[PF-1e] Giantslayers

[Jarl11]

Originally Posted by OneDarkness

At least I still have a week to get my concept fleshed out, it's nice to have a bit of time, did you prefer them in a day or so before deadline so you have extra time for review or is right up to the deadline good?

Everyone with an application in has until the posted deadline. If we start getting many more apps then I may cut off new submissions earlier. That's a warning to any lurkers waiting for the last minute!

[OneDarkness]

Character Basics Name: Vinicius "Vee" Ovidius Race: Chelaxian (Human) Alignment: Neutral Good Class: Ranger (Trapper Archetype) Traits: You were born and raised in the town of Trunau, one of the few human settlements in the orc dominated Hold of Belkzen. Orc attacks are an ever-present threat, and like all Trunauans, you have made the Standing Vow: to hold Trunau against all attackers, orc or otherwise, to stand your ground, and to live free or die trying. Upon coming of age, you were given a hopeknife—a small, sheathed dagger, usually worn on a chain under your clothes—and taught how to use it to take your own life to avoid capture by orcs, or to grant the mercy of a quick death to the wounded. As a native, you have served in Trunau’s militia, and fought alongside Patrol Captains Kurst and Rodrik Grath. You begin play with a hopeknife (a masterwork dagger), and your tenacity in the face of adversity grants you a +1 trait bonus on Will saves.Trunau Native / You have a tendency for rash behavior, often disregarding your own safety as you move across the battlefield. You gain a +1 bonus on Acrobatics checks, and Acrobatics is always a class skill for you.Reckless Description: Vee has many of the qualities of his Chelaxian heritage such as being pale skinned with only a bit of weathering from exposure to the harsh winds that sweep the Mindspin Mountains, thick black hair that is swept back away from his face in with a well trimmed short beard of the same coloring. Evenly spaced dark brown eyes watch calmly the world about them as they sit over a strong nose with the remaining facial features being lean and tight. Roughly six feet in height, give or take a couple of inches, with broader than average shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist with his arms and legs showing wiry muscle from long hours of exercise and effort. Physical characteristics aside his clothing is sturdy and functional with extra stitching and support in the important areas, with colors that favoring greys and browns, and commonly accompanied by a heavy fur lined hooded cloak. A sturdy looking handaxe hangs conveniently on his belt but all know he favors his handcrafted longbow when he goes on patrol that has been artistically decorated through the use of wood burning giving it a distinctive appearance. Even when unarmored he typically has a thick leather bracer upon his left armor, though if you ever looked close enough under it you would find enough faded scars to suggest why he has it. More important than his general appearance and dress is the way in which he carries himself, he has the confidence of youth which gives him the bold stride that is not swagger but more a sense of pride in his service, being light on his feet more than one Truauan has seen him cross the busy commons weaving easily through the crowd without missing a beat. Not surprisingly his smooth baritone voice follows his stride, deep and assured but one of his few aspects that isn't reckless and instead takes on a steady cadence neither rushed nor drawn out but is useful and easy to follow when he is speaking. He frequently uses his hands to gesture as he is talking to help make his points and indicate direction or whom he is referring to which helps those trying to interpret his intentions from a distance.

 

Getting inside his head Beliefs: All a man has is his word - More than most Vee has believes that if someone says they are going to do something than he fully expects them to do it or try their hardest without quitting. Same can be said for his own word, if he gives it then he will stand by what he has agreed to, often making him reckless, but at the same time earning him the respect of others. Together we stand, separate we fall - Nothing truer could ever be said than this and the people of Trunau have proved it over and over again, the Standing Vow was no joke among them and together they have withstood all that have come to raid their fair town. It has fostered a strong sense of community in Vee and he enjoys to be part of a group versus acting as a lone individual, for no man or woman is so good that they can not use some help from time to time. Goals: Become an archer of legend - There are more than a few good archers within the sturdy walls of Trunau, each recognizing the other talented archers within their midst, forming a sort of friendly rivalry in seeking to out do each other with their skill. While Vee currently is not the most skilled of them he has shown great promise and he would like to prove that he is worthy of being considered one of the top archers, perhaps even gaining some small bit of fame or recognition for his talents. See the unseen - Almost everybody within the walls has seen an orc, probably even killed or fought one in some fashion or another but how many can say they have tracked a rare magical beast, have gone up against a towering giant, or faced a might soaring dragon. Though life not only about bloodshed, and there are many scenic vistas to be seen, crystal studded caverns or raging rivers to fill him with a sense of awe and reverence for the world around him. Often he encourages others to do the same, for too often he has found people rush about their daily lives while barely noticing the world around them, so if there is something of interest to see and time is not of the essence he is likely the one to suggest they pause for a moment and take it in. Fears: Honor thy father and thy mother - One of his greatest fears is to in some way or fashion disappoint his parents whom he loves deeply, they have lived an honorable life devoted to their children and the people of Trunau, if he ever did something that would cast any sort of stain upon their reputation or that of his family he would not be able to live with himself. The guiding principals that his parents and grandfather have lived by might as well have been carved into some stone tablets for how they followed them, never straying from their basic tenets which are both simple and complex all at the same time. honor, service, courageservitium animo honorem is the family motto and in character with their military roots before their descendants settled in this area and while they are no longer professional soldiers any more the sentiments remain.

 

His history Trunau: The Ovidius family can trace its routes back many generations with Trunau where they have for generations been known as reliable trappers and hunters, and more recently starting with his grandfather, Lucius, as skilled bowyers. Every month they add a couple bows and some arrows to stockpile maintained beneath the Longhouse or to new patrol members or promising archers to assist in the defence of Trunau, since you will never know when a single arrow could be enough to break the charge of the raiding orcs. At the age of twelve Vee made the Standing Vow continuing the tradition of his family's service and accepted his hopeknife and has been chained and worn around his neck as a source of pride since that day. Working with his grandfather and father in their workshop he has learned the bowyer craft, and has gone with them on many excursions hunting and trapping the surrounding lands to gather furs, skins and meat as their forebears have done for centuries. With no house to keep, wife to help, or children to watch over he has been spending more time with the militia and serving under Patrol Captains Kurst and Rodrik where he has preformed admirably. Vee has a few friends of his age about town that he sees frequently when not on patrol or working with his family, and has courted a couple of the unspoken for women as well, though as of yet has not taken any of those relationships to a higher level of commitment. Background: Meet the family - Three generations of the Ovidius family current inhabit the stone and wood house within the walls of Trunau, with his grandfather Lucius who was widowed near on five years back, Vee parent's Tiberius and Milonia, and their three children with Vee being the eldest followed by his sisters Verania and Sennia. All are for the most part well rounded individuals, well liked and respected within the community for their hard work and willingness to help others help themselves, they are far from rich but are content in their standing both financially and socially. Taking the Standing Vow - Despite the ever present fear of attack, blood thirsty orc raiders and going it their own in the middle of no where childhood wasn't all that different than growing up anywhere else. The first few years were spent at home under the care of his loving mother, and being the first born he was spoiled having all of her attention to himself, until he was old enough to begin joining the school taught lessons in the commons with the other children. The next few years were spent with mornings at lessons and afternoons apprenticing under the watchful eye of his father and grandfather learning how to lovingly craft bows, and the evenings after meal was spent frolicking with other children of similar age in the streets. It wasn't until he started approaching his twelfth year and they started preparing for the Standing Vow and what it meant to all of them that the seriousness of the situation really started to hit home, the responsibility of it all was profound and truly felt like it was the coming of age moment for them all. At the Hopeknife festival they had all stood forth before the community and took the Standing Vow to hold Trunau against all attackers, orc or otherwise, to stand their ground, and to live free or die trying; accepted their Hopeknives they were welcomed by the community and a great celebration ensued. Becoming a man - With the Hopeknife firmly in place around his neck his father and grandfather began truly teaching him the art of the hunt, how to move through and survive off the lands that surrounded Trunau and how to fight the many threats that one could encounter while outside the walls. The apple didn't fall far from the tree and under their excellent tutelage he quickly grew into an accomplished hunter, scout and warrior and as he grew older he begin going on patrols with the militia often serving in the role of a scout as he had a fine eye for the spotting and disarming of orc laid traps. He grew to anticipate the lay of the land before him so that he could see where there would be ideal places to ambush from or where the natural environment could hamper their foes, even the exploration of the many cave and tunnel systems that riddled the mountains on the lookout for Orcish movements. He had a knack or reckless disregard for his own life, nimbly hopping about mountain ledges, careening down narrow paths or jumping narrow rivers in his hunts often taking risks that wiser people would have hesitated at to gain the best vantage for lining up his shots. There was little doubt that he was firmly on the path to manhood and if his reckless habits don't get him killed there is a bright and promising future for him in Trunau.

 

Optional Additions Posting Rate: Daily assuming I have something to act on Character Song: Theme from Robin Hood Prince of Thieves

Looking down upon them A cold wind swept along the hard rock face and across the narrow ledge upon which Vee perched precariously along its edge sitting as still as a gargoyle upon its rocky perch, a heavy wool scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face kept the biting cold at bay, or at least lessened its force. Watching the freshly trodden trail that wound its way through the settled snow below him, Vee could see the tell tale indicators the orcs for they tended towards a loose organization when they were on the move, spread out and giving away their numbers which he wagered were about a dozen. Vee had spotted the trail only a couple hours into the forward patrol as they moved along the high game trails under Patrol Captains Kurst, and now they lay in wait for the geography of this area meant that it naturally turned and funneled you back along the wide plateau below, making it the perfect spot for an ambush, all they had to do was wait. Without turning his head he could hear the soft crunch of the snow as the patrol captain slowly moved forward stopping a foot or so back from Vee's current position, his gravelly voice was easily heard by Vee and the wind likely masked it from any others, not that there was much chance of it being heard below them with the wind blowing as it was. Vee you seeing anything yet, another hour or two and we need to start heading back ourselves or we will be crossing some pretty difficult terrain in the dark? Nothing yet captain, but they have even further to go back than us so I would imagine if they are coming back it will be soon, maybe we will get lucky and they are hauling back a fresh haul of game that we can take off their hands. Turning his head slightly Vee could see out of his peripheral the wrinkles forming around the captains eyes suggesting he was smiling at the thought of depriving the orcs of any bounty and killing a few of the loathsome bastards too boot, the captain gave him a quick nod and shuffled back to join the others along the rock wall where the effects of the wind were less notable as they waited patiently. Another fifteen minutes past before he started to pick out some movement from the east, almost impossible to make out at this distance but the movement was noticeable all the same, indicating movement he looked back at the captain. The others moved ever so slowly forward bring their bows out and quiver easily accessible before them as they patiently waited for their prey to get closer, the captain gave the unnecessary order to ready and wait for his signal, they all knew the drill. As the orcs came closer they indeed were carrying two large caribou and moving haphazardly back along the same path below, not even aware of the eight men of Trunau above them drawing aim as the approach below them, finally when they were almost directly below the captain stood and fired on the lead Orc and the others including Vee stood and follow suit picking their way down the line of orcs in rapid fire succession. The orcs caught unaware broke ranks and scattered as they broke into a run heading towards their own borders, continuing to fire arrow after arrow upon the orcs they made short work of them and scarlet pools of blood began breaking up the white snow below them until there was no more movement below other than the feeble efforts of the dying.

[Blackfyre]

And Valerius has been updated, with your feedback in mind, Jarl. Thanks again for that.

[OneDarkness]

Alright I got basics up and just need to do up the background but at least the rest is up for the table, please see here

[Jarl11]

KIDDING!Nope, too late, OneDarkness. Table's updated. That's 30 apps.

Anyone else looking to put in an application - that has not already done so - has until the end of day on Monday, 13 July to put something down. Deadline for final submission remains unchanged for 17 July. I'm not a hard-a#@ for deadlines so it's flexible until I get up the next day and check the boards. So likely around 9 am EST the next day.

Want to give anyone working on an application a chance to still submit but there are a crap load of apps and ALL of them are looking good. So this will hopefully cut off those last minute-quick-draft-how-much-time-do-I-have things on the last day before I get to spend all weekend flipping coins to see who gets in! Have gotten messages from a couple people that were interested but have decided they will not be applying.

Again, let me know if there are any specific questions!

[Xian]

Jarl/Team,

My updates to Makkari have been completed based on feedback... just props again for taking on such an undertaking, but given your choice of role models it is not surprising that you brought so much pain on yourself!

Onward!

Cheers, Xian

[MachinesWillWin]

I just realized that Samiale has two Social Traits, I've made the necessary changes. Mr. Dalin is complete and ready for review at your convenience.

[Sassafrass]

Application is updated, mostly in terms of writing. Not a real re-write, just additions. A re-write may be in the books, possibly.

[Ziether]

Completely reworked my app HERE. It still feels terrible, so if anyone (other than the overworked Jarl11) would give me criticism, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Many thanks!
Z

[OneDarkness]

Alright Vee is about as done as he is going to be at this stage and can be found here

[Vex]

Modified Anders' app slightly.

@Jarl, the Youtube link should work again now! The more I listen to it, the more I am certain this is the perfect piece for the shy halfling warpriest.

[ItsaVerb]

My app is complete.

I didn't come up with anything yet in terms of how or why Kyra is halfway across the world from her home, but I have a jump-off, and (a) I think it's not necessarily super impacting in terms of placing her in the story (and in fact, I think sometimes these vast character histories can do more to box a character in than lend to good roleplay. That might just be making an excuse, though. ha!! (b) I'd definitely be open to pairing up with a character to help place her there and create a pre-existing bond of some kind--which of course would only be if I am selected.

So... for now, I'm done, ready for critique, criticism, berating, etc.

[Jarl11]

Aye aye, mes amies!

Will try to get a couple more reviews done tonight. Tomorrow no reviews will be completed as we'll be out of the hotel and into a house with no internet for about a day. Won't be doing those from my phone. Rest of the week will be busy unpacking and sorting. Will try to knock out a couple a day but no guarantees after tonight. Sorry folks!

[Mcderth]

Congratulations on the new house! Unpacking was always my least favorite part of moving, so hopefully it goes well for you.

[Pads]

Name: Sittania Weatherflower
Race: Halfling
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class: Rogue
Traits: Armor Expert (Combat), Adopted-Elf: Warrior of Old (Social), Vexing Defender (Campaign)
Drawback: Family Ties. Both her sister and the community of elves that raised her are extremely important to Sittania. She would seek to do almost anything they asked of her and would be distraught if she were not able to.

 

From the fog-kissed hills to the mossy riverbeds, the halfling folk are known the world over for their jocularity, spontaneity, and love of merriment. For Sitty Weatherflower, age 3, these qualities died in a row within the blaze that consumed her home and the decapitated bodies of her parents. As the cottage broke apart above her, Sitty, cowering in the tiny cellar below, survived due to a support beam that fell at a most fortuitous angle. That particular beam, its wood thick enough to be resistant to the flames, created beneath it a small safe haven. There, Sitty waited out the conflagration, clutching the hand of her sister, Ditty, age 4, until they passed out from the smoke.

The marauding orcs that had torched the village, her family's cottage included, were eventually run down and slaughtered themselves by the same elven hunting party that pulled Sitty and her sister from the ashes. As the only survivors of the attack on the small fishing village, the two halfling girls were taken deep into the woods and raised by the elves as their own. The patience, devotion to perfection, and love of art and music possessed by the elves were all instilled within the girls doing their childhoods. The young halflings even chose to change their names to sound more elvish; Sittania and Dittania respectively. The elves, however, also tried to cultivate the halflings’ natural affinity for humor, practical jokes, and levity, but neither sister seemed to absorb it. The trauma of their early lives was never forgotten.

Dittania grew up with a vexing anger towards the orcs that had attacked their village. Drawn to the idea that the wicked should be hunted down before they could bring such tragedies as the one the sisters had endured, she trained with weapons and armor until she earned the privilege to travel to a monastery to learn the disciplines of a crusading knight. She left Sittania a pair of pendants in the shape of a longsword to remember her by.

Sittania herself, however, had no interest in such things. Though it had been orcs that had attacked their village, she felt no animosity towards orcs as a whole. If it had not been orcs, it would have been something else. The village had, after all, boasted no lookouts and no militia. Her elven tutors warned her against blaming the victim, but she was never able to discard the idea that the catastrophe could have been avoided or mitigated with proper vigilance. She would not let her new home suffer the same fate.

It was such, then, that she devoted herself fully to her craft of choice: security. She learned the ways of the scout and the ways of the skulk. They taught her to use quick weapons, to move amidst the ranks of larger, slower foes, and to move in armor as though it were her own skin. Even the ways of burglary and thievery were taught to her and they came easily to one with halfling blood. She learned the arts of subtlety, not to be a thief herself, but to catch thieves as an agent of the law. Whereas her sister was learning to vanquish the wicked, Sittania was learning to out-think them. Such a skill, however, required learning how they thought, acted, and moved.

Adopting elven mannerisms, as she had for most of her life, was one thing, but biology is less mutable. As a halfling, Sittania was naturally quick, stealthy, and sly and each of these attributes was only enhanced by the ancient elven techniques that she learned. The elves made for fiercely disciplined teachers and she transformed into an equally fierce student. Her progress impressed her tutors, but she was never satisfied with it. She always sought to be more observant, to be more clever, because the difference between being caught off guard and surviving could be a slight one.

As she approached adulthood, her tutors decided that the greatest obstacle to her progress was her ignorance of the world abroad. “To catch liars, you must know their lies and, at this time, you only know the lies of elves”, said her teacher at one point. In the vein of addressing this issue , it was decided that she was to leave their settlement for one year, seek gainful employment in her chosen field, and return to them wiser for her exploits. Despite her objections, her head teacher insisted and provided Sittania with a map to a town he believed would be perfect for her: Trunau, a town of mixed races within the Holding of Belkzen, a territory she eventually learned was swarming with orcs. A touch of his sense of humor, no doubt.

By the time Sittania had began her journey, however, she had convinced herself that it was an opportunity to show her tutors what she could do and that she was worthy of the life they had given her.

 

Sittania believes in the power of the disciplined community and the vigilant individual over the threats of the wicked. A lookout, a militia, an escape route... any of these things might have saved her parents and her village. Sittania does not intend to ever let her guard down.

Sittania believes in a strong code of ethics. The elves that raised her have successfully instilled within Sittania that life is measured not in how long you live but in how you live. They raised her to embrace the idea that ethics is not a straightjacket, but a tool and a guide for interacting with the world.

 

In the short term, Sittania seeks to fulfill the wishes of her tutors and acquire gainful employment in Trunau, but her goals lie far outside the city.

Sittania's life was saved by the elves that raised her. She seeks to be worthy of that act of benevolence. To that end, she dreams of earning a place of honor in their society. Given her training in security, being assigned as a head bodyguard for a high ranking noble seems the most likely option and such thoughts fill her mind as she slides into sleep each night.

Sittania's sister left the hospitality of the elves to become a paladin, in order to better hunt down and vanquish the evils of the world, such as the orcs that burned the Weatherflower home. While Sittania understands her sister's passion, she hopes that she can someday convince her to abandon that path and return to the home of the elves where they might be reuinted. She frequently sends letters to the monastery where Dittania trains for that purpose.

 

Sittania lives in fear that she will receive word that her sister, Dittania, had been killed or severely injured. She also worries about not living up to the standards and expectations of the elves that raised her. She owes them everything and would be devastated to learn that she had disappointed them.

In regards to fears of a more primal nature, though she does not flee at the mere sight of it, Sittania remains very uncomfortable around fire. Enclosed flames, such as a lamp or a lantern don't bother her, but open flames like torches, fireplaces, and even candles are something that she tends to stay as far away from as possible. A single candle burning on the other side of a round tavern table is about the threshold of what she can tolerate without showing signs of discomfort.

 

Even the most uninterested of observers would take note of the passing of the small female known as Sittania Weatherflower. The eyes of the common villager - so content in their world of browns and greys, and having nearly forgotten their natural thirst for light - find themselves all but drowned at the sight of her white-gold hair. As if it were the crest of a towering waterfall, her head pours its bounty down her back where it is funneled into a wide, silver clasp before continuing down to a handspan above her belt; no single hair permitted to be longer than another. The fine coat and breeches she wears are all white leather, save for a line of gold buttons offset of center and a few patches of black and yellow along the sides for decoration. Surely, she is some nobleman’s lost child.

Yet, a closer look reveals that it is not a human child, but a halfling female at the dawn of womanhood. But, where is the joviality? Where does her race’s bountiful light-heartedness hide in a face as focused and watchful as it is fair and unblemished. What words she chooses to vocalize are polite and well-spoken, but her eyes, as deeply green as the heart of the forest, harbor something that is most unusual in a halfling. She watches those around her as, looking downward, a hawk watches a hare. No… as a hawk, flexing its powerful talons and sitting on a clutch of its eggs, looks upward and watches a sky full of hungry buzzards.

 

(Not Pictured: The outfit in the description, which is what she would normally wear.)

Posting Rate: My posting rate will be appropriate based on the activity levels of the DM and other players. As many as 1-2 posts a day is not out of the question if activity is high enough.

Theme Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJlJ2j_mcxg

 

A writing sample:

Sittania adjusted her traveling pack across her shoulder, ensuring that the white leather of her coat remained crisp and uncreased underneath the weight of the strap. Far across the landscape, the town of Trunau now peaked over the horizon at her; curious about a new player come to its table. Sittania, likewise, looked back, curious about the rules of its game.

There were some things she knew, however. Trunau was a city of walls and spikes; pits and trenches. Like a porcupine that bristles under the gaze of the hungry wolf that towers over it, Trunau lived in the shadow of its own death, displaying its spines boldly, as both warning and promise to those that would do it harm. What would these people be like? Would they be paranoid of the danger that strides unhindered around it? Would they be prideful of their own survival against such odds? Was it discipline that had fostered their success? Was it luck?

A dozen theories cascaded through her mind, but no thought was as strong as her memory of a song the elves had taught her when she was younger. It had always been a favorite of hers and as a child she had memorized the words long before she had understood the message of the lyrics; the value of subtlety and self-awareness over ostentatious displays of power. The words gave her comfort as she took the final steps towards the towering, menacing walls of her new home.

O riseth the gold sun, how brightly she shows
Whom melts away darkness, and burns away snows
Up soaring and roaring, through sapphire sky goes
And needing no heeding of how the wind blows.

Launch skyward, o’ gold sun, can nothing oppose?
So boldly and quickly you vanquish your foes.
You hinder the winter and warm that which froze,
And night becomes bright and is brought to a close.

Be wary, my child, when gold sun’s arose,
Though it may bring life to each thing that grows,
She never will learn what the subtle man knows:
That the sun cannot see all the shadows it throws.

 

 

Dearest Ditty

I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I know it follows only a few weeks after my last letter and I hope that you will forgive my zeal in writing again so soon, but my next letter may be many months away, if it comes at all.

The situation I spoke of in my last correspondence (the situation with the giants) has escalated. That a war with them is inevitable is the inescapable conclusion come to by even the most blind of men. Yet, an even deeper gaze into the heart of the looming conflict reveals that this will not be a drawing of swords in honorable combat between two opponents who share a mutual respect. This shall be a war of annihilation. I believe that the giants, too long lost in their hatred of those that live in greener lands than they, shall grab ahold of civilization and hold it in an iron grip. Pressed tightly together against their mortal enemy, the giants shall seek to hurl themselves, unflinching, off of the tallest mountaintop they can find, to see which side, if either, is strong enough to survive the plummet. They shall have victory or they shall have death and they shall suffer no fate betwixt.

For a time, I believed myself to be caught hopelessly in the middle, but these thoughts were in error. Have I not, long ago, chosen the hearth over the invader? What law shall I help to enforce in a city overrun by giants? I know it is not my intended purpose in Trunau and I know I am not made for front line warfare, but the arm that wields the sword will need an eye to guide it and in the practice of reconnaissance I am most capable.

My obligation to Master Aeonis is, I must conclude, a cause of lesser importance in the shadow of the approaching conflict. It is also worth noting, with sobering frankness, that its completion might soon by impossible anyway. Returning to him in failure, however, despite the situation being out of my control, is a thought I find most distasteful, if for no other reason than that I have no real proof that it truly is out of my control. Perhaps I do have the capacity to make a difference. To that end, I have volunteered my services to the forces that will seek to defend this city.

When first I sat to write this letter to you, it seemed I was bursting with things to say, knowing that this would be the last correspondence I sent to you for a great while, if not the outright last. Yet, now that I have come to it, I can think of nothing to say that I have not already said both in person and in ink and my quill hovers above the paper in belligerent anticipation. Surely we can agree, however, that a mostly empty page would be a somber and sorry thing to send to you with this news. So, perhaps it might bring a cooling note to your mind to hear that I am not alone in my desire to see the city endure the coming trails. Others have signed on to stand against the giants and through conversations, tribulations, and even times of merriment I have, for my part, come to know them.

No person can be reduced to a paragraph, but I shall make my best effort to reveal to you those individuals who surround your sister, stand shoulder to shoulder with her against a common foe, and keep her, as she is bound to keep them.

Felix Manfield. The perfect person to steal victory away from the giants, as he seems to have already stolen their size and strength from them. A larger human I cannot say I have ever laid eyes on and his skills have already begun to prove valuable. He is to the dirt and grass what I am to the cobblestone street; a watcher, a hawk's eye. His behavior in the drinking hall is a bit overwhelming for my taste, but he is as competent and focused on duty as he is loud and brash off duty. In the end, I believe that it is his great and open heart, which pumps strongest for the people he lives to defend, is his greatest quality.

Valerius, a human born amidst human nobility, possesses a demeanor as far separated from Felix's as can be imagined. Fool is the man that looks upon him and mistakes his silence for shyness, however. His mind is equal parts library and war room and there is always a bright lantern aflame in each. He values the virtues of patience, listening, and diplomacy and is well versed in the true machinations that enable civilization. You know that I do not give this compliment lightly, but Valerius is a subtle man. When my duties for the day are complete I have been known to seek him out, sit across two steam-crowned cups of redwhistle tea, and converse with him on politics, societal contracts, or whatever the subject of the day happens to be until the evening grows thin.

Orrin Stratatoa is a most curious being. Belonging to a race I have never heard of, Oread, he possesses the general shape of a short human, but he appears as if were made entirely of a rough, gray stone with two sapphire gems where eyes should be. Orrin is a warden of the wilderness, akin to the forest-walkers of our homeland, and he has come to Trunau to seek help against the ravages of the giants that have already reached his mountainous countryside. There is a certain, respectable quality in a person who is willing to admit that the task at hand is beyond their abilities and that they need help. I do not doubt that he will be valuable in the fight to come, however, I wonder... should his homeland be secured, would Trunau be promptly forgotten?

Barnabus, Lord Clutterbuck. Surely, he is the living embodiment of what Jacelyius told us was often the cause of the other civilized races not taking our kind seriously. An avowed thief, burglar, hooligan and miscreant, he has sworn that his underhanded days are behind him. Yet, I believe he stands upon a trapdoor, the latch of which is tied to a cord that winds its way through the lies he has chosen to believe about himself. The end of the cord lies securely in his own hand and it would take but the slightest tug to pull it and open the trapdoor, releasing him back down into a skullduggerous existence. I imagine that, when on his path to becoming a respectable citizen, he first becomes impeded by a minor inconvenience, his fingers will swell with a most alluring itch. His skills (that of the aforementioned burglar) and his commitment to the grooming of his meretricious facial hair are not in question, but to believe in his professed loyalty to the cause seems a poor investment of faith.

Remaining on the subject of faith, the human named Asgeirr Njallson is a holy man unlike any I have met before (and not just because of the large muscles that slumber underneath his armor). You and I grew up with elves, for whom rituals must be added to air and food to create a list of basic requirements, yet here is a priest who has no use for rituals at all. His sect worships not just knowledge, but the search for knowledge. They actually revere the search itself - the journey – and I find that most fascinating. As such, I have formed a working relationship with Asgeirr, though perhaps it is not as warm as it could be. You see, a component of their faith is also the acceptance, if not the outright seeking, of death, particularly in combat. There are no shortage of philosophies in the world that value a good or honorable death, however they choose to define it, but it always makes me wonder if I'm standing next to a martyr waiting to happen. His courage is a boon to be sure and that he seems willing to die for a cause is meritable, but would he not rather live for it?

If you took the nomadic human known as Sky into a room with a canvas, a brush, and paints of every color and asked her to paint a portrait of herself, she would reach for yellow, red, and white. Were I placed in that same room and instructed to create a portrait of Sky, I would take blue, gray, and indigo and I would paint a placid and cloudless dusk that comes upon the zenith of night and swirls suddenly into a roiling tempest that empties the oceans of water and washes clean the beaches of men and gods alike until they are left without a single grain of sand. Upon looking at my painting, you would know the storm that boils inside of this gentle, honorable woman.

To many that I come across, I am easy to dismiss outright as just another halfling; small, simple, irresponsible and untrustworthy. To other halflings, however, I am humorless, stuffy, and as vain as the elves that raised me. Each side sees within me the qualities of the other that they like the least. So, too, is the fate of Hrotha Nortjan. The orcs from her mother's side look at her and see only human weakness. Many humans from her father's side see only a monstrous and savage orc. Neither is accurate, but how do you disengage from a conflict that your face carries around with it everywhere you go? I have no easy answer for Hrotha, but if ever there is a person who searches for someone to vouch for her, then I shall use my arrogant, elven tongue to speak my praises of her strength, discipline, and courage as loudly as my tiny, frail halfling lungs can manage.

When the military commanders seek to bring in rewards for the men that have fought hard, they reliably produce roasted pork, aged mead, and giggling girls, but too often they forget the primal enjoyment of a minstrel's song. It is convenient then that the ranks of Trunau's defenders boasts the human Eghan the Pale, whose voice seeks out a beating heart as accurately as his axe does. I have seen the elves weave magic and song together before. Eghan's magic is cut from a different cloth, to be sure, but it seems no less potent. Perhaps too much of his time is spent in the mead hall and too many of his thoughts are spent on vengeance for those that wronged him in the past, but I have missed music too much to judge him unfavorably, and his shared appreciation for song is too rare a thing here to dismiss.

When I left our homeland, I had often wondered (and worried, if truth be told) how well I would get along with elves that were not members of the community we grew up with. There have been precious few to give trial to my concerns, but if they are anything like Makkari Alendil, then I believe I have fretted in vain. Were he not both a practitioner of magic and a military officer, I would still have a plethora of positive qualities for which to respect him: discipline, forethought, and a strict adherence to formality being only a few. A curious thing about him, however, is the strange mark upon his face. It is the touch of what Jacelyius used to call 'the old forest', a facet of the natural world that most of civilization has forgotten ever existed. What I have heard of the temperaments of beings from the old forest ranges from duplicitous to outright malignant, but Makkari has not shown any signs of sharing in this darkness.

I dream of a grand masquerade, like the ones they held up north that we, as children, were never permitted to attend. Gowns and dancing; masks and music all make for a most alluring fantasy to a star-eyed, curious halfling girl. I dreamed that I snuck my way north and into the festival. There I beheld every color, sound and sensation I could imagine and the most enchanting of these was a single woman, her face hidden by the most elegant mask that had ever been crafted. She was both surrounded by men who, shameless, drank in her gentle laughter as though they might suffocate without it and stared at by the women whose jealousy was burned away in the glow of her grace and wit, leaving nothing but genuine appreciation in their hearts. She was everything a small, awkward girl could ever wish to become and I dreamt that I snuck through the crowds and plucked the woman's mask from her face, desperate to see the identity of that most bewitching figure. In my dream, the mask comes off easily and the shimmering gown falls away to reveal naught but empty air. Such is the human enchantress who calls herself Sophitia. At first, she earned my distrust. Had I not been taught to see such things, I may have been fooled (gods help the men, because are they are truly helpless near her). Her eyes too sharp to be naive; her hands too precise to be innocent, I thought her an actress, a succubus to steal away the possessions of men with a fair smile and silky whisper. Yet, an actress is a person who becomes another person and this is not Sophitia. Try as I might, there is nothing for me to distrust. There is nothing hidden. Only the mask is real.

Anders Barterson, warpriest of Iomedea is as intimidating a name and profession as I can recall having come across. I wonder how many would, upon hearing it, be disappointed to find that he is a halfling. I am not one of them, of course, and not just because we are of the same kin. There are no doubts concerning how deeply his metal boots dig into the ground on the field of battle, how adeptly his hands grip his weapon of war, or how much steel runs through his spine at the sight of the innocent being threatened. No, the only doubt that exists concerning Mr. Barterson are in his own head. Perhaps we are all, in our own way, guilty of subjecting ourselves to doubt, but this man struggles more openly with it than any other I have named here. I hope dearly that he vanquishes his hesitations before the axes of giants begin to rain down on us.

It is, perhaps, not a coincidence that I have saved the human Kyra Viru for last. She is a fitting climax to my list of companions, as it difficult for me to overstate my respect and admiration for her. Her dedication to the perfection of her own body and its athleticism and performance is at least equal to my own, even to the point where I fear I may teeter on the edge of insecurity. Furthermore, she is - what fortune - a creature of the law, but, like myelf, she understands that the law must be a living entity; a force that fosters and encourages benevolence, honesty and the better angels of those that live under its guiding hand. I must admit that her reasons for being in Trunau, in comparison to some of the others, are a bit nebulous, but I believe she will stand with the city through whatever dark hours are to come. I also believe that her interest in the coming conflict might be because she sees it as an anvil on which she may further forge and hone the weapon that is her body. Though that might otherwise sound like the behavior of an untrustworthy opportunist, I think, in her case, it can only be added as a credit to her name.

Now, I fear, we have come to the end of my letter. I know it saddens me, but I hope you are not saddened by receiving it. This thing that I go to do, it is the right thing to do. My only regret is that we are not doing it together.

I imagine that you may feel an uneasy swell in your stomach, a surging trepidation that, while I am working in the service of war, our enemy will catch and kill me. On this subject, I must regretfully inform you that I am rather easy to kill; my body is small and the bones that give it structure are no obstacle to the strength of giants. But, fear not, dearest Dittania, for I am most difficult to catch.

Forever your loving sister and most loyal ally,
Sitty Weatherflower

 

Name	Sittania's Thoughts (as expressed in correspondence to her sister)
Felix Mansfeld	The perfect person to steal victory away from the giants, as he seems to have already stolen their size and strength from them. A larger human I cannot say I have ever laid eyes on and his skills have already begun to prove valuable. He is to the dirt and grass what I am to the cobblestone street; a watcher, a hawk's eye. His behavior in the drinking hall is a bit overwhelming for my taste, but he is as competent and focused on duty as he is loud and brash off duty. In the end, I believe that it is his great and open heart, which pumps strongest for the people he lives to defend, is his greatest quality.
Valerius	A human born amidst human nobility, who possesses a demeanor as far separated from Felix's as can be imagined. Fool is the man that looks upon him and mistakes his silence for shyness, however. His mind is equal parts library and war room and there is always a bright lantern aflame in each. He values the virtues of patience, listening, and diplomacy and is well versed in the true machinations that enable civilization. You know that I do not give this compliment lightly, but Valerius is a subtle man. When my duties for the day are complete I have been known to seek him out, sit across two steam-crowned cups of redwhistle tea, and converse with him on politics, societal contracts, or whatever the subject of the day happens to be until the evening grows thin.
Orrin Stratatoa	A most curious being. Belonging to a race I have never heard of, Oread, he possesses the general shape of a short human, but he appears as if were made entirely of a rough, gray stone with two sapphire gems where eyes should be. Orrin is a warden of the wilderness, akin to the forest-walkers of our homeland, and he has come to Trunau to seek help against the ravages of the giants that have already reached his mountainous countryside. There is a certain, respectable quality in a person who is willing to admit that the task at hand is beyond their abilities and that they need help. I do not doubt that he will be valuable in the fight to come, however, I wonder... should his homeland be secured, would Trunau be promptly forgotten?
Barnabus, Lord Clutterbuck	Surely, he is the living embodiment of what Jaceylius told us was often the cause of the other civilized races not taking our kind seriously. An avowed thief, burglar, hooligan and miscreant, he has sworn that his underhanded days are behind him. Yet, I believe he stands upon a trapdoor, the latch of which is tied to a cord that winds its way through the lies he has chosen to believe about himself. The end of the cord lies securely in his own hand and it would take but the slightest tug to pull it and open the trapdoor, releasing him back down into a skullduggerous existence. I imagine that, when on his path to becoming a respectable citizen, he becomes impeded by the first minor inconvenience, his fingers will swell with a most alluring itch. His skills (that of the aforementioned burglar) and his commitment to the grooming of his meretricious facial hair are not in question, but to believe in his professed loyalty to the cause seems a poor investment of faith.
Asgeirr Njallson	This human is a holy man unlike any I have met before (and not just because of the large muscles that slumber underneath his armor). You and I grew up with elves, for whom rituals must be added to air and food to create a list of basic requirements, yet here is a priest who has no use for rituals at all. His sect worships not just knowledge, but the search for knowledge. They actually revere the search itself - the journey – and I find that most fascinating. As such, I have formed a working relationship with Asgeirr, though perhaps it is not as warm as it could be. You see, a component of their faith is also the acceptance, if not the outright seeking, of death, particularly in combat. There are no shortage of philosophies in the world that value a good or honorable death, however they choose to define it, but it always makes me wonder if I'm standing next to a martyr waiting to happen. His courage is a boon to be sure and that he seems willing to die for a cause is meritable, but would he not rather live for it?
Johonaa'ei Lichii'ya	If you took the nomadic human known as Sky into a room with a canvas, a brush, and paints of every color and asked her to paint a portrait of herself, she would reach for yellow, red, and white. Were I placed in that same room and instructed to create a portrait of Sky, I would take blue, gray, and indigo and I would paint a placid and cloudless dusk that comes upon the zenith of night and swirls suddenly into a roiling tempest that empties the oceans of water and washes clean the beaches of men and gods alike until they are left without a single grain of sand. Upon looking at my painting, you would know the storm that boils inside of this gentle, honorable woman.
Hrotha Nortjan	To many that I come across, I am easy to dismiss outright as just another halfling; small, simple, weak, and untrustworthy. To other halflings, however, I am humorless, stuffy, and as vain as the elves that raised me. Each side sees within me the qualities of the other that they like the least. So, too, is the fate of Hrotha Nortjan. The orcs from her mother's side look at her and see only human weakness. Many humans from her father's side see only a monstrous and savage orc. Neither is accurate, but how do you disengage from a conflict that your face carries around with it everywhere you go? I have no easy answer for Hrotha, but if ever there is a person who searches for someone to vouch for her, then I shall use my arrogant, elven tongue to speak my praises of her strength, discipline, and courage as loudly as my tiny, frail halfling lungs can manage.
Eghan the Pale	When the military commanders seek to bring in rewards for the men that have fought hard, they reliably produce roasted pork, aged mead, and giggling girls, but too often they forget the primal enjoyment of a minstrel's song. It is convenient then that the ranks of Trunau's defenders boasts the human Eghan the Pale, whose voice seeks out a beating heart as accurately as his axe does. I have seen the elves weave magic and song together before. Eghan's magic is cut from a different cloth, to be sure, but it seems no less potent. Perhaps too much of his time is spent in the mead hall and too many of his thoughts are spent on vengeance for those that wronged him in the past, but I have missed music too much to judge him unfavorably, and his shared appreciation for song is too rare a thing here to dismiss.
Makkari Alendil	When I left our homeland, I had often wondered (and worried, if truth be told) how well I would get along with elves that were not members of the community we grew up with. There have been precious few to give trial to my concerns, but if they are anything like Makkari Alendil, then I believe I have fretted in vain. Were he not both a practitioner of magic and a military officer, I would still have a plethora of positive qualities for which to respect him: discipline, forethought, and a strict adherence to formality being only a few. A curious thing about him, however, is the strange mark upon his face. It is the touch of what Jacelyius used to call 'the old forest', a facet of the natural world that most of civilization has forgotten ever existed. What I have heard of the temperaments of beings from the old forest ranges from duplicitous to outright malignant, but Makkari has not shown any signs of sharing in this darkness.
Sophitia	I dream of a grand masquerade, like the ones they held up north that we, as children, were never permitted to attend. Gowns and dancing; masks and music all make for a most alluring fantasy to a star-eyed, curious halfling girl. I dreamed that I snuck my way north and into the festival. There I beheld every color, sound and sensation I could imagine and the most enchanting of these was a single woman, her face hidden by the most elegant mask that had ever been crafted. She was both surrounded by men who, shameless, drank in her gentle laughter as though they might suffocate without it and stared at by the women whose jealousy was burned away in the glow of her grace and wit, leaving nothing but genuine appreciation in their hearts. She was everything a small, awkward girl could ever wish to become and I dreamt that I snuck through the crowds and plucked the woman's mask from her face, desperate to see the identity of that most bewitching figure. In my dream, the mask comes off easily and the shimmering gown falls away to reveal naught but empty air. Such is the human enchantress who calls herself Sophitia. At first, she earned my distrust. Had I not been taught to see such things, I may have been fooled (gods help the men, because they are truly helpless near her). Her eyes too sharp to be naive; her hands too precise to be innocent, I thought her an actress, a succubus to steal away the possessions of men with a fair smile and silky whisper. Yet, an actress is a person who becomes another person and this is not Sophitia. Try as I might, there is nothing but empty air for me to distrust. There is nothing hidden. Only the mask is real.
Anders Barterson	Warpriest of Iomedea is a profession as intimidating sounding as any I can recall having heard. I wonder how many would, upon hearing it, be disappointed to find that he is a halfling. I am not one of them, of course, and not just because we are of the same kin. There are no doubts concerning how deeply his metal boots dig into the ground on the field of battle, how adeptly his hands grip his weapon of war, or how much steel runs through his spine at the sight of the innocent being threatened. No, the only doubt that exists concerning Mr. Barterson are in his own head. Perhaps we are all, in our own way, guilty of subjecting ourselves to doubt, but this man struggles more openly with it than any other I have named here. I hope dearly that he vanquishes his hesitations before the axes of giants begin to rain down on us.
Kyra Viru	It is, perhaps, not a coincidence that I have saved the human Kyra Viru for last. She is a fitting climax to my list of companions as it difficult for me to overstate my respect and admiration for her. Her dedication to the perfection of her own body and its athleticism and performance is at least equal to my own, even to the point where I fear I may teeter on the edge of insecurity. Furthermore, she is - what fortune - a creature of the law, but, like myself, she understands that the law must be a living entity; a force that fosters and encourages benevolence, honesty, and the better angels of those that live under its guiding hand. I must admit that her reasons for being in Trunau, in comparison to some of the others, are a bit nebulous, but I believe she will stand with the city through whatever dark hours are to come. I also believe that her interest in the coming conflict might be because she sees it as an anvil on which she may further forge and hone the weapon that is her body. Though that might otherwise sound like the behavior of an untrustworthy opportunist, I think, in her case, it can only be added as a credit to her name.