R O S T E R
The Fighter
N/A
The Rogue
@HokumPocus as Ludith
The Wizard
@Lemons as Entyrea
The Ranger
@Cybermaxx as Chip
The Cleric
@Yankee as Dular
The Warlock
@TGM as Rhoswen
[CHAR] The Voyagers of Duonia: A Medieval Fantasy RP
- Fantasy
- Casual
- Medieval
- Small Group
- GM mickilennial
Join Status:
Full
Zeroth
The Fighter
N/A
The Rogue
@HokumPocus as Ludith
The Wizard
@Lemons as Entyrea
The Ranger
@Cybermaxx as Chip
The Cleric
@Yankee as Dular
The Warlock
@TGM as Rhoswen
Supermaxx dumbass
Member
Seen
5 hrs ago
“Chip Snowdryft: legendary archer, walker of horizons, defender of the mortal realm...and soggy boots haver.”
 _______________________________________________ Chip Snowdryft _______________________________________________________________ 24 | Male | Lightfoot Halfling _______________________________________________________________ Neutral Good | Ranger, Horizon Walker | Outlander _______________________________________________________________ ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Perception ► Survival ► Nature ► Athletics ► Stealth - ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor - Snowdrfyt wraps himself in many layers to protect himself from blade and cold alike. His outermost is a cloak of animal furs, thick and heavy. Underneath lies a set of well-worn leather armor, reinforced with iron studs and bearing the mark of his conclave on the right shoulder pad. Everything Chip wears is dyed white to blend in with the snow. ► Weapons - As part of his induction into his enclave, Chip was given a pair of curved shortswords with runes written into the blades and hilts carved of ram horn. He carries a Duskwood shortbow as well, though its better at killing birds and hares than men. ► Coinpurse - His coinpurse is always light, even after a long day's work. The conclave takes a portion from all of his earnings as 'tithe.' ► Misc. Items - Aside from the usual belonging's one would find in an explorer's pack, Chip keeps smaller kits for climbing rough terrain, starting fires, trapping and skinning game, and mixing poisons. - | P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R In the northernmost reaches of the far north lies a cold, unyielding frontier. Its tundras lack for life, its people are rough and bitter, and its settlements are poor as dirt. One of the largest remaining settlements is a place called Far Hearth, populated by a handful of human tribes and halfling clans too stubborn to die and too stupid to leave. The largest of these halfling clans are the Snowdryfts, whose fiftieth member was a young lad they named Chip. Chip was born with a rare ailment, arcane in nature, that perplexed and befuddled the local healers. It would've- should've- claimed him, if it hadn't been for his mother's tenacity. By sheer force of will she kept Chip alive long enough to carry him many miles to a mountain shrine where a conclave of rangers was said to congregate. The cold took her on the steps of their temple, but the rangers managed to get to the boy in time to see him live. He was raised as one of their own, inducted into their holy order as soon as he was old enough to walk. They taught Chip of their conclave's ancient traditions, otherworldly powers, and terrible purpose: to defend the mortal realm from extra-planar entities that would see it brought to ruin. It was a daunting task, and the tools they offered him were woefully insufficient, but he was made to make do. Chip served as apprentice to Odegrim, a dwarven senior ranger with a sour disposition and little patience for the boy's antics. The two were never friends, though Chip appreciated any company during those long treks through the dark wastes; even if all all Odegrim did was grunt and complain. F A V O R The time had come for Chip to earn his right to be a full-fledged ranger. The master he'd been apprenticing under the last few years would assign him a target to track, hunt and neutralize. Whether out of overwhelming confidence in his student's ability or a desire to get rid of him, Odegrim found a hag that'd recently made her home outside of a minor company town at the base of a mountain. Given a few months she'd likely have a full coven established, and she'd soon become a terror upon the whole region. It was an important threat that needed to be dealt with quickly, but one fledgling ranger was little match for a hag. Enter Ordrin Entheys, the man who had everything. What the merchant was doing so far north Chip couldn't say, but he was glad for his presence nonetheless. Ordrin was able to procure a number of items such a hag might want, and he offered to give them to Chip in exchange for a later favor; the halfling was loath to owe anyone anything, yet with no other real options he accepted. With a bag full of exotic items in hand and a few honeyed words, Chip managed to convince the hag to move her coven southward, with promises of further help from Entheys's friends in the future. |
Lemons Resident Of The Bargain Bin
Member
Seen
1 hr ago
“Never yet discovered a problem that I couldn't solve with intensive studying and/or liberal application of fire.”
 _______________________________________________ Entyrea Faloia Antosis Imbryss _______________________________________________________________ 23 | Female | Human _______________________________________________________________ Chaotic Good | Wizard | Noble _______________________________________________________________ ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Blaze Mage: Entyrea has spent her adolescence and young adulthood studying fire magic, and she is very skilled at it. She's no archmage--it's only been perhaps a decade for her--but she doesn't need to be an archmage to snap her fingers and burn a house down. ► Scholastica: While Entyrea is a powerful fire wizard, her true passion lies not in the execution in magic, but in its theory. In her mind, a wizard is a spellcaster second, and a scholar first. She's spent more time in the library studying than she has performing magic in recent days, and she's more than okay with that. ► Prestidigitation: While the self-titled Blaze Mage is, as expected, mostly a fire wizard, that's not to say she can only use fire magic. She can make small illusions, place glowing marks on walls, quiet or amplify sound, things like that; nothing major, but certainly not useless. ► Turn Of Phrase: Entyrea, though she spends most of her time with her nose in a book, is surprisingly skilled at navigating social situations when she can bother to pull her nose out. As long as she devotes the effort that she needs to, she's not at all bad with talking to people; she's irrepressible and unfailingly cheerful. It's just a matter of whether or not she can be bothered to devote that effort. ► Okay, Okay, Slow Down: Entyrea is quite patient from years of study and reading. There are very few things that can get her to act impulsively; she prefers to think through things before she takes any major action (though if she's confronted with a rare book, she'll probaby do something stupid, let's be honest). - ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor - Entyrea doesn't wear traditional armor; it interferes with the casting of her magic too much, she insists, and is uncomfortable besides. Instead, she's perhaps a touch vain, and overly fond of silk, usually in the form of dresses done up in bright crimson. Being able to clean and mend them with magic has led to her wearing them in truly bizarre situations. When she's traveling, she generally wears one to the tune of mid-calf, and a creamy-white cloak of heavy, fine wool. ► Weapons - While Entyrea does carry a single knife on her--the blade maybe just shy of seven inches long--it sees less use as a weapon and more as a tool. Her primary weapon is, of course, her magic. She channels it through an ornate wooden staff, carved with runes and stained red in a spiral. It is capped off with a fire opal the size of her fist, which is her actual focus; the staff is just a convenient way to carry it while traveling. She's terrible at actual combat with the staff, but it's still better than nothing. ► Coinpurse - As might be surmised by some of her possessions--red silk dresses, fine wool, an opal bigger than probably necessary--Entyrea is fairly wealthy. She hasn't really earned much of that wealth, though. A good 90% of it is sourced from her parents, a pair of nobles that absolutely dote on their daughter, and have spoilt her rotten. She asks for something, she'll probably get it (within reason). She carries a fair bit of coin on her at any one point. ► Misc. Items - As mentioned, she's a touch vain, so she carries with her a little bit of makeup, and a few rings and bracelets of gold and gems. But of all the pretty trinkets and expensive jewelry that she owns--thanks mostly to her parents, of course--she treasures most of all a necklace that she never removes; a silver chain holding an oddly-cut, misshapen, occluded ruby in a crooked setting. Even if asked, she never reveals where she got it. Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't talk about her main luggage: BOOKS. She carries a lot of them at any one time, and she's become reasonably used to their weight. She loves them, and never leaves home without them. - | P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R Surprising some people that have preconceived notions on how fire wizards should act, Entyrea is a patient, academic sort, who much prefers reading books on magic than burning things. Born to a long line of nobles, Entyrea didn't want for much in her early life. With overprotective parents who loved her deeply, she spent basically her entire childhood spoilt rotten inside of the Imbryss estate, sheltered as the day is long. Most of her time was spent learning etiquette, crafts, cooking, all in preparation for marriage. Of course, she's developed some past then; it's been quite a few years, after all. She's no longer the incredibly naive and sheltered child that she once was. Her parents weren't...exactly thrilled when she took to the wizard's life, but sighed and philosophically accepted that it would happen, and she would perhaps bring a bit of class into the wizards' societies. Not so. She's instead begun delving deep into hidden markets, searching for lost texts of magics not practiced in the world anymore. Anything for more reading material. In fact, she might perhaps have become just a tiny bit of an adrenaline junkie, completely by accident (not in the sense of seeking danger out, of course; but she can't say she doesn't enjoy it sometimes). But her first and last love will always be an armchair by the fire and a whole stack of books. Still, she's certainly not world-weary or cynical; she's still very much an idealist, and largely believing in the overwhelming good of people. She never assumes the worst, really. If someone does something malicious, she's all too keen to chalk it up to simple ignorance or careless instead of actual malice. She's rather gullible, and far too willing to put herself in harm's way for others' good. F A V O R Entyrea had been looking for the fourth volume of Edmynd Lecryszur's Faith, Folly, and Futility: Dissertations on Time Divergences for well over a year. It was the preeminent work on time magics of the last three centuries, and though she had no gift for time-workings of her own, that didn't mean it wasn't interesting! Her debt to Ordrin is a bit less elaborate than most, really: a collector of rare books, he managed to procure for her that volume, completing her collection. She's maintained a guilt that all she'd given him in return for such a gift was mere coin. And so, when Ordrin called in a favor of the self-titled and perhaps overly confident Blaze Mage, she eagerly assented. After all, who knew what kind of books he would be ready to sell after something like this? |
HokumPocus RATS WE'RE THE RATS WE ARE THE RATS
Member
Seen
10 mos ago
“You have to find out how thick the tracks are first. Lets you know which knife to use.”
 _______________________________________________ Ludith Harague _______________________________________________________________ 33 | Female | Human _______________________________________________________________ Chaotic Good | Rogue | Slayer _______________________________________________________________ ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Warrior mindset - Pain is temporary. Blood coagulates. If you can't walk, crawl. Ludith is capable of stomaching through the macabre, so much so that the line between her and the beasts she hunts blurs with the approaching night. ► Cryptozoology - Experience in observation and physical combat with monsters has led her to develop an understanding for them that surpasses what rumors and faded journals are able to provide. ► Improvisation - One who hunts monsters needs to adapt as much as possible to their target, never getting too comfortable with any one weapon. Ludith mainly fights with a short sword and knives, but she's not above settling for anything she can get her hands on and swinging like a madwoman, with a level of strength that only desperation and hatred can produce. ► Courage - Ludith's willingness to fight extends beyond the slashing of a blade. She's not the sort of person to back down from harrowing odds, or bite her tongue if things don't seem right. Within physical combat, the various abnormalities of beasts will fail to faze her to same degree they would another. ► Good aim - As the sort of adventurer to be classified as a rogue, Ludith fights using melee weapons. She does, however, excel at throwing the occasional knife or improvised projectile if necessity demands it. - ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor - Aside from the battered cuirass that's often the sole thing keeping her heart from being rabidly clawed out in front of her, Ludith's armor is leather above all else. Unlike most hunters the idea of adorning herself with parts of her kills repulses her, so it's fairly plain in appearance. ► Weapons - A short sword made of silver stolen from the vault of a great church. Rumors said it once belonged to a revered warrior of light, but she pays no mind to them. Several knives and a vial of poison meant for the more bestial monsters are hidden among flaps of cloth and leather. ► Coinpurse - Unimpressive and very ugly, its contents don't seem to fit with their container or their owner. The depths villagers are willing to go to for protection keep her fed, at least. ► Misc. Items - Ludith saves objects that once belonged to humans to bury them later. It's wise to preemptively put a soul to rest before even more abominations are birthed. Things like dolls or children's toys cause her a particular pain, no matter how many times she's had to safely dispose of them. - | P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R Ludith's upbringing at the outskirts of her hometown was a quiet affair. Life seemed to flow by as the years turned her from a little girl who needed a wooden stool to reach the cupboards to a woman who knew her way around a sword. Marriage, too, seemed to happen without any troubles, and before she knew it her and her husband welcomed their daughter into the world. It was perhaps then that seeing them torn apart by werewolves was what finally woke her up from her slumber. Now she's restless, eager to track down and kill what roams in the shadows, with or without anyone else's permission. No sleep, no peace. The nightmare never ends. Ludith is a woman led by her impulses who finds regulations stifling. She feels more at home armed to the teeth in the forests than at any tavern and will throw herself into danger if it means culling the vile creatures that prowl at night. This has led her to become vigilant, though to a degree that can be detrimental. Survival is her priority above else, with no care for whatever bodily fluids stain her leather armor or how much spitting and kicking she needs to do to come out a victor in her battles. She disregards anything directly unrelated to combat including the complexities of politics and magic. She'll reach out to assist anyone she's fighting with, but with the expectation that they return the favor down the line. For her, it's better to focus on her own talents than try to understand anyone else's. Unless they're an enemy. Despite the rough edges to her personality, she is notably kind towards children, being understanding towards them and fighting like an animal when their lives are on the line. F A V O R Had it not been for that strange merchant intervening on the day she was caught stealing weapons from barracks, Ludith has no doubt that her head would have been rotting on a pole. The concept of being indebted to another, especially some merchant of which she knows so little about has put her on edge somewhat. She can only hope whatever is asked of her won't lead to a grisly end. |
“Are you ill, or just need sense beaten into you?”
 _______________________________________________ Dular, Succorer _______________________________________________________________ 27 | Female | Half-Orc _______________________________________________________________ Lawful Neutral | Cleric | Acolyte _______________________________________________________________ ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Medicine ► Religion ► Survival ► Insight ► Melee Weapons ► Magic (Healing) - ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor - Underneath the heavy fur capes Dular wears armor made of leather and bone. Despite her size and strength, Dular is a healer first and foremost. She isn't a front line fighter so her armor is simple and practical. ► Weapons - Dular carries only one weapon, a heavy dark wooden cudgel. It's completely smooth and has been lovingly decorated with white speckles, like an inverted birch tree. The handle is wrapped in blanched leather with a few bones handing from it. ► Coinpurse - A few trinkets sit alongside an amulet of whittled bone in the shape of a hand. There are some small, interesting crystals and fossils from her home as well. Although her tribe mainly deals in trade and barter, Dular does have some coin on her just in case. Humans do love their coin after all, and apparently enough of it can get them to do pretty much anything. ► Misc. Items - Besides her mess kit and bed roll, most of Dular's pack is taken up by medicinal plants and spell components, as well as mortar, pestle, and clay pots to hold her potions in. - | P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R In the North where the population of orcish tribes are dwindling, it is not uncommon for members of said tribes to take human consorts, filling their yurts with half-orc children. As one of those children living among the tribe, Dular grew up strong and tough alongside her siblings. Her mother, a pureblood orc and one of the tribe's few shamans, had a vision soon after Dular's birth of a plague destroying their home. The vision was unlike any she'd experienced before, and it spooked her so much that she turned the entire family to the service of the orcish god Yurtus. With years of dedication the family became respected healers in their community, Dular especially. She was good at resisting the mark of Gruumsh that urged all those with orc blood into rages, making her an adept apothecary as well as care giver. Mixing potions and natural medicines came more easily to Dular, and though at first she struggled to learn healing magicks despite her mother's shamanistic ability, with persistent effort Dular was able to cast spells with concentration. Because of her prestige as a faithful cleric and her half-blood making her less likely to fall into rage when things didn't go her way, after reaching adulthood Dular was commonly given the role of liaison between her tribe and the various other civilized settlements nearby when they needed to trade or otherwise negotiate. Especially when the traditional orc tactic of intimidation didn't work. Through the years living in the cold North with her tribe as well as interacting with those outside of it, Dular grew into a responsible, uncompromising woman that worked hard to see her fellow tribesman live healthy and die the way they should: gloriously, not succumbing to cold or disease. However, the plague from her mother's vision always loomed in the mind of her family, making Dular just a bit paranoid and superstitious. She can't leave well enough alone, always snooping with the intent to help people whether they want assistance or not. Thankfully, her thick skulls makes it easy for her to laugh off annoyed people telling her off for her "help." F A V O R When that plague finally reared it's ugly head, Dular's tribe was not as prepared as they hoped. Despite Dular and the other healers work, the disease ripped through the village. When the death toll grew large, the orcs reached out to human settlements near and far. However, most were unwilling to help. Those that had established trade relations were afraid of catching the disease, and those that didn't had history of bloody skirmishes whenever human expansion encroached on the tribe's territory. There was one man who after catching wind of the orcs' plight offered his aid. Dular didn't know why Ordrin, a stranger, chose to donate his time and money to help her village, but she was forever grateful that he did. With the extra supplies he brought to the village, they were able to survive the plague and steadily recover. After it was over, Ordrin asked if he could use the tribe's land to stage expeditions into the tundea. Dular helped convince the tribe elders to accept his proposal as thanks for his help. When word came from Ordrin again, this time asking Dular personally for her help in seeking a missing shipment of his, she was packed within in the day. In this way, she would fully repay the man for helping to save her village. |
GM
mickilennial The Elder Fae
Member
Seen
1 day ago
“I’ve got trust issues with pretty much everybody. It’s not personal.”
 _______________________________________________ Rhoswen of the Black Hills _______________________________________________________________ 23 | Female | Half-Elf _______________________________________________________________ Chaotic Good | Hexblade Warlock | Folk Hero _______________________________________________________________ ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Former Slave Rhoswen was trained in the fighting pits as a slave by her hobgoblin masters. She’s endured physical and mental torture aplenty. As such, she has the endurance and willpower to keep fighting even in the most perilous situations. She’s not a particularly well-trained combatant, but she is unrelenting and oftentimes unpredictable. ► Scrappy Fighter Rhoswen had to kill another slave with her bare hands. She had to outrun a starved bear. She was thrown against many things in her time in the pits. Much like her hardiness, her mind and reflexes were forged. She had to adapt quickly and as a result she’s become capable when thinking on her feet in tense situations. When you’re being choked out by a human male twice your size you have to come up with situations. Rhoswen doesn’t follow the rules of chivalry. She’ll throw dirt in your face or knee you in the groin. There are no rules in a game of life and death. ► Unlikely Spellcaster The magical sword that removed her bonds, Kyrios, has taught Rhoswen many things in return for her affinity to wield him in glory of battle. These include things like Hellish Rebuke, Detect Magic, Comprehend Languages, Protection from Evil, True Strike, and Lesser Restoration. Kyrios can also sense evil souls and other tertiary abilities which he can warn Rhoswen of through their mental link. ► Elven Accuracy Rhoswen’s mother was a roaming Sun Elf and a lot of her genetic footprint guides Rhoswen in many ways. She’s quick-on-her-feet with sharp reflexes, but most of all has an inherent fluidity to her movement. Despite being brought up in hellish conditions she is nimble and graceful, often being able to traverse quickly and adeptly as well as fight with elven accuracy. She’s never shot a bow, so said accuracy goes to throwing knives and close quarters combat. ► Capable Survivalist Whether it is in cities or the wilds, Rhoswen can keep herself going. A lone wanderer with no friends, she’s had to pick up how to cook food, patch herself up when injured and deprived of mana, and repair her equipment. She’s no ranger or urchin, but she can make do. ► Shifty Conversationalist Rhoswen doesn’t trust anyone. She’s stretched the truth and been wary of explaining herself too often. The wizard she killed who had bought her was a member of a famous noble house of humans and she often fears his death, even if it was just, being used against her. She chooses simplistic answers, though she can be convincing and often people rarely look past her attractiveness. She uses sarcasm as a deflection tactic and has no moral reservations against doing bad things; it’s just admitting the bad things to people who can use it against her isn’t something she’s keen to do. - ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor Rhoswen has no conventional training with heavy armor. She was a slave accustomed to rags and harnesses and as such has come to only really suitably use cloth and leather in her travels after her liberation. When traveling the colder climates she dons the appropriate heavy cloth overcoats and fur-lined cloaks to survive weather she has no particular affinity or familiarity with. ► Weapons The half-elf vagabond has a decent amount of weapons. Firebombs, throwing daggers, a parrying blade. It’s all rather mundane until you take into account her strange sword of unknown origin and make. A magical artifact that has made itself known to her as Kyrios. As a strange magical artifact it has linked itself with Rhoswen’s mind and offers her strange abilities as well as insights. She’s still getting a handle on it, but working together with Kyrios has saved Rhoswen’s life more times than one. ► Coinpurse Rhoswen has enough coin to travel moderately well. She doesn’t pick luxury rooms and doesn’t take luxurious jobs. A good portion of her gold is taken off the corpses of bandits and slavers, though other despicable souls have also met the end of her blade. Rhoswen has no keepsakes—no rings, amulets, necklaces, or artifacts. The slavers that took her as a child took things like that and she is likely to never see them again. ► Misc. Items A potion belt and a rucksack containing a bedroll, regional map, survival kit, and ocarina are the only things that accompany her gear. She travels light. Her only keepsake beyond the aforementioned musical instrument is a journal where she keeps a list of names and scattered notes written in a language that her magical sword has gifted her with. - | P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R The Naeleth were, like most elves, vagabonds. Traveling from place to place, village to village in search of their own way of life. Rhoswen’s mother, Esiyae, was one such elf. As things turn out, Esiyae fell in with a human adventurer by the name of Kolm. It’s a story as old as time and perhaps in a better time the two would have ended up very happy and Rhoswen would have had a happy but unassuming life in some human village far from the Dafielian climate. But sometimes the gods hand you a poor lot in life. Rhoswen’s father was killed by bandits when she was five years old, and Rhoswen and her mother were sold off to a local band of slavers led by an orc name Skol as part of an arrangement between the two factions. She never saw her mother again. Rhoswen was more or less thrown into the slave pits. The harsh conditions she had to live in up until she was of age was rough. No heroes came to liberate her from Skol’s slave-running operation. Her youth was spent with the slavemasters trying to find the ideal fit for Rhoswen. She was pretty, but scrappy; attractive but smarmy. So despite their best judgement they trained her in the combat arena. It was a good way to make coin on the side, but eventually the time came where she was sold. She was sixteen years past her nameday when an affluent human wizard acquired her. At his estate, things… strange things began to happen, even before Ilexcius could claim her. The old wizard had unearthed a strange artifact. He still hadn’t cracked its magic when the blade called out to her, removed her magical binds to Ilexcius, and she killed the old wizard in his own study. Since that day Rhoswen has been searching, not only for her own path but for her mother. The sword echoes in her mind, whispering strange things, teaching her weird magicks; all while making demands. F A V O R Ordrin helped Rhoswen out of a disagreement between the town guard of a certain city and Rhoswen’s sword. In many ways she owes a debt to the merchant for saving her life. Ordrin has also kept her in the loop about information about the slavers that sold her mother, the bandits that killed her father, and any information that can be found to locate persons of interest. So far there’s nothing on Rhoswen’s mother but she’s holding out hope. |
Carlyle Delenda Est
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
“I may have my father's blood, but I am no less of an elf than any of my kin.”
 _______________________________________________ Sarinnas Magewynd _______________________________________________________________ 26 | Female | Half Elf (Moon Elf/Human) _______________________________________________________________ Lawful Evil | Eldritch Knight | House Agent _______________________________________________________________ ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Melee Weaponry ► Magic (Conjuration) ► Magic (Shadow) ► Intimidation ► Athletics ► Survival - ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor - A symbol of her status, Sarinnas' blackish plate and mail armor stands out against the everyday mercenary's armor. It, like her gold-trimmed cloak, remains oddly shiny and clean, almost as if the pieces were enchanted through some ancient elven spell. ► Weapons - Whereas most adventurers worth their mettle carry several blades of varying size on their person, Sarinnas keeps to a singular longsword that seemingly never leaves her side. ► Coinpurse - As elegant as her armor and weaponry, Sarinnas' coinpurse contains a mixture of various coins and other objects of monetary value from numerous countries, kingdoms and cultures. Most, however, are of moon elf make. ► Misc. Items - Save for adventuring gear, spell ingredients and other miscellaneous items, Sarinnas travels relatively light. The only item of note is a glowing bright blue bauble used as a cloak clasp. - | P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R Born the daughter of an elf-human coupling, Sarinnas has always been looked at with disdain. Her elven relatives see the half-elf as a blight on their house, often making a scene whenever Sarinnas is around. Whereas most individuals would take issue with such harassment, however, Sarinnas willingly takes her undeserved torment, seeing it as nothing more than a challenge. Blind, misguided rage is a dangerous weapon, but an anger-fueled resolve, harnessing the hate for one's betterment? Now there lies true power, or so she believes. Of course, life wasn't always "doom and gloom". Sarinnas' childhood was as regular as one gets, her family living far, far away from their elven brethren near the northern wastes. Despite her mother's connections, her father insisted on keeping a simple farmer's life as his father and grandfather before him had done. It was a boring, rural lifestyle, but it was also a life Sarinnas would come to miss. When the orcish hordes descended from the snowy north upon the southern human strongholds, Sarinnas set herself on a path she could not return from even after her elven kin begrudgingly took her in after the death of her parents. From that day on, the macabre dance of death had the half-elf; her hands forever bloodied and her life by the sword, brewing a bubbling darkness within her soul—a darkness that may just yet consume Sarinnas whole. F A V O R When Lady Kendreth went missing and was later found murdered, it was Sarinnas' second cousin, Baeddan, who was believed to be the killer. But Sarinnas didn't believe the charges; Baeddan was a halfwit who couldn't tell his own arse from a donkey's. Nonetheless, Sarinnas had no proof of Baeddan's innocence, and any leads she did find would come up empty. It seemed Baeddan was doomed to be executed for his apparent crimes until a man by the name of Ordrin Entheys offered his help; his little birds within the city leading to new, unexplored leads and previously hidden evidence that would clear Baeddan's name. |
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