need to stay awake just a little longer. Alright, my love?"
He woke to something nipping softly at his hand. A mouse, a brown mouse with curiously intelligent eyes, looked up at him, standing on its hind legs briefly. Then, it turned and ran over to something by his waist. A pouch - when opened, it revealed a small amount of dried meat, dried berries, some nuts, a bread roll, and a pot of honey. Almost laughing and crying with joy, Cayden stood, putting the mouse on his shoulders, where it was content to stay. And he set out, for the temple of Yondalla just outside the city.

Spell Save DC 12 | Spell Attack Modifier +4 | Max Spells Prepared 3

"Caw"

STR 08 (-1) | DEX 17 (+3) | CON 12 (+1)
INT 15 (+2) | WIS 12 (+1) | CHA 10 (0)

Saving Throws: Dexterity, Intelligence
Skills: Stealth, Sleight of Hand, History, Arcana,
Acrobatics, Insight, Investigation, Perception
Tools: Thieves' Tools
Languages: (Written) Common, Auran


Armour | Leather Armor
Weapons | Shortbow (20 arrows) | Rapier | Daggers (2)
Tools & Items | Thieves' Tools | Explorer's Pack | Writing Kit (quill, ink, parchment, penknife) | "Borrowed" Book (on magical theory)


Age: 15 | Height: 4'5'' | Weight: 70lbs

A bit on the shorter side even for his species, Caw is a diminutive Kenku whose beak and colouration resemble a crow more than a raven. His beak is shorter and less curved, and his plumage lacks a coloured sheen. Quite a scruffy sight, his feathers are often ruffled (in a non-figurative way) and the dark robe he wraps himself in shows clear signs of wear and tear. All in all, he very much looks like a product of the streets.

Caw tends to keep his face hidden, but when one does catch a sight of it, they'll see large beady eyes staring right back at them. He has a tendency to rapidly tilt his head around when listening or curious, the way a bird would - a habit he cannot control.


Main Mood: Cautious | Fave Food: Berries | Pet Peeve: Being taken for a fool | Style of Battle: Sneaky, careful

Caw isn't very talkative, owning to his "condition". However, that doesn't mean he's a recluse who's unwilling to socialize. On the contrary, he rather enjoys the company of people and even talking to them - he just hesitates to be the one to initiate small talk. Now, bring up the topic of magic or an urgent issue at hand, and he will do his best to contribute. He also has a tendency to mimic people or their manner of speech if he's been around with them long enough. Up until now, he's mostly been around illiterate folk; petty thieves and dimwitted minions. As such, even though the amount of reading he's done has left his writing eloquent and vocabulary extensive, he can only make rudimentary sentences with basic words, often with incorrect grammar. This tends to leave people thinking he's stupid, a fact that irritates him to no end. With that said, he does have a few more sophisticated phrases he picked up from the wizard. His invocations were always Caw's favorites to listen to.

Having attempted to turn a new leaf and leave behind his life of crime, Caw strives to do the right thing where able. However, being the craven sort, he does put preserving his own hide before anyone else's, and will flee if things get too dangerous. He also suffers from bouts of kleptomania, so used to picking pockets that sometimes his hand quite literally slips. He is a follower at heart though, having been one his entire life, so being told not to do something is an effective deterrent, at least for a time. If able, he does try to return the things he steals as well - unless the fellows he took from were the bad sort. Then it was just karma.

Finally, though he's read a lot about the world from the wizard's books, he lacks real experience in many aspects of life. He only got to see a limited portion of the world before he was taken in by the wizard and kept behind mostly closed doors, and the traveling he's done since hasn't been very vast yet. He's curious at heart, even if he is careful and cautious in his approach, and nowadays writes down his discoveries on the leftover pages of his book. A diary, if you will.


Born in the shadier parts of a small port town, it was only a matter of time before Caw ended up the newest recruit to an ill-reputable flock. An uncreative lot, their schemes were not very intricate, and for years they only found success in petty theft. They stayed afloat much thanks to their Master, an old and elusive Kenku with a good head on his shoulders. So when he passed away at the ripe old age of 57, the flock crumbled soon after; led by someone much younger and more reckless, they ended up following overheard plans of a heist and finding themselves severely outmatched. Some lived, some died, yet others slunk to the shadows and vanished.

Caw lived to tell the tale, but the bliss of survival was short-lived. Kenku were not creatures that thrived on their own - especially not ones as craven as Caw. So, scared, alone, and in need of a new home, he traversed the lands in search for a place to belong. Who found who is a debate for another time, but Caw did eventually end up on the receiving end of an offer he could not refuse. An elderly wizard with a dark beard and darker yet gaze was in need of an extra pair of hands, and had no real use for wit. From his demeanor alone, there was no mistaking him for a friendly fellow, but Caw was no stranger to the wrong side of law. And so, he found a new Master.

From then on he worked as the wizard's underling, doing various little tasks for the man. These included relying messages, making counterfeits, occasionally memorizing voices and, perhaps most importantly of all, copying spells from stolen tomes into the wizard's own, expansive book. It was tedious work that few wanted and fewer yet could complete on the level of perfection a Kenku could. It was no matter to the old wizard that Caw had access to his spells; he thought the bird as dim as a cave, and his head as hollow to boot. He was wrong. Though not very eloquent and definitely not charismatic, Caw had a knack for remembering things. He spent most of his time in the wizard's library, and once his tasks for the day were complete, he studied up on a variety of topics.

However, well-read as he soon was, his pool of memorized phrases remained rather limited. He didn't hear much speech during his days, only the occasional word or two from other minions, or the wizard reading out loud his spells. As such, since most of the auditory input he received for days on end were spells, he often found himself awake at night in his tower, gazing out at the night sky and muttering out loud invocations he'd heard. His words did nothing as far as magic went, but they brought him some form of ease. Somehow, the topic of magic in general did. After all, he'd seen spells like Levitate and Transmutation, and heard of magical boots and brooms that took their uses to the clouds. Eventually, it made him wonder... maybe if he were to learn magic, perhaps one day he could learn to fly as naturally as any bird and take to the skies. He wondered if his Master already could; to Caw, the man seemed able to do anything.

He'd soon be proven wrong. Before Caw could properly start to realize his dream of studying magic, his Master met his end in the hands of adventurers who had come to end his reign. His minions either fled, fought or died, and after gathering what little he could, Caw made sure he was among the former. Nimble and small compared to most, he managed to slip away unharmed - physically, at least. Mentally, he was distraught and once more, alone.

Kenku were not creative, but they were not stupid, either - and after losing his home twice due to the bad deeds committed by his Masters and companions, Caw started to wonder if the life of crime was really worth it. He was not bad at heart, and felt no particular attachment to misdeeds or hatred towards other beings. It was just that... following orders was the only thing he knew, and picking pockets was second nature to him. What other work was there for a Kenku?

He pondered on that, but as one would expect, could not come up with an answer - until his wandering hands came to pick the wrong pocket. Or the right one, as the case may be.










Spell Save DC XX | Spell Attack Modifier +X | Max Spells Prepared X




- Color code is #8882be

"Oh I do so love art. Not of myself, as perfection is hard for man to capture, you see."



STR 6 (-2) | DEX 16 (+3) | CON 13 (+1)
INT 10 (+0) | WIS 12 (+1) | CHA 15 (+2)

Saving Throws: Constitution, Charisma.
Skills: Deception +4, Persuasion +4, Perception +3, Insight +3.
Tools: Lyre.
Languages: Common, Draconic, Primordial, Dwarvish.


Weapons | Quarter Staff, Spell Casting Focus - A stuffed Blue Dragon Doll.


Age: 19 | Height: 2'9" | Weight: 26lbs
Vaal is a Kobold of somewhat average height, a near aerodynamic build, and smelling faintly of ozone and rainwater. The last being a likely result of his magics. His shoulders are narrow, and his entire form seems to slope and roll smoothly with the lack of hard edges away from a few areas. His two slitted eyes are the color of amber. The majority of his scales are blue, and he holds many features of the very chromatic he’s kin to.

On his snout is a small single horn that appears to be two horns fused together. And his slender tail has thing but defined plates of scales rolling down the entire length. He even has the ‘ears’ built out of long exaggerated fins of a tarnished gold hue.

He wears a surprisingly ornate tabard of his homeland. It does say something about status, likely fooling those into believing he was a merchant or a lower nobility. The majority of the cloth is a dull white. With darker threads creating embroidery of thunderheads. It holds a single long baggy sleeve which completely engulfs the kobold’s gloved right hand. While half a skirt seems to offset the lack of symmetry by stretching down to the Kobold’s ankles on the left side. A dark purple belt, leather hidden in cloth, with amber edges wraps around his waist. Hanging from it at the front is a single stretch of cloth of the same coloration stretching down acting as a loincloth. And the same in the back, though split down the middle for the tail.

He also wears a thick veil of some sort. The way it is cut allows it to lay over his eyes and down the length of his snout. The edges of the cloth hanging just above his lips. There’s two holes in the back for his horns to poke through, and a split at the front for the single horn on his nose. Once again purple in hue, but this time with amber embroidery of striated clouds lining the entire length and curling away from where the eyes should be. There, the cloth is cut away and replaced with a dark cloth. The cloth is slightly opaque, blocking enough sunlight to make it bearable for the Kobold to walk in the day… but not enough to completely negate the sensitive nature of his eyes. Up close, nearing whisper distance, one could see the shrowded amber color of his eyes, but far enough away it’s just black.

And then finally hanging from his neck, under his tabard is a small simple sapphire tear.




Main Mood: Flamboyant | Fave Food: Rare venison and Candied meats | Pet Peeve: Being Mocked | Style of Battle: On my terms, never yours.

Vaal is most certainly a vain, selfish and arrogant individual with a love for art, fashion, and beauty. He holds himself with a regal posture, as if he was some noble of grandstanding in the world. In fact, he adamantly believes he’s an actual dragon… reborn. Everything he does has to be beautiful in some way. If he’s lounging, it’s as if he’s posing for a painting. When he’s casting spells, there’s a practiced grace to them. Even when walking, he seems to find a way to draw attention to himself. Naturally, he is quick to come off as abrasive and pompous. And as massive as his ego is… his pride is two fold as fragile. Despite his flaws… he does maintain some redeeming qualities. He’s loyal and certainly trustworthy when you’ve earned his respect. There are even hints of empathy and compassion hidden in that sea of an ego.

Despite being incredibly manipulative, he strongly believes in order, family, and tradition. And holds men of honor, especially dragonborn in his highest respects. But he also strongly detests those who are so blinded by their duty or honor, that they fail to see reason and commit to difficult decisions. If one man of three potential victims is accused, with no way to prove who’s innocent… he’d sooner hang them all than to let them go. As the ends justifies the means. In this case, the removal of one dangerous man at the cost of two innocents, to maintain stability of a city.

Spell Save DC 12 | Spell Attack Modifier +4 | Max Spells Prepared 2

Gold | 9gp, 0sp, 0cp

"Form Ranks"



STR 14 (+2) | DEX 10 (+0) | CON 16 (+3)
INT 8 (-1) | WIS 16 (+3) | CHA 10 (+0)

Saving Throws: Wisdom +5. Charisma +2
Skills: Athletics +4, Insight +5 Medicine +5, Persuasion +2
Tools: Brewer's Supplies, Dice Set, Vehicle (Land)
Languages: Common and Dwarvish


Armour | Chain Mail | Shield
Weapons | Battleaxe | Light Crossbow

Age: 51 | Height: 4’9” | Weight: 135 lbs

Magdar Ironhart has blond hair and beard. His eyes are a very light blue, almost white-blue. His shield has the Flaming Sword of Tempus painted on it. His armor and weapons are simple in design but they are well cared for. In battle, he wears a red cape and is heard bellowing out commands and threats.


Main Mood: Irreverent | Fave Food: Camp Chili | Pet Peeve: Bullies | Style of Battle: In the thick of it

Compared to other dwarves, Magdar is very funny and out going. That was part of his problem in the Hall. He enjoyed to play and have fun too. He would tell jokes and find humor in almost everything.

Magdar never truly fit in with his dwarven hall. He wasn't well liked and was always getting in trouble. He decided to leave before he did get himself into serious trouble with the Hall Masters.

Magdar soon joined an mercenary warband called 'Darfn'. Finally he found a group where he could have his own place. He liked it there and they liked him. Darfn was a mixed group with warriors of many different races. Roland Firehair was a War Priest of Tempus who took Magdar under his wing. Magdar learned from Roland and soon became a cleric himself. He used his magic in battle as he fought with his band brothers. After the battles, he would use his magic to heal the wounded. Once Roland retired, he would become Darfn's main priest.

However, after one of their jobs, they were attacked by a dragon. The night after a battle, when many warriors Darfn was tired and injured, and those who were not injured were passed out or still drunk from the post victory celebrations. In the middle of the night, a dragon attacked. Magdar's brothers where killed or scattered. Magdar tried to fight back, but he was carried away by some other survivors. His trainer, Roland, was killed by the hated dragon. Magdar survived, but he was alone. The other mercenaries were either killed or scattered into groups one one or two. Darfn was no more. He swore he would get revenge against that damned dragon.

Spell Save DC 13 | Spell Attack Modifier +5 | Max Spells Prepared 4

"Let me tell you a story..."



STR 11 (+0) | DEX 14 (+1) | CON 13 (+1)
INT 11 (+0) | WIS 15 (+2) | CHA 15 (+2)

Saving Throws: DEX & CHA
Skills: Acrobatics, Slight of Hand, Insight, Deception, Mobile
Tools: Disguise Kit, Forgery Kit, Pan Flute, Lyre
Languages: Common & Elvish


Armour | Leather Duster
Weapons | Rapier | Lute

Age: 25 | Height: 5'11" | Weight: 182 lbs.

Varrus is a man of average height and lean build, often described as looking as though he could be royalty were circumstances different. Varrus's chocolate brown hair is often in the style of an undercut with neat facial hair the same length as the short hair it connects to. He often has an eyebrow raised as though he is constantly intrigued and often has a powerful gaze that could seemingly see into one's soul.

More often than not, he sports a blue leather duster with orange accents and a pair of fine leather boots, a gift from a former lover. On his hands he wears a pair of brown leather gloves and beneath that he wears a silver ring on his left index finger. Across his back is always his prized lute and on his hip he carries his rapier, ready to strike at a moments notice should things turn sour as they always seemed to do


Main Mood: Jovial | Fave Food: Bread and Jam | Pet Peeve:
Boredom | Style of Battle: Dirty and Fast

Varrus is an adventurer at heart with a love for life, believing that one should experience all that life has to offer whether good or bad. You have to look for the good but always be prepared for the bad. We are born free and should live our lives as such. No boundaries, no regrets. When push comes to shove, Varrus has no problem playing dirty. He'd rather be a living scoundrel then an honorable dead man.



Varrus was only a boy when he took to the streets, merely 8 years old to be precise. He knew even at a young age that his mother could only get him so far in his life. He wasn't destined to be someone who faded into the background, not destined to grow up and die in the same hamlet he'd been born. The world was too big for such things and Varrus didn't intend to live a small an uneventful night. That was when young Varrus gathered what meager possessions he had and ran from home. It was fun at first, an adventure as he roamed into the strange wilderness. It was then that young Varrus learned a hard truth. The world was not a kind place and didn't often reward people, especially motherless boys with a want for adventure...

Varrus learned to survive anyway that he could. Pickpocket, eavesdrop, smuggle, but most importantly he learned how to fight to keep his riches. After saving his coin, he eventually sought to buy himself a lute and teach himself to play. At first, it was merely to pass the time and keep his mind busy. As he learned, he found he had a real knack for playing and an even better knack at telling stories. He started off playing on the street, earning the coin of passersby. Soon, he was called upon by minor lords and ladies to play. In time, he didn't need to steal to survive; he was living a life of luxury. Still, it didn't stop him however from stealing anyway. Nothing beat the thrill of a successful con. Even so, Varrus never stayed anywhere for too long. The world was huge and Varrus intended on exploring every nook and cranny and experiencing adventure till he couldn't possibly venture anymore.

Spell Save DC 12 | Spell Attack Modifier +4 | Max Spells Prepared 4

Set of fine clothes
Signet ring of an imaginary duke
Belt pouch containing 15 gp

"I wonder if that would go well with...."


STR 16 (+3) | DEX 14 (+2) | CON 14 (+2)
INT 10 (+0) | WIS 11 (+0) | CHA 10 (+0)
Saving Throws: STR + CON
Skills: Acrobatics, Perception, Nature, Performance Expertise Skill
Tools: Cook's utensils, Herbalism kit, Bagpipes Expertise tools
Languages: Common, Draconic.

Armour | Unarmored
Weapons | Greataxe, 2 handaxes, 4 javalins.

Age: 21 | Height: 6'2" | Weight: 287lbs
Surina stands tall compared to any human female, though compared to her own race, she has always been a fairly short one. She has broad shoulders, and scales covering her shoulders and arms.
Her face is that of a dragon, though her eyes have a certain curve to them which might suggest her femininity - with a second eyelid that she will use to bat at, when trying to impress someone.

She Has hairlike thorns coming out of her head, and usually kept tied with a piece of cloth behind her head, to not let it interupt her cooking.
Adorned with simple loin cloth to cover her modesty, along with a fabric tied around her chest, most of her body is visible. She has a large cape with a hood to cover herself up entirely, if the need arises - as sometimes she is unwelcomed in her full appearance wherever she goes.


Main Mood: Curious | Fave Food: Meat filled savory pastries| Pet Peeve: Thinking that she is Savage - She is actually very well read | Style of Battle: If she is enraged - It is like watching a dancing beautiful woman, only the moving of her hands is accompanied with splashes of blood and body parts, the movement of her own body is powerful and frightening, the music to her moving is her enemies's screams.

Surina usually holds herself with pride in her every step. She is proud and confident. The strength of her ancestoral draconian heritage flows through her body, making her ever so peaceful. Knowing she holds the power to defend herself and those dear to her, allows her to maintain a calm perspective on things. That is, untill someone mistakes her for being a savage. She might be a barbarian in spirit, but she is not some uneducated, unlearned wildling. No. She is a daughter to the Norixius Clan.

Her main goal in life is to live a simple, honest life, full of small pleasures - such as the flavor of freshly backed savory pastry. Or the love of a woman. Or perhaps the wonderful melodies her clan had written for the bagpipes. She would avoid battle if conversation could solve the situation - though she will not hesitate, to say the least, to attack first should she be mistaken for a savage.

Surina was part of the Norixius's army. The clan was not a big one, a couple of hundreds of dragonborns live as part of Norixius clan. The army consists of a few dozens clan members - the strongest and fiercest.
Only Surina was chosen for more then just her strength. She had something that was vital for the moral. She was a chef. Some called her cook - no. a Chef. She invented new recipes, and was and still is, in search of new and exciting flavours. Having the ancestry of a green poisonous dragon, she bares some resistence to poison - so as far as she knows, everything is edible, at least once.
Thus, she was nicknamed "FingerLicker" - everything she made caused one to lick their fingers.

Her parents have recently past away of old age. Nothing that caused her too much grief, they were well past in their 8th decade. But with them joining the ever growing line of dragonstarts - she was now left alone. Finaly, she was free of taking care of them.
She requested to go out on a journey to find new flavours for her cookings, and promised to be back within the year.

How did Norixius Surina meet Cassandra?
By accident.

Norixius Surina camped a few hours’ worth of walk from the city's gates. The sun was setting, and darkness would soon wash over the farmlands. She was quick in arranging a small fire, with an iron pot hanged over it. Within said pot cooked a lovely rabbit's stew. Some roots, some spices, a bit of wine within and some in a jug in her hand. What more could an adventurer such as herself want more?

The screeching sound of spinning wheels against wooden poles came to her ears and drew her attention. A carriage came into view as it was driving along the road, towards the city. The Dragonborn barbarian heard the vehicle coming to a stop, which made her reach the hilt of her Greataxe with her left hand as her right one reached a javelin.

A woman dressed in green and white dress came out of the carriage. “Jeffry, allow me to aid you and the horses – we would get there faster this way”
Surina calmed down and went to stir the stew – least it would burn!
The woman reached into a small pouch strapped to her belt and rummaged through it. “Oh no. I am out of dried fireflies! I am afraid I won’t be able to help you after all. Sebastian, I fear we will need to camp here tonight.”

Surina tilted her head and listened to the two exchange.
“We can’t Cassandra, we are in a hurry, you know that. They will manage in the darkness”
Cassandra frowned, and was about to step back onto the carriage when Surina stepped up, and offered a small bag of toasted fireflies. “I have some left if you want”
Cassandra had only now noticed her presence.
“Erm… what is it you are offering, exactly?”
“A snack! I roasted them myself, on an open fire, with some paprika and salt – Delicious! Here, try some!”
Cassandra found herself smiling and replied in an amused tone “Oh, I did not mean for eating, I need it for a spell.”

Surina’s scaled eyelid blinked.
“I did not know they could be used for spells. Perhaps it could still be useful?”
Cassandra’s curiosity got the better of her, and she reached for a roasted firefly.
She went back to the carriage, and with a few graceful swirls of her arms, the pole holding the lantern which seemed broken, began radiating bright light.
“Ha!”
Surina smiled and clapped.

“Thank you miss....?"
"Norixius Surina ma'am."
"Let me repay the kindness. Are you traveling to or from Baldur’s Gate?”
“To.”
“Wonderful. Join us?”
“But… the stew.”
The next hour the whole group – Cassandra, Sebastian and the driver all shared Surina’s wonderful rabbit’s stew. Once they all finished licking their fingers, she joined them for the ride.

During their ride, Cassandra had offered Surina a job as their personal cook along the way. Seeing the weapons Surina carried, she realized she was lucky to get two for the price of one.

Myth Weavers Character Sheet

"Life without passion is just survival."



STR 16 (+3) | DEX 11 (+0) | CON 14 (+2)
INT 8 (-1) | WIS 15 (+2) | CHA 10 (+0)

Saving Throws: Wisdom, Charisma
Skills: Athletics, Insight, Intimidation, Perception, Persuasion
Tools: Instrument (Drum)
Languages: Common, Elvish, Sylvan


Armour | Chainmail
Weapons | Longspear (Glaive) | Holy Symbol (Amulet)

Age: 20 | Height: 7'6" | Weight: 678lbs

A young Rakastodon, Mists on the Mountain, is a very distant Rakasta relative to the far more common "Jakar", or the word the Rakasta use to describe the Tabaxi. As all of these creatures are born under the portfolio of Felidae and are attributed to Bast, they are all large, cat-like humanoids, with Mists on the Mountain being no different in that regard, barring unusual size and scale. As with other "Ancestor Rakasta", Mists is of relatively gigantic proportions despite being a fairly young Rakastodon, towering well over seven feet high and weighing just over a third of one ton, which is expected of the breed, as is the massive canine teeth they bear.

As with other Rakastodon, Mists bears a fairly thick pelt of fur, which in his particular case more a rust color and adorned with elongated, thin rosettes than a more plain tan. With bright, youthful pale blue eyes, long whiskers at the muzzle and from the brow and jaw, along with an apparent absent of scarring, it is clear such a Rakasta is not well traveled or well experienced. As with others who come into their wandering age, Mists on the Mountain has decided to venture out and understand the world as it is now, wearing little more than a crude set of scrounged armor and equipment that poorly fits, notably a chain shirt that covers only his chest, which is otherwise dressed with but a loose, cropped gambeson. With large exposed arms, rolled leather pants cuffed at the knee, and without boots or gloves, the most decoration Mists has come from his leather belt, bandoleer, and assortment of leather bracelets, anklets, claws, and teeth. Despite this, Mists on the Mountain has a distinctive and well-kept amulet worn about the thickness of his large neck, one readily identified as a holy symbol of Bast, also known as Sharess; a goddess of the portfolio Felidae.

However, despite being an odd amalgam of many varied armors and equipment, ranging from chain mail to bits of furs and hides, the most distinctive element outside Mists' necklace is his choice in weapon; a sizable, bladed spear. Affixed with further ornamentation, such as being bound and decorated with leather and its weathered blade brightest and sharpest at its bite, it is abundantly clear this is not a weapon belonging to a Rakasta, although said primitive touches obscures that. Presumably, Mists chose said weapon during his travels, or at least fashioned it out of a large walking staff which would be more expected among young shamans, a form of cleric.

Main Mood: Lively | Fave Food: Raw Flesh | Pet Peeve: Meekness | Style of Battle: Spirited and tribal, loud.

As to be expected of a youthful Rakasta who has been graced by Sharess, a once Mulhorandi power and lieutenant to Anhur, and companion to the primal spirit Nobanion, and follows ancestral ways of said goddess, Mists on the Mountain is impulsive and passionate. One to enjoy pleasures and hedonistic tendencies, despite being such an outsider to the greater realm due to his questionable mortal qualities, Mists gets along well with those who mean well and who follow their desires. Passionately pursuing what is valuable in life in its exploration is what fuels him and, despite being a novice, calls much of his magic to life. It grants him a surprisingly deep wisdom for a young Rakasta and makes him strangely insightful from time to time.

Likewise, as a cleric, rather a shaman, Mists follows a certain dogma that borrows from the various forces of the Felidae portfolio and exalts them with expected fervor. Much of his sentiment revolves around enjoying one's self to the point that nothing goes to waste, that living things are sacred and should be preserved in their own place of the cycle, that the strong survive but they survive best with good leaders, and that all must work together for the cause. This sense of wholeness and unity, as well as sentiment, is not easily won from Mists but those he favors quickly become particular favorites.

All young Rakasta, perhaps most famously the Tabaxi, experience wanderlust at maturity and are often cast out of their tribes as a result as a coming of age ceremony. For the Rakastodon, as they have done for years beyond their own number, this means recently mature males and females must go out into the world and survey all they can and return with not just knowledge of it and its secrets, but also the strength needed to defend their tribe. For Mists on the Mountain and his tribe, his role as a novice shaman is to unlock the greater secrets needed to guide his people and more importantly, quench his thirst for learning beyond what can be taught by his own kind; he must be made more tempered and disciplined, rather than lively and free of consequence. The only way to do this is down the path of life experiences.

So it became only natural that Mists was sent away with very limited goods and supplies, forced to live off of what he has learned, and has since discovered. Although as one expects, this is not easy for a monstrous race or one that is so few and limited. While he has skirted the worst of threats, his wandering, meandering endeavors have led him to a newer, greater adventure.

Spell Save DC 12 | Spell Attack Modifier +4 | Max Spells Prepared 3