[CHAR] Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

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[Vor]

Orun Greystone

Character Image

Race: Orc (Grey Orc)

Gender: Male

Age: 22 (about mid 20's by human standards)

Class: Cleric

Stats:

Strength: 16 (+3)
Dexterity: 9 (-1)
Constitution: 14 (+2)
Intelligence: 14 (+2)
Wisdom: 16 (+3)
Charisma: 8 (-1)

Physical Description:
Being a Grey Orc, Orun's features are less bestial than those of his more common cousins and his leathery skin is a greenish grey. His wide face, with a prominent jawline and a snub nose is not exactly pleasant to look at and the two tusks jutting from his mouth give him a savage appearance. This is in contrast to his focused eyes, a pair of amber orbs that gleam with intelligence. Like others of his race, Orun has an affinity for facial decorations and his ears are pierced by a multitude of earrings, not to mention a steel ring hanging from his nose. He sometimes braids his black hair, but it usually flows freely down his shoulders, tucked behind his pointy ears.

Orun stands at an impressive seven feet and is heavily muscled, with thick arms and a powerful chest. Most cups and utensils appear child-like in his large hands, which are not particularly deft. His long, sturdy legs provide him with a striding gait and those with shorter limbs are often forced to run in order to catch up with him. Mottled patches of lighter grey fur dot his body, most prominently around his back and forearms. While it is a rare sight to see Orun bare-chested, if one were to do so they would immediately notice a number of scars, as well as a sizable collection of tattoos, each one a rune or sigil associated with Kelemvor.

Armor/Attire: Orun dresses in the priestly robes of Kelemvor's Church, coloured in a sombre shade of grey and completely unadorned, without any trims or frills. Over them he wears a plain steel breastplate with a gorget and a skirt of chainmail, which provides some protection for the lower body. Steel pads protect his elbows and shoulders, though his knees and shins are left unarmoured for greater freedom of movement. During heavy fighting Orun dons a steel helmet with a distinctive T-shaped opening for the mouth and eyes, but it usually dangles unused from the straps of his backpack. A pair of sturdy traveller's boots complete his attire and they are without a doubt one of his most prized possessions. The orc's armour has no ornamentation save for a set of scales engraved on the chest.

Equipment

• Symbol of Kelemvor: Finely-wrought silver scales depicting Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead. Orun would never willingly part with them.
• Two-handed morningstar: A massive morningstar with a long oaken shaft, tailored for Orun's bigger proportions. Due to its length it also doubles as a walking stick.
• Prayer book: A leather-bound tome containing prayers, rituals and teachings of Kelemvor.
• Journal: A small book in which Orun records the details of his travels. The handwriting is surprisingly neat, considering the owner's thick fingers.
• Scroll Case: A wooden case that holds a number of scrolls, both magical and mundane ones.
  - Deny Death Scroll: Perhaps the most valuable of the scrolls in his possession, it allows one to preserve those who have suffered injury in a sort of suspended animation, preventing further harm from outside injuries or poisons.
• Backpack: A backpack suited for travelling, with many compartments and straps. It contains items useful for the road, such as flint and steel, a pan, two pots, torches and an assortment of miscellaneous items. Fastened to it are his waterskin, bedroll and a a length of rope.

Mental Description/Personality:
Orun is very devout and his service to Kelemvor shapes every aspect of his life. He does not put much stake in the structured hierarchy of the Church, but instead acts something akin to a tribal shaman, communing with Kelemvor through dreams and other such portents. By orcish standards he is immensely stoic and, despite his fearsome appearance and physical strength, dislikes violence. If there is a way to solve a situation without resorting to weapons, Orun will deign to seek it out, as surprising as it may seem to those who do not know him. That is not to say that he won't knock some sense into people if they stubbornly refuse to listen!

Despite his priestly upbringing Orun is still very much an orc. He speaks his mind and has little regard for concepts such as social status or rank, the only laws he respects are those laid out by Kelemvor. He cares little for how he is perceived by others and is not swayed by flowery words or promises. Though even-tempered for an orc, certain things such as dishonesty or mishandling of the dead are sure to rile him up, in which case he can become quite intimidating. Orun doesn't believe in personal wealth, has no desire to drink or partake in other earthly pleasures, but has a soft spot for tales and is always interested in hearing new ones.

Like most orcs, Orun is slow to make friends and rarely seeks the chance to do so. Sullen and serious, he does not make for the most interesting conversation partner. Even those who've known him for longer may find him hard to deal with at times, especially since the notion of apologising is completely foreign to him. Nevertheless, he is a stalwart companion and once' he's given his support to a cause it's impossible to deter him.

Goals: Spread Kelemvor's word, collect tithes for the Church, destroy undead and their foul masters.

Background/History:
Orun was born to one of the scattered orc tribes roaming the lands east of the Moonsea. Unlike their mountainous cousins, these Grey Orcs tended to avoid conflict with the more civilised races and instead eked out a meagre existence by living off the land and occasionally raiding their neighbouring tribes. It made for a grueling childhood, as infants were expected to mature quickly so that they could help the tribe. Orun was no exception and would likely have lived and died an early death in those wildlands if not for a strange occurrence.

Orun's tribe had the misfortune of raiding a necromancer's abode while the owner was away. When he returned in the midst of the raid, the necromancer was outraged and cast a curse on the tribe, sending their own ancestors to torment them. It would have been the end of them if not for the timely intervention of two Kelemvorites, who had been hunting the necromancer for their own reasons. They broke the curse and eventually killed the necromancer, but not before one of them lost his life. Despite their aversion for humans the orcs had no choice but to recognise the priest as the tribe's saviour and so they were indebted to him.

The priest declared that one of Kelemvor's own had died for them, in turn they had to give up one of their tribe to maintain the balance. Orun just so happened to be the youngest child and he was eagerly offered to the priest so that he could be sacrificed to the Lord of the Dead. It was a trade they were more than willing to make, after all, what was the life of one little orc compared to that of the entire tribe? To their surprise, the priest did not sacrifice the child, but told them that he would be taken back to Kelemvor's temple.

The young orc, barely seven at the time, was brought to one of the Great Guide's temples in the cold lands of Damara, where he was initiated into the order and began his training as an acolyte. It was hard going at first, but Orun proved to be surprisingly adaptive and took after a life of spirituality easily. Although he never quite lost that inherent orcish wildness, he was a dutiful student and impressed his tutors with his keen mind and lust for knowledge. That is how Orun passed the majority of his life, living in the secluded temple and travelling to the nearby villages with the older priests when someone's last rites needed to be administered.

When he became a fully-ordained priest Orun was expected to follow the orders of his elders and to go where the Church needed him. He was sent to a smaller temple in southern Damara, where he had to minister to the needs of the locals and to watch over the nearby cemeteries. Orun endured this monotonous lifestyle for about a year, after which he packed his things and left the temple, despite his brothers' protests.

With no particular goal in mind Orun travelled west, searching for restless dead and adventure worthy of his patron's cause. This is how he eventually found himself in Hulburg, in the desolate lands of Thar, where he had heard undead were a common sighting and a plague upon its towns and villages.

Other Notes:

• Orun earned the moniker "Greystone" on account of his solemn personality and physical size. The other acolytes would joke that he looked like a big grey stone and once some of the local villagers caught wind of it it, the name stuck. For his part, Orun has embraced it.
• He speaks Common and Orcish freely and possesses some knowledge of Dwarvish, due to his use of the Dethek script (in which Orcish is also written).
• While he does not lust after gold, he always demands payment for services rendered, which he takes as a tithe on behalf of his god. The coin are held separately in a special pouch, which he then deposits in the first shrine or temple of Kelemvor he comes across.
• Though still a member of Kelemvor's Church, Orun is considered a pariah and even a renegade by the branch in Damara. If he should ever return there he'll have some explaining to do.

[Assallya]

Character Image

Assallya Kressair

Race: Sun Elf

Gender: Female

Age: 92

Class: Sorceress

Stats:

Strength: 8 (-1)
Dexterity: 14 (+2)
Constitution: 8 (-1)
Intelligence: 14 (+2)
Wisdom: 13 (+1)
Charisma: 20 (+5)

Physical Description: Assallya is a diminutive, blonde elf with long lustrous locks that cascade down over her shoulders like a river of molten gold. Her heart shaped face possesses a radiant smile replete with piercing azure eyes that can inspire calm or burn like ice. Surprising for a Calishite is her porcelain skin, snow white with but a blush of rose petals. Her flesh is pristine, contains no tattoos and not a single blemish.

Short of stature she is lithesome and willowy. Her manner and bearing change based on any number of assumed personas but in most she does not walk, so much as floats across any given room and has a habit of touching objects at random, caressing them with slender fingers.

At times a wanton wench, at others a pristine uncompromised virgin. However, when she is bent upon enrapturing a man her curvaceous hips and heaving pendulous bosom come into play, inspiring the men about her to come to her aid.

Armor/Attire: Assallya prefers her harem attire (depicted above) which involves ebony silks that cast her fair skin into shadow. She quite willingly adapts other styles to blend. When masquerading as a common thief she will dye her hair and wear soft leathers and carry short blades (that she doesn't know how to use). When masquerading as a bard she wears the attire of a gypsy, long skirts and colourful sashes. She also has a gown for dealing with nobility and simple peasant attire.

Equipment

• Vardo Wagon: Anything one might find in a traditional home is likely in this portable home
• A set of daggers made of various materials useful for killing exotic monsters. Not that she'd use them herself but they're nice to have.
• Ring of the Unshod: A magical ring that protects her bare feet like she was wearing soft leather boots.
• Comb of Comliness: A few deft strokes with this comb and hair looks silken and freshly pampered
• Light Crossbow
• Jambiya Dagger
• Several trade bars of precious metals in hidden compartment of her Vardo wagon. All her saving to become a merchant.

Mental Description/Personality: Assallya Kressair is a charlatan, con-artist, dancer, courtesan, and really whatever role she can think of that gets her by. She is exceedingly good at lying and feigning emotion. Generally, there are two ways to look at any good deed. One could perform such an act out of honest good will but others look upon it as an investment by establishing a bond that can be exploited at a later date. Assallya is of the latter. She is a coward, a braggart and a bully but what she isn't is needlessly cruel nor traitorous. She would not betray her fellows, not unless the reward involved a sum large enough to alter her life substantially. After all, What use is scoring a meager gem or two in return for a half dozen angry and resourceful adventurers eager to tan your hide?

She'd probably be the first to flee when things went sour and most likely wouldn't last more than a moment before capitulating to torture (particularly if they threaten to mar her appearance) but she's also the type to plan ahead in case she is captured to ensure she wouldn't have any information to divulge. After all, if she betrays all her allies who is left to perform a rescue?

She also has something of a phobia of the undead which are largely immune to her magical abilities. She, also, thanks to her upbringing and most unlike other elves, despises all things related to nature.

Goals: Accumulate enough wealth to become a merchant princess

Background/History: Assallya Kressair was born in the autumn in a small village on the outskirts of Evereska. At the young age of 26 (aprox. 11 or 12 in human years) Zhentish slavers attacked and killed her entire village except for those taken as slaves. Assallya, her sister Saeliah, and several others were transported far across Faerun in order to avoid the elven wrath sure to follow. In the city of Calimshan Assallya and Saeliah were separated when Assallya was purchased be Pasha Alkiel. Head of a powerful group of rogues, Alkiel purchased her as a dancer and concubine for both personal use and for information gathering and blackmail. She then served in Alkiel's bedchamber for the next eight years while being trained in dance, seduction and other roguish arts in order to perform her duties.

She was treated as an object and was given to allies and employees of the Pasha who performed exceptional services. Soon enough, she learned about the many different types of power and discovered that even as a slave she was far from powerless. Succeeding in seducing one of the Pasha's magicians she bid him teach her magic. At first he balked until Assallya cast for him the only thing her father had taught her at that young age, a cantrip. A small thing, it changed the colour of his fingernails, but it was magic none the less. He agreed then, for he was a lonely uncomely man who rarely received a woman to his bed. However, he placed conditions on his tutorial; refusing to train her in combative magics and warning her that should he ever target him with her spells it would mean her death. She surprised all of them by inventing an inferior version of the invisibility spell which allowed her to sneak away from the Pasha's clutches and return undetected. In this way, by filching jewels and prostituting herself she built up savings with a money lender.

It was with the aide of the Pasha's son that she succeeded in poisoning the Pasha, planning on becoming a partner to the successor instead of a slave. With her manipulative mind behind him to advise his passionate power they were sure to bring their competitors to their knees. What she was not expecting was the Pasha's extended family to hire a necromancer to speak with their departed kinsman. He quickly named his murderer and Assallya regretted bragging as he died.

She ran, the Pasha's son giving her a few moments to escape, fearing that she would claim his involvement which would lead to his family asking him uncomfortable questions. The next few months she moved slowly north, the sands left behind her and the lands becoming more lush and green.

Other Notes:

• Low Hit Point
• Assallya's goddess, Sharess has changed over the years. As a result, if killed, she will unable to be raised after 1d10 days.
• Assallya's sister, Saeliah, is now a druid somewhere. I never really anticipate them ever meeting again.
• There is a bounty on Assallya's head in Calimshan. It is highly unlikely anyone would chase her this far north.
• Assallya wears a lot of jewelry. However, most with a critical eye will note that most of the gems are semi-precious. They're still worth quite a bit but not a noble's ransom.

[Kalmar]

Darius Arenar

Race: Half Elf

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Class: Rogue

Stats:

Strength: 10
Dexterity: 20
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 7
Charisma: 18

Physical Description: Darius stands at approximately six foot one. He has a light skin tone with a slight tan to it, and a slightly muscular build well suited to speed and agility. He has medium length dark blond, almost brown, hair, and in the way of facial hair he has some short stubble on his cheeks. As for his eyes, they are a piercing dark green, and can vary between cold and calculating to kind and friendly, depending on what front he is trying to put up. He can be described as rather handsome, although he does have a thin, pale, barely noticeable scar running from under his left eye to the bottom of his cheek.

Armor/Attire: Darius wears a brown vest of boiled leather, with a few empty pouches to quickly stash small items and potions. On his wrists he wears hardened leather bracers, and on his hands fingerless leather gloves. For leggings, he wears a pair of leather pants with additional padding on the thighs and crotch to hopefully negate any dirty fighting tactics. Protecting his shins and knees are some steel greaves, and for footwear he wears a pair of brown leather boots with a minor enchantment to reduce the noise he makes while walking.

To help him blend in cities, or protect him from the elements while traveling, he also has a hooded dark green cloak that is quite warm when wrapped around him.

Equipment

• Eight daggers and knives. Two are kept in sheaths strapped to his wrist, two on his belt, two more strapped to his thighs, and an additional two hidden in his boots.
• A light crossbow with twelve bolts.
• A walking stick, to help make him look more like a harmless traveler when he is out on the road.
• Several lockpicks in a pouch on his belt.
• A vial of poison and an antidote to go with it.
• Boots of Stealth that muffle his footsteps.
• Basic items like a coinpouch and a canteen on his belt.

Mental Description/Personality: Darius is a complicated individual. Although he has no qualms with resorting to thievery or breaking the law to get by, he doesn't make an active habit of it, and tends to only target the wealthy. He has a slight distrust of guards and authority figures, and will often take the law into his own hands, whether to profit or do what he thinks is right. But he also has a soft spot towards beggars and children, and tries to do right by the common citizen. Those who do manage to earn his trust will find a steadfast friend and ally.

Goals: Darius doesn't have any particularly grand ambitions. He simply wishes to travel and earn enough coin to get by, perhaps even enough to retire and live a long comfortable life, as unlikely as that is.

Background/History: Darius was born in Thentia to an elven mother and a human father. His mother was an alchemist who owned a small potion shop, and his father an adventurer who he had never got to meet. Their life wasn't exactly comfortable, but they got by, his mother teaching him how to identify herbs and brew potions so he could help her run the shop. That changed when he turned fourteen and his mother died of an unknown disease. Only a few days later, he realized that their financial situation was more severe than she let on. The shop had to be sold to pay off his mother's debts, and Darius was reduced to a life on the streets.

For his first few weeks he was reduced to begging in the streets, spending many a night cold and hungry. Eventually it became too much to bear, and he turned to thievery. Small things, at first - an apple or a loaf of bread from a market stall. But as he got better at it, he became more bold. When he was fifteen, he ended up joining a gang, who taught him how to pick pockets and defend himself using daggers and knives. He became extremely good at sneaking and blending in, and also found that he had a way with words; able to put on a convincing act of innocence whenever somebody suspected him.

When he was seventeen, the gang began to trust him with riskier assignments - break-ins. They taught him how to pick locks, which he was also quite good at. As the years went on, his other skills only improved. His boss was particularly proud of him, and one day gave him a pair of enchanted boots as payment for a particularly challenging heist (although in truth, they had belonged to another member of the gang who was found dead in an alley, and they just so happened to be Darius's size.)

But eventually, when he was twenty two, his luck ran out. His boss had become overconfident, and planned a rather daring job on the mansion of a powerful noble. Instead of the usual two or three assigned to a heist, it was a group of five, Darius among them. It had started out easy enough, and getting inside was surprisingly easy. And then it all went wrong.

Darius wasn't sure who had triggered the magical alarm - they had split up to cover all the rooms faster. But it made a loud noise that could be heard throughout the house, and all stealth was quickly abandoned. The five of them fled through the front door in panic, just as a patrol of guards happened to be passing by, who immediately took notice. The group split up and fled in different directions, the guards chasing them.

Darius ended up being pursued by two guards who were particularly fleet footed. Unfamiliar with the neighborhood, he made a wrong turn and found himself facing a dead end. Unwilling to go to prison, he drew his daggers and turned around...

That night had been the first time he had ever killed someone. He had been unwilling to kill the second one, only wounding him, but he had seen Darius's face. Two of his fellow gang members had also been captured that night, and Darius feared they might give the others up. Even if he wanted too, staying in the city was no longer an option. So he fled, stowing away in a merchant cart as it left the city, not knowing his destination but simply wanting to leave his past behind.

He arrived in Melvaunt, and was left with the challenge of applying his skillset to a safer, more ethical line of work. So he became something of a private investigator. His skills of remaining undetected and getting into places he shouldn't proved to be quite useful, as he followed men and women whose spouses thought they were cheating, spied on employees whose bosses suspected of stealing, and solved more than a few cases that the city guards themselves had been unable to handle. He soon gained a reputation as someone who could find out anything.

But the idea of spending all his time in a city doing the same work began to feel a bit dull. He also feared that his reputation was getting too good - Thentia wasn't that far away, after all. What if word spread? So, he packed up and left.

He spent the next few years after that traveling around the Moonsea. He would arrive in a settlement, spend several months or maybe even a year there doing work, and then once he had experienced everything the city had to offer and was secure in his financial situation, he would journey to the next city down the road. In particularly lean times when jobs were hard to find, he would resort back to thievery to keep himself fed and comfortable. Sometimes he would get into brushes with the law, while other times he would become the target of corrupt nobles or gangs that he came close to uncovering.

During this time, he also started worshiping Tymora. His mother had never raised him to be religious, but it only seemed fitting for someone in his position and skill set to follow the goddess of luck and change.

Eventually his travels took him all the way to Hulsburg, which he arrived in only recently. Having only been there for a few days, he once again faces the challenge of starting fresh in a brand new city. Fortunately, it is a challenge that he has gotten quite used to - although the city's close proximity to Thentia is somewhat unnerving, despite the fact that his name has likely been forgotten already.

[IcePezz]

Dhyannah D’Amorte

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Age: 27

Class: Rogue/Swashbuckler

Stats:

Strength: 12
Dexterity: 17
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 12
Charisma: 14

Physical Description: As far as the eyes can deduct, long layers of chocolate locks frame her face nicely and extend just below her bust. Traces of auburn highlights bring out the color in her eyes which stare into your soul, big pale green swirls that they are. They entice your gaze, daring you to look longer than you should. She stands confidently at 5’6”, with an athletic build sitting on wider hips and amazon thighs. Freckles sparsely spattered, carelessly over her olive complexion. Sun kissed skin depicts a well traveled woman, with calloused hands and numerous scars. Odd tattoos cover her shoulders and back, covering most of the more brutal marks left to her. One scar in particular rests over her jawline, down the right side of your face, about 1 ½” in length. Another, one freshly faded, sits upon her chest, just over her heart.

Armor/Attire: Typical attire are of dark, earthy tones. Dhyannah isn’t a very flashy person, enjoying more simplistic and sensible garb. Comfortable trousers, tucked into worn boots fitted to her knees. Plain leather bracers to match a plain leather chest piece. Lastly, she wears a dull grey cloak. Stitched to the hood is the face of a wolf, a mask to cover her features when worn.

Equipment
2 cutlass hang on either side of her hip, nearly identical in appearance
Carefully hidden within her bracers is a small blade. Placed well enough to be used in a pinch, should she need a sharp flying object or a defense against a creeper.
Dangling around her neck is a large tooth, likely from a dire wolf or bear
A flask, dull in appearance
Several pouches, varying in size adorn her person. Some hidden within her cloak, others tied to her belt. They hold a vast array of items to include an adventurer's kit and some rations, flint and steel, a few vials of poisons, several types of herbs and a waterskin.

Mental Description/Personality: Dhyannah can be quite arrogant and brash. Bred into the huntress that she is, she has learned patience, but once her temper wears thin, blades often fly off the hook, alongside very colorful words. Dhyannah is blunt and to the point, she doesn't sugar coat things and she doesn't very much like to lie. Only the strong survive, but she does understand that strength comes in many different ways. A lesson she learned the hard way.

Goals: Whether it was a change of pace or a fresh start that she was looking for when arriving into town, she wasn’t sure. Ultimately, she is looking for a home; somewhere to settle into, somewhere that doesn’t know of her past.

Background/History:

very lengthy reading

Dhyannah is the daughter of wealthy merchants Pavel and Annabella D’Amorte, from Bloomridge City in Baldurs Gate. Born into wealth, Dhyannah was raised to be prim and proper. Her older sister Kendall was a sight to behold. Lovely, thick wavy hair, golden as the sun, with deep blue eyes, and pale skin. Elegant and beautiful in every way, and more importantly, a product of both Pavel and his wife, Annabella. Dhyannah was constantly being criticized, and endlessly compared to her. “Why can’t you be more like your sister?!” Always to be reminded of where she came from and who she wasn't. More specifically, she wasn't Annabella’s daughter by birth and constantly served the well off family as a constant reminder of Pavel’s indiscretions. Dhyannah’s arrogance and strong personality only seemed to make things worse.

She was a thorn in everyone's backside, and no matter her efforts, the young girl just couldn't seem to fit in. As the years passed, their differences became more apparent. Subtleties weren’t as subtle anymore, especially as the arrogant young girl grew into womanhood. Fantasies of a peaceful life were easily traded in for spiteful deeds and scornful looks. Yet she was a child in a woman’s body, wanting nothing more than to be loved by those who called themselves family. Continuous attempts for a ‘happy’ home life got her nothing but disappointment, a void, that was slowly being filled with an eerie darkness. One that threatened to eat her whole. And so she sought the gods for help.

That's when the nightmares began. Within the horrid dreams, a message was relayed - her answer. Each attempt at putting it out of her mind only made things worse. And so the day finally came; the day she would bring Kendall to her death. Perhaps, deep down, a part of her had hoped that this would make her parents acknowledge their only living daughter, at least with something other than apathy and disgust.

It was strangely easy for her… to kill her sister. The deed was done, and Dhyannah had felt nothing, no compunction, or remorse. Nor had there been any changes. Her parents mourned for their eldest for months, and while things never truly returned to normal, Dhyannah was never recognized for anything more than a dirty bastard, a burden, quickly discarded and easily forgotten.

She was always a very vibrant woman, ready to bathe in her passion, with a wild and carefree streak. But there was something different in her as she struck the match that night. And as her childhood home was set aflame, she had neither care nor concern for the lives of those within. The fire was little more than a message, and if it just so happened to devour her parents along with her past, all the better.

She never spoke of 'home' again, and after leaving it, she enlisted in the local mercenary guild. Life became a quick and harsh lesson. It wasn't all dresses and dance lessons, though, they did treat her with more care than she had ever received, so her complaints swiftly diminished. Dhyannah picked up on things quickly, and would take to anything anyone would teach her. Her days were full of sword lessons, sparring matches, games of subtlety and deception, even the occasional tavern stop between jobs and patrols. She was content.

It wasn’t long before she had met Colin. Love was not very high on her list of priorities, and was often only seen as a liability, so her feelings were at first more of an inconvenience for her, which she tried her best to ignore. But as she settled into the group, interactions became more frequent, and eventually, more intentional. Colin held no special rank, no particular power or influence, but there was an undeniable connection between the two. A spark so electrifying, everyone else seemed to know about it, even before they could admit it to themselves.

They became a power couple within the organization, quickly earning themselves favor and riches. The spark either served as a jump start for some or simply rubbed others the wrong way. That one other being Gavin, a lieutenant to their leader. Despite being married, he never hid his interest for her, it was just never reciprocated. Which of course angered him more. She picked up on a few other things too, including how Gavin looked at his wife, and every other woman who passed him by, the look of disgust and scorn his wife would give her upon passing. The tension was so thick, it began to infiltrate and corrupt their operations. One of them would have to challenge Gavin for matters to be settled.

It was as if the gods had cursed them, or perhaps their spark had just run dry. The challenge was already set. But a job came in that would send them to a set of islands not far from the mountains edge, a job of which Colin was tasked to go, alone. Betrayal, blackmail, manipulation … one thing led to another. The only way she was leaving was with more blood on her hands.

Dhyannah would have to face Gavin in combat. Yes, she was afraid for her life, but she had hoped that her speed and dexterity would take her to victor. She was painfully and brutally mistaken. She was quick enough to avoid his sword splitting her face in two, but not quick enough where it missed her altogether. His blade managed to slice through her skin, sat just below her ear. He kept her alive, however her deeds did not go unpunished. If one caught a glimpse of her back, they would notice the many lashes and burn marks he left her. And Colin, well … he completed his mission, just to be stabbed through the back, one dark night as he traveled back to headquarters.

She was down there for three days, you could see the pride and pleasure that sparkled in his eyes as he took to maiming the young girl.

By the end of the third evening, the beatings had ended. This night, she was met with kind hands instead of the cruel, bloody tongue of his whip. He took such care in releasing her from her bonds. She thought this to be her death, her end at last. Her comrades watched in silence as he carried the near lifeless, and battered body to his room. It was then that she realized this was far from her freedom. He made her an offer, which only made her stomach turn. He would keep her alive, if and only if she would agree to be his, body and soul. With as much command and strength as she could muster, she declined. She would rather welcome death with open arms than be his.

She fought, long and hard. Her eyes scanned the area frantically for anything she could use as a weapon. Her body flailed violently, her teeth snapped, she growled ferociously and howled for help as he pinned her down. No help came, and her valiant efforts were for not. After an exhausting and futile struggle, she laid quite still, the look of defeat embedded in her eyes as he entered her over and over. For the first time in her life, she had felt utterly useless. The love of her life had been murdered, and she was sold out to this monster.

After all was said and done, he walked across the room, a carefree and cold step as he looked at her before leaving. “Tomorrow will be better, you’ll see.”, he said to her, leaving the broken girl clinging to the silk sheets as if for her life.

It took a while for her to come to her senses, to regain even a tiny bit of herself. But the anger and rage that had built up with each thrust had finally surfaced. And when she did, she marched to her quarters with intention. She needed to ready herself. She always had certain materials on hand in case of emergencies. She slipped something into his flask, which he carelessly left behind. She knew tonight would be her only chance. Armed with a dagger also coated with the poison, she hid in the shadows and waited for his return. It wasn’t until almost morning when he finally re-entered the room. Tiredly, he undressed and slowly moved towards his bed. Gavin reached for his flask, and took a sip. Something was wrong. He paused a moment, moving the rim to his nose. A low growl emanated as he slowly looked around his quarters. She frowned, an all out attack will just have to do. She leaped from the shadows, her dagger in hand ready to kill.

Dawn finally came about them, and as his life slipped from his body, she gazed upon him, an eerie sense of satisfaction and contentment came over her. She was 20, no longer the girl padding on their doors for entrance, but a woman, covered in the blood of victory. And with that, she slipped into the shadows, the fog of the Moonshae Isles hiding her presence, and she was never seen from again.

[Ezmeralda]

Sumia Iarmaris

Race: Half Elf

Gender: Female

Age: 70 (Around 26)

Class: Paladin

Stats:

Strength: 15
Dexterity: 5
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 15
Charisma: 15

Physical Description: Sumia is 5’9 at 150 lbs, giving her a fairly tall, curvy, yet athletic build. She has large sky blue eyes, full lips, and longer ears than you’d expect to see on a half elf. Sumia has a rosy complexion. She has very long wavy hair, reaching to her knees, with her bangs in a braid that she keeps tucked behind her left ear. Men and women alike would consider her to be very beautiful.

Armor/Attire: She wears a silvery, white breastplate with a attached hip guards. She has matching gauntlets and shoulder plates. She wears plated boots that go up to her knees with plates on the front her thigh. Lastly, she wears a long green cape.

Equipment:
• Rapier
• Shield
• Armor
• Cape
• Satchel (Various supplies like herbs, money, and such, all of which is kept in its own little compartment. Also a large book that contains information on prayers and her abilities as well as information about the Vigilant Eyes of God.)

Mental Description/Personality: Sumia is a kind and gentle girl, but will fight evil with a vengeance, as well as anyone else that might harm an innocent person. Due to her past she is also a little shy, but not to the extent that she won’t appear distant or unfriendly. She is honest, truthful, and brave in….most respects. She is not one to intentionally flaunt her beauty or her figure. Like any girl, she likes music and dance. Also has a sweet spot for animals. Sumia also has a great dislike of insects and rodents.

Goals: Sumia is a wandering Paladin, helping those in need while also becoming stronger and enhancing her faith. She is also devoted to ridding the land of great evil, much like any Paladin, however protecting others was always her primary concern. Although, a lot of times they went hand in hand.

Background/History: Sumia grew up in a fairly large city. At her birth it was noted that she had a very high potential for magic, and at a young age she was kept watch on by various entities including churches and magical organizations. She was most interested in the former. Sumia loved helping and protecting others. Seeing people smile made her smile. As Sumia learned more and more of from her church, she began to worship Helm, as he was devoted solely to the protection of others. It seemed an obvious choice. She learned much of about healing, and even fighting with a sword to protect others.

At the age of 40, Sumia had fallen in love with a young human named Ben. They were inseparable and the marriage was only a matter of time to many people. The church, however, had other plans for her. They discouraged seeing the poor boy at all, instead focusing on her studies. When she asked why it was revealed to her that her little church wasn’t just a simple church. No, it was a sect of the Vigilant Eyes of God. They told her to keep her distance from any romance, and told her that Helm had great plans for her.

She battled this for quite some time before deciding to become a Paladin of the Vigilant Eyes of God. Ben would always stay in her heart, but how could she decline such a calling? Helping people was all she ever wanted to do, and as a Paladin she could! Ben seemed to disappear shortly after, as she never saw him after…

At age 55, she had become a great swordswoman, as well a healer and protector. And a devout follower of Helm. To keep her mind of Ben, The Eyes frequently sent her off on various missions wherever there was any sort of big trouble. And she traveled the land protecting and healing those in need of her abilities. Which brought her now to Huldburg. She arrived to stock up on supplies on her way to Thar and perhaps get some help. She was told there was somebody or something that would help her here.

[Kalmar]

Joric Ironfist

Race: Shield Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 103

Class: Fighter

Stats:

Strength: 18
Dexterity: 13
Constitution: 20
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 9
Charisma: 5

Physical Description: Joric stands at approximately 4' 9", with a light skin tone. He has an unruly head of dark hair, which sets him apart from most dwarves that prefer to go bald. Like most dwarves, he does have a beard. It is eight inches long, but neatly groomed unlike his hair - he usually wears a helmet anyways. His eyes are dark blue, and his nose is slightly misshapen from when it was broken long ago, and never healed quite right. He often has a cheesy grin on his face that reveals a missing front tooth. Some people may think he is not the most attractive individual, but some people do not understand true beauty.

Moving down to the rest of his body, Joric's muscles have been built up over years of training, traveling, and fighting. He has numerous scars that he earned fighting anything from common brigands to vicious beasts.

Armor/Attire: Joric wears a steel helmet with a sharp two inch-long spike on top, mostly to prevent taller beings from condescendingly patting him on the head, as many humans seem to do when faced with shorter beings. The helmet does not protect the lower half of his face, allowing his beard to flow out, and the eyeslits are larger than most - he likes visibility. The rest of his armor is standard heavy steel plate, although it is worth noting that the gauntlets and boots have short-yet-sharp spikes on the knuckles and toes. Around his waste is a black leather belt, and he has a simple traveler's pack on his back.

Equipment

• One-handed single-bladed steel battleaxe, fashioned from Dwarven steel with a hilt wrapped in leather. Joric frequently ensures that is sharpened, giving him an edge in combat. He keeps it on his belt at his right hip.
• A steel longsword, or at least a longsword by Dwarven standards. Though he prefers his axe, there are times when a sword may be more useful. It never hurts to have a back-up, either. You could say Joric has proven this point on multiple occasions.
• A round steel shield, glowing softly with a magic-resistant enchantment. Fire and ice will neither heat nor cool it, the shield itself is less likely to break under magical force, and Joric himself is less likely to be knocked off his feet. The shield itself is painted with the image of a red axe crossing a blue sword.
• A flask of strong dwarven brew at his belt.
• Basic traveling supplies in his pack: a canteen of water, some food, some rope, a bedroll, a knife.

Mental Description/Personality: Joric is rather optimistic, I guess. And by optimistic, I mean inappropriately so. He likes to yell out puns and one-liners, especially in combat. Some of these are cheesy or poorly thought out, while others can actually be rather clever. He can also be regarded as reckless, having a tendency to charge straight in or announce his presence before discussing battle tactics. Rarely will he back down from a challenge. All that said, he has a strong sense of honor and loyalty. There are a few other things I could say about his personality, but I'd rather leave that for others to piece together as the story progresses.

Goals: Joric doesn't have much of a purpose, to be completely honest. He simply seeks to wander the surface, slaying monsters and exploring new locations. If he happens to save some lives or earn some coin in the process, then all the better.

Background/History: Joric was born in an underground mining settlement somewhere in the Silver Marches. His parents were blacksmiths, and he was expected to follow in their footsteps, although he always harbored a curiosity as to what was on the surface. And while he did have an interest in weapons, it was more to do with how they were used than how they were made. He would take flawed weapons that his parents had discarded, and practice with them in secret. And being the son of a blacksmith allowed him to pick up quite a bit of information on what qualities to look for in a weapon, and how to do minor repairs on basic objects.

The work and training his parents continued to pile onto him prevented him from having an opportunity to explore the surface, even for a visit. And on the odd occasion that he did get free time, he was unable to work up the courage to actually go and explore.

As the years went on, his naive and idealistic desire to become a wandering hero started to fade, but his fascination with weaponry and combat didn't stop. He instead decided that he would rather be a guard. So when he came of age, he signed on with the town militia. After only a few weeks of actual training, he proved to be a skilled fighter from his earlier years of practice. Both his trainers and his comrades knew he had potential.

And then came the cave-in.

To this day, no one knows how it started. One day the ceiling of the cave just collapsed, burying the mines as well as half the town and killing most of its population. Joric had been in the middle of a training session at the time, but his parents had been in the other half.

His parents dead, the population devastated, and the town's main source of income destroyed, Joric was distraught. He and the other survivors dug away at the rubble for days, hoping to find survivors or recover valuable possessions. When the tool provided to him broke, he used his hands, clawing away at dirt and stone and until his fingers were raw and bleeding. As the days wore on, any hope of finding the survivors was lost.

Joric soon realized he had no reason to stay. He couldn't bear it. Picking up his weapon, he left for the surface without a word. He was set upon by a pair of bandits only a few days later, which he promptly slew. He remembered how much he enjoyed training with the militia. He thought of the thrill he had just felt, battling and overpowering two men. He looked up at the open sky above him, taking in the smell of the fresh air and the surrounding wildlife. He recalled his childhood dream to wander the surface as a monster-slaying hero.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

His fifty years of adventuring took him all across the Realms, doing mercenary work and even earning a modest reputation as a hero in some areas. He fought various beasts and rescued innocents, just as he had set out to do, although he quickly found it was not as glamorous as he imagined, but it was a life that he loved nonetheless. Eventually his travels took him to the Moonsea, and from there he found his way to Hulburg, where he answered a call for aid.

[Midnight Howl]

Alfirineth (Rin) Laerorngwen

Appearance

Race: Half Wood Elf

Gender: Female

Age: 45 (21)

Class: Shaman

Stats:

Strength: 6
Dexterity: 16
Constitution: 12
Intelligence: 17
Wisdom: 18
Charisma: 8

Physical Description: Standing at roughly 5’6” and 145lbs, nothing about Rin’s build announces reason for intimidation. Gentle locks of shadowy emerald hair flow wildly, framing her face, falling just above the waistline. Her eyes are aqua green, almost as if the forest and ocean came together in a dance; the battle between the two causing the color of them to change oft, always leaning one way or the other without either truly gaining ground. Ritual tattoos signifying her place as a priestess (and connecting her to the divines) contrast significantly against the soft ivory skin. Her movements are generally tender and calculated, even in stressful situations. Nonetheless, when in battle, she does not allow it to limit her. On her left shoulder there is a faint silvery scar from when she was rescued by a wolf.

Armor/Attire: Serving under the Lady of the Forest, Mielikki, Alfrin can usually be found in earthy tones of varying greens, browns, and whites. Her breastplate is made of simple leather with tree branching patterns burned delicately into the material. Leather boots work their way up to just above the shin. The gauntlets, one the other hand, are Elven, a faded gold in color, and are a token of her past. Various pouches line her belt and thighs, and a quiver of elk is strapped to her back. Her cloak is varying shades of browns and tans with flecks of cream throughout, much like a fawn’s coat. Around her neck is a small silver pendent, a tree whose branches and roots spread broad, eventually forming a circle around it; this symbol gives the blessing of Guidance and Protection.

Equipment

• Handcrafted longbow with elk quiver: holds 15 arrows
• Wolf’s Fangs: medical needles generally used for acupuncture; in battle can be used fatally if on artery or for paralysis if nerve
• Skinning knife: sheath is located at her back on her belt
• Shadowsong: 9” dagger, outer left thigh
• Alchemy Bag filled with various medicinal herbs
• Prayer book, as well as guide in connecting with both the divines and the fallen
• Various other provisions such as a waterskin, money, potions, dried rations, medical supplies, ect.

Mental Description/Personality:
Alfirineth is a kind soul with a gentle heart. Following the faith instilled in her, the young elf chooses to believe good can be found even in the darkest of hearts. Nonetheless, the girl is no fool, nor is ignorant to the cruelty in the world. It is more so the idea anyone can change for the better; it only takes a slight change in the winds to alter a course. Preferring to look at situations from the outside in, she is calculating and decisive in finalizing her thoughts. Once she has come to a conclusion little to nothing will change her mind. Intuitive to the feelings of others, Rin is rather selfless, putting them above her own. For those close to her, she would lay down her life no questions asked.

Rin is an independent, humble woman who often keeps her feet off the ground and her head in the clouds. Adventurous at heart, she finds a path less taken to be the one with the most interesting possibilities. Dedicated to nature, she respects even the tiniest creature, mentally processing all outcomes before actually taking a life. Being small, Rin doesn’t bother with heavy armor as she’d prefer to deal with her threats with her archery, from a distance. When forced into hand to hand combat she has learned how to use her opponent's strength against them through agility and training. Though generally soft natured, Rin is abrupt and to the point when irritated or angered. She isn't one for 'beating around the bush', and would rather say what she thinks and move on.

Due to the tattoos covering her body, Rin has the ability to connect with deities other than her own, even those of a darker nature. Unfortunately, doing so takes a massive toll on her body, usually cause her to be bedridden for a day or two minimum. Aside from this, her magic revolves around healing, strengthening the spirit, and summoning animals in nature to her aid (her spirit transformation is that of a large arctic wolf, this creature choice is specific to being a follower of Mielikki, Lady of the forest, along with aspects of Silvanus).

When it comes down to it Alfirineth highly values three traits: loyalty, honesty, and perseverance. Loyalty isn't blind or completely steadfast, but she feels safer knowing that her friends have her back and are willing to stand up for her. Honesty is crucial to any relationship in her mind, though she knows how to keep quiet when necessary. Perseverance is a quality which can tip the balance of scales, making the difference between a dream being forgotten or coming true.

Goals: She wishes to understand the world as seen from those raised on the outside, gaining a new perspective on the soul: what hardens it, breaks it, builds it back up again. Rin hopes to apply this knowledge into her faith, bringing the cycle of the universe together with a new perspective.

Background/History:
Born in a small village along the Heartblood River at the southern end of the High Forest (north of the Grey Vale), Alfirineth was raised to respect the nature around her, learning to make herself flexible to the flow rather trying to manipulate it to fit her own needs. Uncle being a master carpenter and stoneworker, the young girl excelled in the crafting of bows and arrows as well as in leather tanning. Her technique was strengthened in her knowledge of the hunt, much of her free time spent practicing with archery and trapping. It wasn’t long before she knew the area well, learning the art of craftiness from many close calls.

Many of the young elf’s earliest memories revolved around the general distrust in magic, as well as a distancing from divine thoughts in general. To her people, calling on these deities was nothing more than a wasted breath. Even then, the young girl couldn’t fully understand how magic, which appeared to be so beautiful, could be so inherently wicked. Her curiosity in these affairs was often cause of scrutiny, especially considering her father being a human. Though she never knew the man, let alone his ideologies on either case, Rin couldn’t help but feel a pull in her spirit that there was something more, something she should be looking for.

The validity of the feelings came with a confirmation one cool autumn day when Rin was approximately 13 years of age. Following a deer, the girl stumbled upon what appeared to be a necromancer summoning the undead. Naturally curious about magic in general, the elf climbed a nearby tree, making her way through the branches until she was in earshot. Enthralled by the scene, she ignored the subtle cracking sound of the branch. Within moments the safety of the boughs was replaced with the hard ground, the sound of her own body crunching against fallen leaves and the cracking of wood. The rest of the memory appeared as nothing but flashes: undead corpses surrounding her, flying through the air before landing against a rocky cliffside, her heart bursting out of her chest as a warm liquid flowed down her face. Then it came, a voice. Suddenly, she felt teeth in her shoulder, as her body was being pulled away from the fight. A druid appeared in her peripheral as wolves came out of the woods closing in on the necromancer. Alfirineth blacked out shortly afterwards, one thought on her mind, “It’s too soon in the season for their fur to be white…why?” Darkness came quickly.

Rin awakened already bandage, tucked in on her bed with her mother giving her a most peculiar look. Physically, she came out with the mild head trauma and a scar on her shoulder from the wolf that saved her. Still she felt unsettled, like a stone was sinking into the bottom of her stomach. That look…why did it make her feel this way? Soon it wasn’t just her mother, but the whole village. The voice from that day…it lingered. Years came and went, that longing for answers from her childhood refused to wane, gnawing at her constantly to the point even her dreams were filled with pictures she didn’t understand, faces that her eyes never rested upon. There was no staying in her homeland, that was a fact she’d grown up knowing but never truly acknowledged. Now, as she packed up what little she could carry on her person, Rin could only have faith in destiny. She needed to know what happened that day, what it all meant, what all those eyes knew but refused to say.

Her adventures began southward spreading from the High Moor east to the Hill of Lost Souls and back north again. Rumors of similar stories kept her following what seemed to be a path of dead ends. Completing small quest for locals or selling her woodwork kept her fed, allowing for enough connections to find the next lead.

Solace came at last in the form of an elderly elf seeking protection on her way through the Forgotten Forest. Offering a pretty price, Rin was unable to turn the woman down, though surprised the lady would choose someone so small over the orks also offering their assistance. “Call it a hunch. I’d expect a wood elf to give me a little luck on the venture. And you my dear, let’s just say I believe you have the gods on your side,” the woman laughed leaving Rin as confused as ever, but hopeful this was what she’d been waiting for. Curious to where they were traveling, Alfirineth learned it was a pilgrimage to the shrine of Silvanus, the Forest Father. Throughout the next week she learned the history of the god, of his “daughters” Mielikki and Eldath. It was early in the morning when they finally arrived. The instant Rin looked upon the shrine a vision came over her explaining everything she’d never known. The druid that rescued her that day was called upon by Silvanus himself. The mark on her shoulder, his blessing. He directed her to become a Shaman of Mielikki, therefore a direct worshipper of him as well. “Travel to Comanthor. Find your destiny there.”

For the first time in her life Rin felt at peace. Those looks she’d gotten all those years were for a blessing that only she seemed unable to see. Now her eyes were opened and her path sure.

The journey to Comanthor took her to many places, bringing a newfound wisdom to this world, for joy and for sorrow. Once abroad, she settled in Myth Drannor starting her quest for knowledge all over again. She learned from the locals of a shaman of Silvanus and Mielikki named Matolokive, known for his extensive knowledge in alchemy and healing. Through fate she became his disciple for the next 20 odd years, expanding her own abilities as a future priestess of Mielikki. Rin became an expert in herbal knowledge, medicinal techniques, and the fine line between healing a life and snuffing it out. Much of her time was spent expanding her wisdom through reading of books and scrolls. After completing her history of the divines she was granted with the ritual tattoos to help hone her abilities in seeking guidance. Physically, she was taught to push her body to the limits in the name of understanding her place as part of the universe. Rin was taught hand to hand combat, how to use her small frame to her advantage. Forced to train for hours on end, it all set the foundation for when she would once again head out on her own, claiming her place a lighthouse for the weary.