[Characters] Called to The North

[Seravok]

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Character Introductions Please take the time to post and introduce your characters in this thread. Include your application that has been successful from the advertisement for this campaign, and provide a link to your completed character sheet within your post for my review. Any notes, updates, or new features or equipment should be updated in this thread as well or linked character “nSheet” accordingly. Please create 1 post and edit it as often as you like, rather than posting multiple times in this thread, thanks. Now that the formalities are out of the way, welcome to Icewind Dale and congratulations on your successful application.

[Admin Bhelogan]

DM reviewed ✔

Application What? You would like me to answer a few questions so that you can generate my profile to match against potential romantic interests? Fine, I'll bite. Ask your questions. Name: The poster over there has it right, Carric Liadon Race: The pointy ears should really give it away. An Elf of course. Not one of those dirty Wood Elves either. Some call us the Moon or Silver Elves. Others just the High Elves Class: Top of it! I can snatch your lunch or pick your pocket faster than you can blink. But why do that when a true Mastermind can get his minions to perform such remedial tasks? Alignment: Laws are constructs given to keep order. Often times they are great, but you don't get ahead by following them all the time. If it isn't hurting someone else, I say go for it. Physical Description: Tall, rugged, handsome, pointy ears, silvery brown flowing hair. But isn't that most elves? No, what really makes me stand out is that bedazzling seductive stare I can conjure with my green eyes. You would be surprised how many free meals I can charm my way into. Background: This one is a bit tricky. You see, I use to work in the shady business of hunting down and locating undesirables in Neverwinter. You can't do that without contacts on both sides of the law. As you can imagine, I might have gotten myself into a sticky situation when a powerful client didn't like the truth that I revealed to them. That has forced me to find employment somewhere else. Personality Trait: I'm very friendly. Realy! Haughty as an elf, sure! I have a right to be. But still, you can't do everything alone. You need contacts and allies everywhere you go. You also need a backup plan for when things go wrong. More often than not, they will. Ideal: We may all be scoundrels, but at their heart, everyone has some good in them. Bond: I try not to have them. They hold you down, you know? No, no no. Arara means nothing to me anymore. She doesn't count and should be no concern of yours. Flaw: I'm perfect! There is nothing wrong with me. I'm always right, even when I am not. Just ask my ex. Actually, no. Don't do that. Quirks: Quick to love, Quick to trust. Yet, I still doubt everyone. A Secret: Roses are Red. Violets are Blue. If you want to hear a secret, I'll whisper it to you. Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: I think I may have read something about Bruenor Battlehammer residing there before getting into some trouble with a Dark Elf. Strange alliance, wouldn't you say? Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: I've played many games using dice, and mechanics and such. But playing in the frozen north never had me interested enough to bite. Background Narrative: Well, if you have been paying attention so far, you probably know most of my story by now. I have left Neverwinter after an unfortunate series of events that can only be described as hazards of the job. I also left an Ex there, Arara. That may or may not have had an influence in my escape to the Frozen North. I promise I don't think about her every day. I was good at my job, and did it with minimal risk to myself. I much prefer to let others do the dirty work, and be the brain behind the scenes. But, that seems almost like a distant life now. Here, I find myself far from my home, my second home, or even my third. I would be happy to nuzzle up to the local magistrate and show them how my skills could benefit their position. But, it seems these lands have been threatened by something evil. You know, it is really hard to get payment from a corpse. I figured I might as well try and help do something about it. I could go into much more detail, but I fear I would bore you if I did.

[tomplum]

DM reviewed ✔

Icewind Dale Application Required Info Topias Karhu Name: Topias 'Bear' Karhu Race: Human Class: Fighter Alignment: Lawful Good Physical Description: Bear to those who know him well but 'the largest dwarf I've ever seen' to those who know him best, Topias is an impressive specimen of just how large a human can get. Standing almost six and a half feet tall and weighing 300 pounds, he is stout but solidly built. His large rotund torso is as hard as his anvil and his neck seems nearly as wide as his shoulders. His stature, however, is not what earned Topias the nickname, 'Bear'. It was once remarked his hands were as big as a bear's claw. So, as townsfolk will do, one of the hunter's killed a bear and brought it to the forge for a comparison. Low and behold Topias' hand matched that of the bear. Those in attendance leave out the bits about it being a rather smallish black bear and that the wrists weren't perfectly lined up but ever since that day, the name stuck. Background: Guild Artisan (Armorer, Locksmith, and Finesmith) Personality Trait:Thinking is for other people. I prefer action. Ideal: Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Bond: I have a daughter, but I have no idea where she is. One day, I hope to see her again. Flaw: I am suspicious of strangers and expect the worst of them. Quirks: Was once horribly wronged by someone with a distinctive physical trait (orcs) and now hates/suspects anyone with a similar trait. Goals: Obviously Topias' main goal is to rescue or avenge his daughter but before that life altering event he had more modest plans for himself. One such ambition would be to run a forge in a big city where he could employ people to work on the mundane horseshoes and nail spikes leaving him to focus on his true passion, finesmithing, working gold and silver into decorative pieces such as necklaces, bracelets, and rings. While Topias is a large man capable of great feats through sheer strength, he is no soldier. When he took up the smith's hammer as a young man, he abandoned a potential life as a mercenary. His childhood friend, Ville Niemi, had left the village for a life of adventure and conquest, joining a mercenary company. He had always wondered what his life would have been like had he joined Ville. His daughter, Aino, had quelled those thoughts but now that she has been taken from him, he wishes he had more skill in battle. She wouldn't have been taken if he would have been more capable. He needs the strength to save her and will sacrifice anything to acquire that power to ensure her safety. A Secret:   Shhh Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?:I briefly was in a game set there but we didn't get far before the campaign fell apart. For the most part, its unknown to me. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: No Background Narrative:Song for Aino Winter nights were always cold this late in the season as Topias closed the forge and walked back to his humble wattle hut, his breath leaving puffs of fog above his head as he hurried down the lane. With the smithy always so hot, he hadn’t brought his overcoat and the chill was biting at his exposed skin. His cottage was situated on the outskirts of town around an outcropping of rock, hidden from sight of the village until the boulder was passed. Topias stopped dead in his tracks as he cleared the stone and then burst into a sprint, something was wrong. His daughter, Aino, should be home heating the stew on the hearth but no light came from the structure. Dark, lifeless, cold and empty, was how he found it. The door had been broken in and there were tracks in the snow leading further into the hills, toward the woodcutter’s lodge. Mounted above the fireplace in Topias’ hut was a huge maul carved with bear claws on the faces. As yet, it remained unused, a gift after he had helped rescue a village boy from a band of marauding orcs with naught but a smithy hammer. That was many years ago but this time it was his child, his own Aino taken away. Oblivious to the frigid temperature, Topias sprinted through the powder into the forest. Arriving at the woodcutter’s lodge, he found a tense duel going on between the woodsman, Harold, and a large orc with his face painted in white stripes. Four other orcs stood cheering the fight on with their backs to Topias. The smith never lost his stride and broke into the line of orcs, crushing the skull of one with his hammer and sending two others sprawling to the ground. Seeing the fun was over, the lead painted orc ended his torment of the woodsman and ran him through with his wickedly serrated blade. The orcs surrounded Topias and a tense fight ensued. By the time the giant human finally succumbed to his wounds and collapsed to the dirt, three orcs lay dead around him with only the white painted orc leering at him. The orc went into the lodge and retrieved young Aino. Making a show to ensure Topias could see, he dragged the girl past him through the snow farther from the village, telling the injured father, ”Remember this last look upon your kin, human, for you will never see her likeness again.” Before the sun had reached its zenith the next day, a group of villagers had found poor Topias and took him back to the village for him to heal and recover. While his body mended, the loss of his daughter was a blow too strong to reconcile. To return to the smithy would be to abandon his daughter and that was not something the big man was prepared to do. He closed his forge, boarded up his cottage, packed up some belongings, bid the only home he’d ever known goodbye and set off to find and liberate his only child from whatever horrors the foul orcs had in store for her. Sweet Aino, her red hair the color of maple leaves, pulled into pigtails and a laugh so sweet as to send an angel to tears. The only token of his lost baby, a silver chain necklace he had made for her, found tucked under her mattress where she had always kept it so fearful of losing it that she rarely wore it. To place this back around her neck one day, that is what I pray for. That is what I’d die for.

[jbear]

DM reviewed ✔

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Ciri Rivia - Required Information Basic Information Ciri Name: Cirilla Rivia Gender: Female Race: Quadroon: Daughter of a Half Elf and a HumanHalf Elf Class: Warlock Xanathar's GuideHexblade Alignment: with Chaotic tendencies at timesNeutral Background: Curse of Strahd Character OptionsHaunted Personality Trait 1: I like to read and memorize poetry. It keeps me calm and brings me fleeting moments of happiness. Personality Trait 2: I put no trust in divine beings. Main Ideal: I’ll stop the spirits that haunt me or die trying. Secondary Ideal: I have a dark calling that puts me above the law. Bond: There’s evil in me, I can feel it. It must never be set free. Flaw: I feel no compassion for the dead. They are the lucky ones. Quirks: - Patron Attitude: My patron has guided and helped my family for generations and was kindly toward me. But since my resurrection something has changed. I feel her anger. Using my powers is unpleasant to say the least. - Terms of the Pact: When directed, I must take immediate action against a specific enemy of your patron: The Undead - I don't notice but I'm often seen looking over my shoulder - I regularly perform innocuous but wierd little supersticious rituals before doing certain things Description Cirilla, or Ciri, is a lean, agile woman with perfect curves, disarming emerald green eyes and long ashen hair. Her features are human; only the slightest curve to her ears and her disarming beauty give away her elven heritage. A ghastly scar mars her otherwise flawless facial features. The physical scars have an echo in those haunting green eyes of hers; it is not hard to see that she has witnessed horrors no one ever should. Ciri's presence is unsettling. One never quite knows whether they want to flee from her screaming in fear, embrace her in a comforting hug, seduce and ravish her, or follow her blindly, doting on her every word deep into the heart of madness. When Ciri laughs, she can light up a room. Those occaisions are rare however. The burden she caries weighs on her too heavily. She usually looks absent, distracted, constantly looking over her shoulder as though she expects someone to walk in the door or appear on the horizon at any moment. Before eating or going to bed, Ciri will perform strange rituals like dousing her pillow with a few drops of holy water or sprinkling a fine circle of sand around herself before she eats. She is often found reading a book of poetry, reading through a book of lore, or fondling a ring of dark iron keys, in particular a key with a blood red ruby inset at the base. If torn away from her distraction abruptly, sometimes Ciri responds in a strange, blood curdling language until she realises her error. Background Narrative Cirilla was born into great expectations, and at a young age chafed under the burden of living up to them. Her father was a famous (infamous) monster hunter, and her mother a powerful sorceress. She was expected to follow in her parents footsteps, but, if she were to emerge out from such lofty shadows, there was no time for a childhood. While other children were kicking around in the mud, Cirilla was trapped inside an unending cycle of training, study, practice, revision and examination. Any infintile protest was swiftly stamped out. Ciri was lectured about her mother's rise to power, how she overcame the ill repute of her family name through will power and hard work, so often that she knew the story by heart. The story went like this: "Your Great Grandfather Franz Ferdinand Guinsberg and his brother Arthur were accomplished brewers whose dark creamy brew became famous and sought throughout the land. So great was the demand for their delicious stout that they could not produce enough to satisfy it. The invested all their savings to buy a piece of land. The land was a bargain price, leaving the brothers enough money to pay for the building of a large brewery. As they say, you get what you pay for. The land was covered in forest and thick undergrowth. Great flocks of ravens inhabited the forest, guardians of the burial ground that lay at its heart. Your Great Grandfather and his brother put their sons and daughters to work clearing the land with controlled fires. They razed the thick undergrowth, torched every last tree and burnt the flock of ravens to a crisp. Once the charred trunks were cleared, the brothers laid the foundations over the burial grounds and got to work making the Guinsberg filthy rich. But as quickly as our name rose amongst the cream of society, their fall was just as swift and far more brutal. Both Great Grandfather Ferdinand and Arthur's deaths were too gruesome for the ears of a young miss like yourself! Twenty one sons and daughters had Ferdinand, and Arthur eighteen. Within tens years over half lay buried in a grave, and most of the others were locked away in prisons or mental asylums. The unlucky ones had to live with the every day shame of facing their siblings victims or their families and friends. No one wanted to touch the cursed Guinsberg Stout after that. The family was ruined, the brewery fell into disrepair, even as the family fell to despair. That's what I was born into Cirilla! I had no silver spoon like the one your father and I placed in your mouth! I raised myself above my mother's helplessness and self pity when my father took his own life! I studied! I learnt what my grandparents never bothered to learn when they bought that piece of land. And then I learned the Art necessary to repair the damage they caused with their greed! I worked my arse off until I achieved the power necessary to do something about it! Everything you have is thanks to your father and I putting things right with the Matron! And we could only do that because ..." "We were smart! We were prepared!" cut in, finishing her mothers sentence with the words she knew followed. It was always the same story. Always the same lecture. Always the same words. She looked forlornly out the window at the children of her parent's servants kicking around a large bundle of twine in the courtyard. Back then Ciri would have done anything to escape her life. Nowadays, now a grown woman skilled in the art of magic and swordplay, she would do anything to have it back. Several months ago, Ciri was killed in a terrible accident. Resurrecting Cirilla was fraught with strange, inexplicable complications from which her mother fled in despair. Her father did not relent, and though it meant financial ruin, he succeeded in bringing his beloved daughter back to the land of the living. Once he was sure that Cirilla was of sound body, he left her in the care of a nurse, departing in haste to find his wife and share the wonderful news. And though Ciri was of sound body, her mind was unsettled. Her sleep was plagued by dark dreams. Her waking was marked by frightening episodes of lucid dreaming. When her friends flocked to her in an attempt to surround her with loving support, Ciri felt claustrophobic. She had to leave and get as far away from people as she possibly could. And so she left the city and set a course for the ice wastes of the north, hoping to outrun her nightmares. But Ciri did not find peace. She found rumours of the restless dead. Her Matron was very strict about these things. Her Art, the power she had aquired came with a pact, an agreement sworn in blood and black fire, as her father had sworn like his father before him. The dead were to stay dead ... unlike herself. The Matron insisted she investigate, research, and resolve any situation that upset the natural cycles of life and death. The Matron had not been kind since her resurrection. Ciri dared not upset her any further by refusing. And so now she sat at a rough wooden table in at the local tavern of a small fishing village named Easthaven. A Secret:   Miscellaneous Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Yes, I have heard of it, as I am familiar with the Drzzt books. I can't recall if I ever read the Icewind Dale Trilogy specifically. If I did, it was so long ago (24 years or more), that I have no recollection. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game? No, I haven't.

[Whiskeyjack]

DM reviewed ✔

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(Mikael Theme
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Character Application Mikael Moonsbite Name: Mikael Moonsbite Race: Human Class: Druid Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Physical Description: Tall, dark-haired, and menacing Mikael bears on his body the signs of his Uthgardt tribal blood, even as he tries to scrub it from his soul. He has a mixture of tribal and druidic tattoos across his flesh, though most of these (except those around the base of his skull) are hidden beneath thick furs and hide armor. He wears his hair in a tight braid in the fashion of warrior druids from his Circle, while keeping the scruff of his face hacked to a short stubble with a sharpened whale-bone knife. Background: Mikael was born a second-son to an Uthgardt Black Raven warrior who lived with the tribes dwelling west of the Frost Hills. He was raised to be a warrior like his father and raid the "soft folk" of the Rauvin Vale and south of the Lurkwood. Unfortunately his father and elder brother died in a raid before Mikael could be blooded and so it was that he was surrounded by strangers when he went on his first hunting trip and found himself screaming as the dying deer they had shot spoke in his mind, begging for it's life. Mikael is sure that he would have lost his sanity or his life if Aravist, a powerful druid from a local Circle, hadn't arrived and claimed him for the Circle. Given a new home among the Circle of the Winter's Sun Mikael became an apprentice of Aravist and learned the ways of the druids. Years have passed and seeing that Mikael is more hunter than priest Aravist has decided that it is time for his apprentice to take up the mantle of druid and sojourn on behalf of the Circle. An arrangement has been made between the Circle and a merchant consortium out of Luskan; this arrangement has sent Mikael north of the Spine of the World to a far-flung village called Easthaven. His charge is to investigate rumors of orc raids and disruptions of shipments on the merchant's behalf, and darker rumors yet that the Circle hopes are no more than empty winds howling in the cold northern nights. Personality Trait: Hope like Hell - Life is a tentative thing, full of glory one day and the next your blood is consumed by the hunger of others. Indecision will leave you as prey in a world of predators. Better to hope for greatness and pay for it in blood freely spent. Mile-eyed stare - Conflicts of the soul have led to more than a few unexpressed inner arguments. He is prone to staring off into the distance, as if watching something that isn't there. Ideal: The brotherhood of blood. All the living share the same breath of life, the same blood of the Root. Blood must flow, as it always has, to return life to the land and to receive it back. The wise know this, the great among us sacrifice willingly, but all must pay in blood eventually. This is the Pact of the Cycle and in this all creatures are one. Only the Pactbreakers are damned to the outer darkness. Bond: The Circle. They are more than brothers; they are the caretakers of his soul, teachers who will show him how to calm the wildness within his heart. Flaw: Unlike some of his circle, Mikael has a hard time viewing everything from within the Cycle. Those things (and especially people) who he views as frail or abused cause him to relive trauma from his past and he forgets that prey are a part of the natural order. This inconsistency can leave him vulnerable to rage, confusion, and manipulation. Quirks: Mikael believes that all blood is sacred. Friend or foe, he will trace druidic symbols on himself in the blood of the fallen to honor their gift back to the land. A Secret:   Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Yes, due to it's popularity from the Drizz't series of stuff. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: No. Background Narrative:   Of Hounds and Hares It felt like dying, and coming to life. They were the same now, all mixed together in the iron-tinged smell of blood everywhere. He couldn't tell if the mad desperate screaming was coming from his own hoarse throat or if it was still the frothing pleas of the neck-shot deer tearing into his mind. At first the wild scene of one of their own going berserk over the dying deer had paralyzed the barbarian hunters surrounding Mikael. Slowly, however, momentary confusion and horror was fading and now the fear of the unknown was turning to rage. Soon both crazed hunter and deer would have their necks sliced open, bringing silence back to this cold copse buried in the Frost Hills. A cracking sound echoed around them and those hunters still sane spun about to face the form of a fur-cloaked man with a tall ash staff striding as if out of the bole of a nearby tree. The man did not spare a glance for any of the armed and bristling hunters surrounding him as he moved next to the two victims in the pool of deer's blood. The man laid his staff on the shoulder of Mikael and spoke words that sounded like thunder in spring and the cooing of doves after. Mikael shook momentarily, as if gripped by seizures, then calmed and the screaming - both from himself and within his mind - stopped. "Is his kin among you?" The strange man spoke as he now turned to face the hunting party for the first time. Heartbeats passed, then finally the leader of the hunt found his voice and snarled back. "He is the last of a weak line; we will kill him here to end the madness in his head." The man with the staff inclined his head as if considering those words, then a small, hard smile crossed his face and his staff slowly swung forward to point lazily between each hunter. "Tell me, what will the gods of the Black Raven do if you bring such a man back and let him live?" Courage had re-asserted itself now and the leader sneered at the man. "As any strong gods would do. They would curse our warriors with weakness of body to show our weakness of spirit. But that will not happen, for the Black Raven are strong!" Lifting his staff as it finished it's arc the fur-cloaked stranger brought it down to touch the ground at his feet. A slow hissing grew from the ground around them now and the hunters started to warily contract together, then wide-eyed they watched as trees and roots and brambles all seemed to take a life of their own and reach tendrils towards them. "If you anger your gods, you will have to send warriors into the Spine to hunt mountain trolls and sacrifice to appease the spirits of your people. But if you think to withstand me now, the ground itself will drink your blood as it does the deer's and I myself will blight your land and drive all beasts from it. Your bellies will be empty, the furs will rot from your very feet, and your tribe will wither like fruit left too long in the sun. Go now, and tell not a druid what will be done with his own." In moments the hunters had disappeared and soon after the vegetation returned to normal. The druid turned back to his new charge and found Mikael silent but still staring at the now-dead deer that had bled out at his knees. The young barbarian lad looked up as the man approached and in his eyes was the deep, bone-numbing question of why? The druid only shook his head, reaching down to rest a hand upon the deer and speak words under his breath, then he dipped his finger in the blood and slowly traced a shape upon Mikael's brow. Rising he drew Mikael to his feet as well and guided him as he walked away from that copse. "In all this life, there are only Hounds and there are Hares. It is not evil being one or the other, but peace comes in knowing which you are. Come, I will tell you of them, and you will tell me of you." ------------------------------------------Years later, on the Blackford Road west of Mirabar--------------------------------- "You are uneasy, Pup. A nervous hunter spooks the prey before it is time." Aravist spoke, his words all but carried away into the persistent wind that hissed over the rise they stood on, nipping at their cloaks. Mikael turned so that Aravist could see his hooded face and gave his mentor a grin of teeth. "Was it not you who said this was to be a meeting of goodwill, oh wise master?" The younger man bit out, easing back to once again watch the trundling wagons and their armed guards approach up the Blackford Road. "We've already given up the hunt, if we stand here like deer in the hunter's eye." Aravist chuckled at the dramatics of his apprentice, taking a hand from his staff to pointedly wave away his concerns. "With the young it is always the hunt at hand. If you come back to me older, and gods grant wiser, I will teach you how an old fox hunts." Mikael's brow furrowed as his turned to regard his mentor again, but the wagons had arrived at the base of their summit now and the merchants had begun to disembark. Like a hive of bees kicked from winter's sleep the wagons spewed out forms all a-tangle and humming with energy. Ermine-trimmed cloaks and padded silks made it easy to pick out the merchants, while their retinue of guards sported battered leather and scale hauberks, crossbows slung low and hands on hilts of swords. Warily, the merchants ascended the rise and came to stand within a few paces of the fur-cloaked druids. They motioned for their guards to remain at the bottom and this eased Mikael somewhat. The wind had picked up so it would have been a strain for anyone beyond the top of the rise to hear anything beyond murmuring voices. "Thank you for meeting us here, venerable druids. Be assured we..." One of the merchants began, gathering his breath as if preparing a speech before some august assembly. Almost immediately Aravist began laughing, interrupting the perplexed man and leaving the merchants to nervously trade glances with each other. "Peace, sir. Our Circle is perhaps more...forthright than some assemblies of the gifted you are used to. We know the bones of this story already; let us swear our agreement and discharge our duties." The merchants seemed a bit taken aback at the directness but soon recovered and eagerly took the opportunity to hasten their return to the confines of their carriages. "Indeed, well said, master druid. I am empowered by the Factors of Marches Materiel and Supply, including all subsidiaries and interests, to enter a binding contract to your previously described specification. A, uh, reprieve of all forestry and mining operations, and there incidental activities included, in a region including and limited to the borders of the Lurkwood east to the banks of the River Surbrin. This reprieve to last a term of two years, beginning at the proof of rendered services." Mikael had to purposely let a slow sigh escape his lips as the merchant neared the end of his monologue. This meeting was already a lesson in patience he would have to exercise as an agent of the Circle of Winter's Sun in the interests of these commercial lords. "Accepted." Aravist spoke up as soon as the man was done, most likely to make sure he could not possibly continue on. "My apprentice, Mikael here, will perform requested services until the satisfaction of your Factors that the terms have been met. The exception being an insurmountable threat, in which case he will provide all necessary information for the Factors to formulate a new strategy." Now it was Mikael's turn to regard his mentor with something like befuddlement. He'd never heard the elder druid speak in anything except short parables or sometimes scathing comparisons. Apparently the skills of the archdruid of the Circle extend far beyond the normal boundaries of druidic training. "Accepted." The merchant eagerly agreed and now he stepped forward to extend his hand, which Aravist accepted. With the deal struck and the druids obviously being of a perfunctory nature, the merchants quickly bowed their goodbyes and scurried back to the wagons awaiting them. When the small caravan was well on their way back home, Mikael shook his head and regarded Aravist again. "So I am to hunt their ghosts in the northlands for them, and recover their precious shipments if possible, in return for two years free of their despoiling? Master, you know that all this will accomplish is that they will turn their maw of industry against a different forest, a different Circle." Aravist did not smile when he responded, but there was an avid glint in his eye as he regarded his student. "Knowing where my prey will not be tells me more about where they might be. A clever hunter can use this." The old druid turned to leave the rise and left Mikael to his thoughts before the young man had to make his long journey north. "Blessings of the four winds go with you, Pup. Oh, and it's called Icewind Dale for a reason...a smart hunter would make a rabbit-fur cup to keep his balls from freezing off."

[Arthilian01]

DM reviewed ✔

Yeveera Kol Name: Yeveera Kol Race: Half-Orc Class: Barbarian Alignment: CN Physical Description: Yaveera takes after her human mother with some influence from her more savage blood when it comes to her frame. She stands a hand's breadth over six foot tall and her body is only a little stockier than an average human female. Her arms and legs are thickened with muscle and her hips and bust give her appealing curves even to some human males. She follows after her savage descendants when it comes to hairstyle and jewelry, favoring her hair in many tight braids. She has adorned herself with three facial piercings to make her more fearful-looking and to fully mark her as different from others in any village she passes through. Yeveera, fully accustomed to the cold winters of the Dale, loincloth and chest harness for modesty's sake and soft leather moccasins that she bartered from a trader among a tribe of barbarians. She wears a ragged wolf pelt as a protective cloak. Background: Outlander: Exile/Outcast Personality Trait: -I feel far more comfortable around animals than people. Ideal: -Nature. The natural world is more important than all the constructs of civilization. (Neutral) -Change. Life is like the seasons, in constant change, and we must change with it. (Chaotic) Bond: - My mother is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me. Flaw: -Violence is my answer to almost any challenge. Quirks: -Yeveera prefers to sleep outside over sleeping inside buildings. -Yeveera usually headbutts those she has befriended as a sort of greeting.   Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Of course, I have read almost all of the Drizzt Do'Urden books and played more than a few console games based in the Forgotten realms. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: No, unfortunately. Background Narrative: Born to a human woman who was a refugee from Dougan's hole who had found a new home in Easthaven after a vicious orc raid. Hannah Kol was a victim moreso than most, she had lived through the ordeal and held the shame of the attack and her shame caused her to leave her home and family. Her new life in Easthaven was difficult alone but she managed, especially when her daughter came into the world. Despite being the product of such an ordeal, Hannah loved her daughter. How could she not, looking down at such a beautiful miracle swaddled in a blanket. As Yeveera grew into a young child, she began playing and associating with other kids her age. It didn't take long to realize she was different from the jeering and sometimes downright insults that came from her peers and other parents even. Through it all, her mother was too busy trying to make ends meet to comfort her hurt daughter, although in Hannah's mind, she felt there was nothing she could say to make it better. As Yeveera grew into a teenager, maturing much faster than her peers she embraced a rebellious nature that led her to act more like her savage kin and lead her away from the village of Easthaven more often than to it. The five years she spent in the wilderness, completely cut off from her mother, whom she thought loathed her half-blood daughter, Yeveera fully embraced the savagery that ran in her blood. Through much trial and error, Yeveera learned the ways of nature. As she roamed the forests and tundras of Icewind Dale, she acted in a fashion to protect nature and the people that respected it. She would slay bandits and even orcs who roamed into her territory, looking to harass travelers or despoil the lands. In her time alone she also found something else, In her dreams she would hear whispers, evil and malicious, calling her to war and cruelty. After five years of not seeing her mother, the emotional wound that had caused her to leave the village in the first place, had finally healed enough to allow her to return home. On her way across the plains she had come across a caravan. Despite the looks she garnered as she neared the caravan, she talked to the head driver and let him know she was going to act as a guard whether he liked it or not. Thus, she finds herself purpose on her way back home to Easthaven where she will meet with her mother.

[MaximumUnicorn]

DM reviewed ✔

Application Name: Galastara "Gala" Eluviana [Theme Music] Gala Eluviana Race: Elf (Drow) Class: Paladin (Oath of the Ancients) Alignment: Neutral Good Physical Description: Galastara is a lovely young drow, with dark onyx skin and steel grey eyes. She keeps her white hair long, in a braid that runs down to the middle of her back. She is in good shape but of slender build, much more like one of her surface cousins then the stereotypical female drow. When not in times of worship, she prefers to dress rather plainly in a shirt and breeches, accessorized by a heavy cloak to hide herself from prying eyes. The wizard also sports a tattoo on her right shoulderblade, a crescent moon crossed by a horizontal longsword, all in simple silver. This serves not only a symbol of her faith, but as a sign of her training in the art of the blade. Background: Acolyte of Eilistraee Personality Trait: "I see omens in every event and action. The gods try to speak to us, we just need to listen." Ideal: Change "We must help bring about the changes the gods are constantly working in the world." Bond: "I owe my life to the priest who took me in when my parents died." Flaw: "My piety sometimes leads me to blindly trust those that profess faith in my god." Quirks: Galastara keeps a Talis deck on her at all times, and during times of boredom she will often pull the deck out and shuffle the cards between her hand. She's also quite good at Talis and often offers a few hands as a way to settle minor disagreements, under the belief that the gods obviously would side with the winner of the argument in the game itself. A Secret:   Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Aye, a great many times in a great many of places. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: Many moons ago, back when I was a young scamp who thought nothing wrong with using Murderhobo-Importing cheese. However, I have never finished it... Background Narrative: A bonfire was aglow in the autumn evening just outside of Elventree as the worshipers of Eilistraee celebrated another successful hunt. Music and laughter filled the air as drow feasted and celebrated, along with a smattering of humans and wood elves. In any other part of Faerun this would be a sight that would cause a man to question what was in his drink, but Elventree was a unique little place. Galastara Eluviana was busy breaking down an elk she had scored during the night's hunt, the meat would be prepped to be eaten while the skin would be traded in town. As she was elbow-deep in the elk's chest cavity, a cloaked figure stepped behind her, watching her work. "We missed you on the hunt tonight Lulia." Gala said without looking back at the figure behind her, causing the priestess to pull back her cloak with a smirk. It was moments like this that made Lulia proud, she had raised Gala like one of her own daughters and obviously she had done something right. Pulling her hands out and wiping them clean, the younger drow smiled at her mentor. "And here I thought you were in Waterdeep." "Bad news makes for fast horses." Lulia replied, her tone turning stern as she looked squarely at the young swordswoman who had taken her family name. "What is this I hear about you making plans for Icewind Dale?" Gala sighed softly and turned back to the elk, her hands working the knives in well-practiced motions. "I had a dream...an omen...there is something that is going to happen, and she wants me there." With another sigh, she set down the knife and continued. "I saw...ice and fire. Innocents suffering, wizards at the brink of madness, a demon walking the earth. This one...this was more intense than any other dream she's given me...more real." Lulia nodded softly as she listened. Gala had a knack for being blessed by omens as long as she had known her, and very rarely had they been wrong. Still, this was the first one that would drag the young elf out from their safe little corner of Cormanthor. "You do realize not everywhere in the world is as safe as here. There are places that they will kill you on sight for just what you are..." "Then I guess it's good I was taught by the best, and I'm sure the Maiden will protect the ones she sends out into the world." Gala retorted with a gentle smile, breaking down every last bit of resistance. There was no stopping her now, her mind was made up. The priestess could only shake her head and raise her hands in defeat. She had seen Gala stare down bears and mercenaries, and the blessing of Eilistraee was obviously upon her. "We will need to get you a warm cloak then, my dear..."

[Dargos]

DM reviewed ✔

Application Name: Ayla of the Great Tribe of the Elk   Race: Human (Maybe variant, not sure yet) Class: Revised Ranger (UA Link) (going Hunter's Conclave at 3rd) Alignment: Chaotic Good Physical Description: Ayla is a tall barbarian woman with long brown hair and blue eyes. She dresses in simple brown rugged studded leather armor clearly of Same tribe as Wulfgar from the Drizzt novelsReghedmen barbarian style. Over her armor Ayla wears a thick hooded fur lined cloak designed to keep out the cold. Across her back is a quiver of arrows and a long bow also with raven’s feathers on the ends. At her side is a pair of short swords and a dagger. Background: Uthgardt Tribe Member (SCAG) *Modified to replace the Feature with Reghedmen Heritage vs Uthgardt. Personality Trait: 1) I place no stock in wealthy or well-mannered folk. Money and manners won’t save you from a hungry polar bear. 2) I am rude to people who I feel are weaker than me. We live in a harsh world and there is no room for those who can not take care of themselves. Ideal: The natural world is more important than all the constructs of civilization. Bond: My family, clan, or tribe is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me. Flaw: I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies. Quirks: WIP A Secret: Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Of course! Who hasn't? I read all the original novels so I am familiar with the area. I have also read some of the old 1e, 2e sets like the Savage Frontier, The North and others from TSR. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: I played through Baulder's Gate twice but I only played Icewind Dale a little bit when it first came out in 2000. I have no recognition of the game or it's plot-line. Background Narrative:   Winter was over, Ayla was traveling westward on horseback from her tribes winter home scouting the area seeing what has changed since the snow melted. Her travels have taken her a ten day away and she was getting ready to begin the circle back. There have been reports from the other tribes that the Orcs from the Spine of the World have decided to venture forth again and begin raiding. Part of her job was to see if that was true and locate some signs of those foul creatures. Cresting a hill she comes upon a river swollen with water from the melted ice. Attempting to cross this river was a man. But not like any man from her tribe. This one appeared to be a weak southerner, probably lost on the tundra. He was dressed in simple grey robe. A quick glace from Ayla and all she could see was a dagger around his rather plump waist and a long staff strapped to his pony. He was trying to lead the pony across the river with no luck; the beast was not having any of it and was refusing to enter the water. Looking at the river Ayla could see why. The water was just too high and there stood a good chance that the pony and man would get swept away. He needed to move farther downstream to where it was shallower. As she was observing this man took notice of her sitting upon her horse about 50 meters away. He stopped fighting with the pony and just stopped and stared at her for a few moments before waving in a rather innocent way. Ayla was not sure what to make of it. She slowly made her way to the shore of the river where this strange man was. As she got closer he began to speak to her in the common tongue. “Well met, I am Alasar. As you can see I am trying to get across this river and get to the village of Bryn Shander. It seems Pedals here does not want to cooperate with me. Can you help me out?” Ayla dismounted her horse and walked closer to the strange man. As she walks up to the pony whispering some words in its ear calming it down she replies in accented common, “You are not going to get him to cross here, the river is too deep and he knows it. You should too, if you had any sense.” Suddenly a trio of black shafted arrows came flying from the wood line some 40 meters away striking the ground between their feet. Following the arrows there was thunderous war cry and 4 orcs came barreling towards them with their crude swords and spears raised. “Orcs!!!” Ayla yelled as she readied her bow. “I only have one shot before they get too close” As if by instinct she readies an arrow lets it loose, striking the lead orc in its unarmored throat killing it instantly. Only a split second later a pair of magical bolts fly past her imbedding into the second orc causing it to fall dead alongside the first one. “Magic-user!” Ayla growls as she drops her bow and draws her pair of short swords ready to engage the final two orcs. The first orc comes at her with a crude spear attempting to pierce her gut. Ayla quickly parries the awkward jab and brings her other sword around wounding the creature. She can see out of the corner of her eye the second of the remaining orcs ignore her and go after the robed man that was with her. Quickly before the Orc could even take a swing of his sword he is engulfed in flames erupting from the fingertips of the robed man in front of it. Drawing her attention back at it Ayla was quick to dispatch her orc after a few parries and jabs. After the battle was over Ayla observed the man who called himself Alasar not sure what to make of him. Her distrust of magic-users was strong. They were not to be trusted. Alasar knew who this woman was, she was a Reghedmen Barbarian and they were very distrustful of mages. Even though they were just in a battle together she could easily turn on him and strike him down just for practicing magic. He chose his worlds wisely. “uhh….hello…my name is Alasar, yes….I am a…a wizard….don’t….just don’t do anything” Ayla watched the robed man, not sure how she should take his words. “You need to go, go west and you will come to a bend, there you may cross the river, stay on that path and it will take you to you to the Ten-Towns.” Ayla looked down at the orc bodies looking for any markings to what tribe they belonged too. All she could find was a leather totem with a crude lizard on it, painted red. This marking confused her for she had not seen or heard of a group with this colored lizard as a totem. Her thoughts were interrupted by the wizard. “That’s….the stone lizard clan. They…they are not from around here. Their territory is far to the south.” Ayla looked at him with skepticism. “Are you sure? How do you know this?” Returning her look Alasar responded. “I know of them, I read about their markings in….in a book…..” Ayla scrunched her nose at a mention of a book. She knew how to read and write, rare among her people but she still saw little use in it. “Go, go to Ten-Towns, warn them that the Orcs are on the move. I will follow their trail; I need to find their camp. I need to know more.” Ayla retrieved her arrows and one of the leather totems before mounting her horse. She got ready to spur it into motion when she looks at the wizard, she barely utters two words. “Thank you” before she rides off further east in search of the orc’s camp. Alasar watches the barbarian woman ride off into the distance. When she crosses over a hill and disappears from view he grabs the pony’s reins. “Come on Pedals, lets cross the river and make camp somewhere.” RP Music: Never really considered RP music before,but when thinking up what would really describe this character and this movie popped into my mind. So enjoy the following music video of one of the most epic movies ever made.

[nanovich]

DM reviewed ✔
Sheet

Faeona Dawnstar Name: Faeona Dawnstar Race: Half-elf Class: Bard, College of Swords (DPS, Healer, Support, Face) Alignment: NG   Physical Description: Faeona doesn't look like a typical bard or entertainer. At first glance, and likely at second glance, she looks more like a traveling swordswoman. Her full-body leather armor is caked in dirt and mud, but closer examination can see the quality craftsmanship beneath. Her royal blue cloak is fastened with an ornamental clasp in the shape of a silver star, the symbol of her elvish family. Sheathed on her back is a longsword, simple but durable. On the few occasions she chooses to share her music, her only instrument is her voice. Coming into contact with her is immediately disarming, in the figurative sense. She has the strength and stamina of a human, but the hint of elf in her features grant her an irresistible beauty. Her long red hair is usually tied behind her during travel to give her freedom of movement, but may be let loose in a comfortable setting. Her piercing pale blue eyes seem calm and steady, confident even, despite her own lack of confidence inside.   History: The daughter of an elvish lord and a human wench, Faeona's very existence is an embarrassment upon her family. That is why she was kept to her father's residence her entire life within the elves' secluded forest vale. Their community was particularly imperial, and if others knew that she existed, her father would be shamed and scorned, and his title of lordship would likely be taken away. And so she was kept out of sight. She had full reign of his residence there, and spent her time as she grew up training with blade and song, and diving into books and tales of heroes long past, and learning words of magical enchantment. Her interest in tales and ballads fueled a need to explore outside the confines of their beautiful home. When she learned as a young adult the truth of her birth and the truth of her prison, she was consumed in confusion and anger. Taking what little she needed from her father's possessions, she climbed her way out of the residence, and snuck out of town. There, entirely unsure of what to do with herself, she headed west where she came upon the Sword Coast and the city of Luskan. Her anger at her father faded, and she became obsessed with the idea of proving herself to him. Proving that she wasn't a mistake. She would find an epic tale to be a part of, and record its every event. Hearing of the troubles north in the Ten Towns of Icewind Dale, she headed to the bayside village of Easthaven in the hopes of writing a tale that would cement itself in history and prove herself to her family. It was during this travel that she encountered the first of the assassins. Her father can't quite let her explore the wilds freely, especially when she's advertising her family crest in the form of her cloak's clasp. Electing to do what he should have done when Faeona was born, he's hired assassins to track her down and kill her. As she makes her way to Easthaven in the search of a dangerous and exciting adventure, she has more danger following behind her than she could ever imagine. Goal: Write an epic tale worthy of fame, to give her life some amount of use. She's heard rumor of the undead spirits becoming restless in their northern tombs, and her plan is to investigate this and see what adventure may come of it. Personality Traits: Contemplative, Insecure Ideals: No one should have to hide who they really are. Bonds: I always have my book and ink within reach, and I plan on using them to write a tale that will be sung across the land for years to come. Flaws: I lack the confidence required to do anything truly heroic, and the confidence I show to others is just a facade. Quirks: I never speak in contractions. Occasionally, I will talk or hum to myself, either trying to remember something to write down or humming some song I've discovered or written. Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Yes Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: Yes, but only about the first half hour to hour. I played quite a bit more of Baldur's Gate 1 & 2   Background Narrative, in lyrical form (Hey, she's a bard): Bells around the forest vale When I fled you Spinning now my untold tale And on my own I flew Blood my own upon my hands When I fled you Walking now these unseen lands And on my own I flew The path unknown of northward stones To Icewind Dale alone I'm roaming and I'm roaming Straight ahead and when the storms come crashing Reaping the seeds that I had sown Burning to the bone I'm roaming and I'm roaming Woman alone and her sword a-slashing "The Path Unknown," written and sung by Faeona Dawnstar Upon her travel alone to the Ten Towns To the tune of "Stadium Arcadium" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers*

[Shinzo]

DM reviewed ✔

Character Sheet Barog's Sheet WIP

The Ironskin Barog Ironskin Barog Ironskin Goliath Fighter Name: Barog Ironskin (Tribal name abandoned) Race: Goliath Class: Fighter (Eldritch Knight - Going tanky spell fighter) Alignment: Chaotic Good - Barog lived most of his life outside of society, amidst the research party, traveling all along the Spine of the World. He has a good strong heart, but he learned to trust his judgment and instincts. Physical Description: As all Goliath are, Barog is a heavy, strong and tall individual, hard to miss. His skin pale, home to a multitude of dark markings, tattoos of various shapes and sizes, that always remind him of his origins. He also bears scattered scars from the harsh environments he had to survive in, through the entire span of his life. Scars that give him strength, remind him of the enemies he defeated, rather than the injuries he endured. Bold head, icy bright blue eyes. A face that is hard to read, a hard shell to the fighter that doesn’t offer the friendliest of first impressions. Background: Sage - Wizard's apprentice (Maybe strange, but I think it is the best fit) Personality Trait 1: I only look back only so that I can move forward harder and stronger. Personality Trait 2: I fear loneliness, I seek friendship and companionship. Ideal: My strength of body and mind is my weapon to fight and overcome any challenge I face, a weapon to rise in glory. Not a tool for arrogance and tyranny. Bond: I wouldn’t be who I am and where I am without the love of my deceased sister and the care of my mentor. Flaw 1: I'd rather chew on my armor than admit when I'm wrong. Flaw 2: I tend to enjoy going deep when having my strange philosophical conversations and questions. Which tends to make others uncomfortable ... Being a Goliath doesn’t help one bit. Quirks: Barog finds comfort in the silence and pureness of winter nights. Dark nights which are only light by a flickering campfire, give him peace of mind. They give him time to think about the future, time to reminisce on the past, all while enjoying the sight of the stars. Often after a hard fight, the Goliath would sit by the campfire, observing and meditating, until the sun raises.

Info Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: I only saw it when exploring the forgotten realms map and maybe in the Neverwinter MMO. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: No, I have not.

The dreadful past Background Narrative: The Goliath are known for traveling in vast numbers, pillaging and raiding, the weak left behind. Although, in Barog’s case, his abandon was not due to that fact, but rather to him being envied, him being alone with no family left and the horror that befell the tribe. Dark times came upon the tribe, a disease, no simple plague. It was a ferocious and vicious cursed spirit that lurked the mountains. Thinning the herd a victim at a time. The tribe’s elders and the chief found no answer within their knowledge, so, superstition was what they were left with. Their solution was to make an offering to the land, a living sacrifice to appease its anger, and that sacrifice was Barog, a chained, helpless living being for the land to feast on … But the goliath prevailed and survived, the last words and moments of his sister, the last victim of the evil spirit, lingering in his mind, a source of determination and strength … “Dear brother..” as she wiped the tears that ran down his pale face “Never give up, no matter how hard you fall, rise and stand harder .. Never forget me dear brother, as I will always love you ……” her last breath escaping towards the dark night sky. Two weeks passed since the Goliath’s life changed in the sudden drastic manner it did. The area was harsh and the air freezing, howling and whistling across the vast silent mountain spires. Laying face first on the crackling mountain side, covered in snow was Barog, barely conscious, starving, weak and lonely, he had no one and despair crept inside of him. Until shouting voices and footsteps were heard. This was not his last day, but the beginning of his new life. Barog was rescued by a traveling party. It was a research party that departed from a far away Academy within the southern lands. They were on a journey looking for a relic that was the heart of an old forgotten prophecy, foretold to reside within the depths of a cave west of the Spine of the World. The head of the party, a wizard by the name of Fenton Ereghast took Barog as an apprentice. Time passed and Fenton got more and more interested in the fresh blood’s instinctual thrive for challenge, and his strange unending hunger for knowledge. For a Goliath, he was oddly intelligent, getting into debates and conversations with the scholar party. He never tired of learning, of practice and never found satisfaction, always wanting more. Fenton harnessed Barog’s fighting instincts and training to embellish them with arcane knowledge and practice, Barog always had interest in the arcane world, and offered no objection to the restless nights studying nor did he complain after the long travelling and sparring journeys. Three years and the party never found the mysterious relic, they lost two thirds of the crew. Fenton grew weak, not able to withstand the harsh land and the weight of the travel. And once again, in another dreadful moment in Barog’s life, Fenton and almost the entire party perished in a fight against a group of Remorhaz, as they unknowingly stumbled inside their lair. Barog and a couple made it alive, but in the upcoming days, the two scholars couldn’t survive their wounds and Barog found himself in isolation once more. Barog headed northwest, following his instincts. Lately, in the silent nights, he is always hearing what only can be described as ceaseless thumping from that direction. He no longer has neither home nor companions but only has his instincts, the memory of his sister and the unfulfilled quest of his mentor. Secret:

Barog's journey to Winter's Cradle Tavern Barog, alone again, walked and walked, roaming The Spine of the World with no success, he kept going, passing Raven Rock and continuing beyond. Still seeking to fulfill his mentor's quest, all he had were his instincts, pointing west. Lately, he had a strange feeling coming from that direction, when he sat down at night, gazing on the beauty of the stars, he felt it. It was like thumping in his head, coming from that direction, pulling him. Thump ... Thump ... Thump. Barog's experience with the group of scholars and wizards made him not as odd socially as he was before, once, he only talked with his sister, but now, he couldn't stand being alone again in these vast frozen lands and high spires. And thus, his goal was to seek new companions. His journey took him to an area called Ten Towns, a town called Easthaven, inside a tavern called "Winter's Cradle Tavern". Along his journey here, the thumping grew a tad stronger, and he also heard various rumors from frightened people here and there. The rumors talked about strange sightings of giants, orcs becoming restless, venturing where they shouldn't. A thought grew stronger fueled by the thumping deep within his mind ... there was something wrong, something evil rising in this frozen part of the world. A faint feeling of dread came upon him as he remembered the words of the prophecy that was sought by Fenton, his mentor. As he sat inside the tavern, alone, reminiscing on his past and thinking of what the future might hold for him.

Barog's Goals This isn’t quite a goal I feel as much as an internal drive, it is the result of both his Goliath instincts and his second personal trait, I think: Barog seeks a new family. He wants to find new companions that he can call family again, fight for them, fight alongside them, defend them, laugh, smile with them. A new family to defeat the greater challenges and foes in this world. A family that he can have no regret dying for. This second goal ties with his mentor’s quest, finding the powerful relic. We can talk about which relics or artifact that have a possibility of being tied into the story. But, what they knew was that it was part of a prophecy, a prophecy that foretold of a hero that would save the frozen world from a great evil. The hero would face a hard choice that would either save all that lives or doom it for eternity. The relic has great power, power that is able to defeat the foretold great evil, but it also has the power to amplify it, to make it stronger. The prophecy tells that this hero, could either become a salvation, a savior or become the greatest weapon fighting alongside the evil to turn every living into sunder.

Barog - Theme music

[Fake Roosevelt]

DM reviewed ✔

Tarak Stormbreaker Ahokanui Basics Name: Tarak Stormbreaker Ahokanui [b]Race:[/ b] Volo'sGoliath Class: Barbarian (Xanathar'sPath of the Zealot) Alignment: Lawful Neutral Physical Description: Tarak (Stormbreaker or Stormy to close friends) is a hulking mountain of a man with gray skin shot through with streaks of sooty black. His bulbous nose looks as though it's been broken a few times. He wears hides and furs for warmth, as well as heavy, clunking boots. Standing tall at seven and a half feet, this broad-shouldered fellow strides about with a self-assured confidence (even when he isn't feeling particularly brave). Description Background: SCAG; Uthgardt Tribe Member is base background, modified flavorTribe of the Triad Personality Traits: I once ran twenty-five miles without stopping to warn my tribe of an approaching horde. I'd do it again if I had to. I'm always picking things up, absently fiddling with them, and sometimes accidentally breaking them. Ideal: It is each person's responsibility to make the most happiness for the whole tribe. Bond: I suffer awful visions of a coming disaster and will do anything to prevent it. Flaw: Don't expect me to save those who can't save themselves. It is nature's way that the strong thrive and the weak perish. Quirks: Tarak loves slow-roasted wild boar, and laments that they are so sparse in his homeland; he would go out of his way to hunt, kill, and eat one if he got the chance. He always leans forward all the way when seated, never leaning back. Afraid of caterpillars; he finds them repulsive. Bites his nails, and gets aggressive when people try to tell him it's a gross or dirty habit. He carries an egg-sized, triangular stone everywhere, and tells people that it appeared in his belt pouch one day. Elk antlers are tattooed on his back, which he believes represents strength and endurance. Tarak doesn't trust wizards; it's a superstition picked up during his upbringing. In broad terms, he considers them to be tricksters at best and devils at worst, even (and especially) the friendly ones. Secret:   Goal: Tarak is a relatively simple man: his primary goal is to serve the Triad by opposing whatever terrible future is coming. He can't understand the visions they send him, and he hopes to either find someone who can help him interpret what he sees, or to find the answers some other way. He's left his tribe after taking a vow not to come back "until the Triad's will is done in the North," and so he is honor bound to see this task through. He will not be welcome at home again until he is triumphant. About the Game Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Not really, unless you count noticing the name printed on maps of the Sword Coast. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: Nope. Didn't know it existed before reading this game posting! Bio Background Narrative: I was born on top of a mountain at the Spine of the World. We didn't have a name for it; we just called it home. Five or six generations back, some human travelers had come through the mountains on some kind of holy mission. The goliaths tolerated them, as they'd brought rare wines and meats and offered to share. But they also brought their religion, and left some of it with us as well. Since then, we've called ourselves the Tribe of the Triad, and though we have no churches or temples, each of us holds to Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm in our own way. I learned about the Triad from my mother when I was very small, and how it was important to uphold their laws of justice, compassion, and duty. It was the only way our people would flourish, rather than merely survive, in these harsh mountains: by fair play, mutual support, and doing your job. I was four when she taught me that, and I was six when she died in an avalanche. My father was never the same after that. The tribe offered their support for a short time—we all must be compassionate. But life in the mountains is harsh, and my father could no longer do his duty to the rest of us. For the betterment of the tribe, justice was served: he was expelled, forced to fend for himself. Such is our way. Our father's parents did their duty and took us in after that. I was the third of five children, and like any goliath in that time and place, we had to grow up quickly. I learned to hunt and track, and learned to herd goats. My first kill was an impressive elk, in the foothills. It fed the tribe for four days, and I had its horns tattooed onto my back as a mark of the accomplishment. I was fourteen. Life was hard, but if we all pulled our weight, it could be peaceful. We moved around quite a bit. Every couple of years when game started to get sparse, we'd pack up and find a new home. There were... maybe a hundred of us. A pretty big pack. Most other clans within the tribe didn't have kids, so it was a lonely sort of childhood; the few other kids were either too much younger or too much older than me to really relate to. So I learned from my elders. Living on the edges of civilization, we had little contact with other peoples. The settlements the humes call Ten Towns were the closest, and we did some trade, but not much. Furs for tools, that sort of thing. Our tribe was self-taught and self sufficient, for the most part. Such is our way. Snow and blizzards are common, but we can take the cold. The goats... not so much. So when one of the elders sensed an oncoming thunder-snow, I was tasked with gathering up the animals and getting them to shelter (I was best at making them behave). The snow hadn't started yet, so everyone was surprised when a bolt of lightning streaked from the sky and struck me down. I don't remember much after that, but they told me that our shamans, the holiest of our people in devotion to the Triad, were able to quickly revive me. I was seventeen, and I'd loved the Triad my whole life... but that was the first day I felt that they loved me back. They wanted me to live... and before long, I understood why. I began to have visions of a coming disaster. I'm not quite clever enough to understand exactly what the dreams mean—they're like riddles I can't figure out. But no matter what form the visions take, I can feel the dread and the danger in my very bones. And I know that the Triad kept me alive so that I can fight for them. Surviving that lightning earned me my name, but it also woke something in me... I'm not any stronger (though I am strong), or any faster, or smarter, and I can't do miracles like the shamans who saved me... but I can feel the Triad looking down upon me. I can feel their expectation mounting, and I know I'll do amazing things. We were recently attacked by frost giants, and I do not believe the attack was entirely random. Traders from the Ten Towns had brought rumors of frost giants to our ears, so we were ready... but not ready enough. I don't know if these attacks have anything to do with the coming disaster that haunts my dreams, but I've got a hunch. A feeling in my gut that I can't ignore. It's my duty to unravel the will of my gods and serve their justice, whatever it may be. I'm nineteen, and doing my duty means leaving my home behind in search of my destiny. It will mean wandering, it will mean discomfort, it will mean bloodshed, and it will mean glory. I'm no holy man, but for the Triad I can swing a maul, I can take a beating, and I can keep doing it until my body is broken. Such is my way.

[Dooliwong]

DM reviewed ✔

The Lonely Sorceress Character Name:Sabrina Watson Race: Aasimar Class: Sorcerer (Phoenix Soul UA Origin) Alignment: Chaotic Good Physical Description: Sabrina is petite, standing at only five and a quarter feet tall and weighing just barely over one hundred pounds. Her crimson hair always seems to catch the light in a metallic glint, as does her pale skin shining almost a smooth silver at the right angles. Golden irises have a way to almost intently stare into people's souls as she looks into their eyes, giving a feeling of serene divinity that is hard to pin down but generally not uncomfortable. Preferring to dress predominately in turquoises, teals and purples, she does her best to be well put together but not obviously so. Her smile can disarm even the most rowdy bar patrons, and her laugh lifts even the dreariest moods. Personality Traits: Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension. I'm a hopeless romantic, always searching for that "special someone". Ideals: Honesty. Art should reflect the soul; It should come from within and reveal who we really are. Beauty. When I perform, I make the world better than it was. Bond: My instrument is my most treasured possession, it reminds me of someone I love Flaw: I'm a sucker for a pretty face Quirk: I absentmindedly ignite small fires that quickly sputter out. A Secret: Background: Entertainer   A long, long time ago. 43 years into the brutal and bloody war that wasn’t even half over yet. Man fought beasts, Angels fought Devils, and sometimes the battlefield overlapped closer than most sides cared for. One such battle, taking place spanning a once beautiful expanse of rolling hills and luscious farm fields now smoldering from countless blazes set by either side, is the setting for history. Not world shattering, war ending history, but history nonetheless. The Deva Amoxadryll, fallen in battle with the Balor Demon Iggwilv, lay dying in a pile of lesser demons he and his comrades managed to destroy, scattered amongst the corpses of the human warriors unfortunate enough to choose this place to do battle. Unconsciously, Amoxadryll’s form had slipped into the passable human form he used to interact with the mortals of the world, his outstretched hand nearly connecting him to the nearest throng of humans. Cursing at the squeaking cart she pulled, a frazzled looking human woman scurried through the field, stooping now and again to check for signs of life amongst the dead, letting out a dejected sigh when she found corpses too far gone to even try to check. As she approached Amoxadryll, he hand involuntarily twitched, evoking a hopeful gasp from the woman. Tending to his wounds, she was able to stabilize him enough to move him, and through great effort she loaded the man onto her cart, and quickly wheeled him back to her encampment. There, she nursed him back to life, slowly but surely. And, as things tend to happen in these situations, the two began to talk, and soon began to develop some semblance of an emotional attachment. Still too weak to return to his battalion, but growing stronger every day, soon Amoxadryll and the woman, Alexandria, acted on their urges, taking solace in their brief sphere of apparent serenity they had created. Soon though, Amoxadryll had to return to war, leaving Alexandria unknowingly pregnant with his celestial blood. A few years back. Winter. Neverwinter City. The Prancing Stag inn. The sweet and melancholy sounds of an aching violin slipped out through the door and poorly sealed windows, wafting over the patrons and bringing a slight chill to their spine despite the well stoked fire roaring in the heart. Near the back of the common room, on a slightly raised stage sitting on a rickety stool sat a beautiful, petite human woman, crimson hair flowing down her shoulders over a well-fitting purple dress and glinting like copper in the firelight. Gingerly, but with the skill of a practiced hand, she drew the bow back and forth across the strings, painting a story of heartache and loss with nothing more than a few simple notes. A small trail of tears ran down her cheek from her closed eyes as she remembered the day when her life was turned upside down. Twenty years ago, to the day, she had left home eagerly running through the bustling streets to the inn where her father worked. Much like herself, he was also a violinist and earned coin for the family by weaving his playing, tales, and just a touch of magic together to entertain and delight all who came to The Whomping Willow. Her mother, a priest at the neighborhood temple to Lathander, often would meet the two of them there for supper after her duties were complete and young Sabrina was racing to beat her there. Unusual for the day, the crowd of people grew thicker as she drew closer to her destination, proving a slight challenge for even her slight frame to squeeze through. Nearly there, the wind suddenly shifted and Sabrina could smell acrid smoke, involuntarily driving her legs into overdrive and her breathing intensifying in no part due to her physical exhaustion. Breaking free of the crowd, she dropped to her knees with tears running down her face as she saw the roaring inferno engulfing the bones of what used to be The Whomping Willow. Somehow she knew deep in her soul that moment, that both of her parents had been inside when the structure caught blaze. Slowly opening her eyes, her bow arm slowed to the final notes of the song, her fingers skillfully dancing over the strings of the instrument to draw out the last quavering notes. Her golden eyes, normally full of love, life and laughter, were reddened with tears as she gazed out across the mesmerized room. After a seeming eternity of silence, the patrons broke out into hearty applause, many reaching up to wipe away tears, some just staring solemnly into their drink. Standing up from her seat on shaky legs, Sabrina took a short bow, and left the stage making her way to the bar for a stiff drink. Sliding up to an empty stool at the relatively desolate end of the bar, Sabrina quietly tucks her violin case into the small satchel at her side, its bulky footprint disappearing seamlessly into its slim outline. Flagging down the Halfling bartender, Maxwell brings over her usual: a bottle of mid-range bourbon and a tumbler glass. Pouring herself a double, she rolls the brown liquid around the glass, losing herself in the hypnotic motions. She had spent her whole life in the city, and up until The Whomping Willow burned down when she was barely eight years old, things had been pleasant. After that, things were a bit hazy. She remembers hiding at home for days, eventually be drawn out when her stomach clawed at her to be fed. Months later, after selling off her parents possessions one by one to survive she was forced to leave home with nothing more than the few clothes she could fit in her bag, the violin her father had given her on her last birthday, and her mother’s bag. Everything else in the house that could be sold, was sold, and she closed the door one final time on the empty home, never to return. She managed to skate by, working odd jobs at local taverns peeling potatoes and doing dishes for a place to stay and enough food to survive. Spending her nights playing violin to maintain a connection to her past, eventually being allowed to perform on slow evenings to make some extra coin in addition to her normal duties. This arrangement worked well for Sabrina and the inn proprietors she worked with for several years, over time she found it easier to manage her chores but never understood what was happening. One day when she was twelve, the owner came into the storeroom to discuss the night’s schedule with Sabrina, only to be greeted by a room of floating potatoes peeling themselves in the air surrounding a humming preteen peeling one by hand as she sat cross-legged on the floor. Recognizing her latent gift, he pulled some favors to get her sent to the Mages College for training. There she learned to harness her gifts, and to her instructor’s intrigue she was also able to manifest traditionally divine skills, such as though to heal. Inferring from her physical features as well as her ability to weave both distinct types of magic, they explained to her the truth about her celestial bloodline, explaining she was what the scholars dubbed an “Aasimar”. A light brush on her shoulder pulls Sabrina from her day dreaming, a warm smile and pair of deep emerald eyes greet her as she turns to her side to see her longtime friend Eliza sitting at the bar next to her. "Everything alright love?" The woman asks, her touch gliding down Sabrina’s arm to her hand. "Oh, you know how it is… it’s the anniversary," melancholy slipping into her tone as she shifts to look at her friend, flipping her coppery hair over her shoulder and leaning her head in her hand. A light playful smile creeps across her angelic face, "Better now that you’re here." Eliza giggles and the two carry on their conversation and drink, eventually making their way to Sabrina’s room a few hours later. Sabrina sits on the edge of the bed a few hours later, wrapped in a blanket to stave off the deep winter chill as Eliza snores peacefully face down in a pillow, her long blonde hair fanned out around her almost like a halo. Gazing out the window, fat heavy snowflakes falling slowly in the city glow, she wrestled with her growing wanderlust. Her whole life had been spent in the city, she knew its districts better than most, and she had made a good life for herself here. And yet, she felt a gnawing hole in her soul that even Eliza and the other beautiful women that so easily found their way into Sabrina’s bed did little to quell. Her time at the Mages’ College studying the arcane arts, and later the lore of the long lost deities, had afforded her many opportunities to read about fascinating foreign locales and intriguing alien cultures. Some of her fellow students had even been so lucky as to venture forth from the college on expeditions with the professors, but somehow Sabrina had never been so lucky as to earn an invitation. Maybe someday… she lamented internally, letting out a deep sigh but catching herself halfway as Eliza stirred in bed. With a wave of her hand, the fire in the hearth roared with more intensity in an attempt to drive out the cold as she wormed her way back into the bed, scooting herself in tight against the human furnace that was her lover. Laying there with the crackle of the fire, the low snores of Eliza and the picturesque snowfall she drifted back to sleep with dreams of exciting adventure and the rewards that accompany it.

[Avner]

DM reviewed ✔

Click Me
(Gulgrim Theme
Music)

Smith of Kelvin's Cairn Gulgrim Battlehammer Name Gulgrim Battlehammer: Race: Shield Dwarf Class: Cleric (Forge Domain) Alignment: Lawful Good Physical Description: Tall for a dwarf with Black hair and deep brown eyes Gulgrim has a gruff look on his face that seems to always mean business. He has a scar on one side from one of his previous battles where he put himself in danger to save another. Background: Clan Crafter Personality Trait: I’m full of witty aphorisms and have a proverb for every occasion. Ideal: I’m full of witty aphorisms and have a proverb for every occasion. Bond: I created a great work for someone, and then found them unworthy to receive it. I’m still looking for someone worthy. Flaw: I’m quick to assume that someone is trying to cheat me. Quirks: Gulgrim has a love for Ten Towns chocolate and when he says love he means a slight infatuation with the stuff. It can only be rivaled by his love of a good brew. On the adverse side whenever he sees a small bear he seems to suddenly get emotional which is uncharacteristic of the gruff dwarf. A Secret:   Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: I am a huge fan of the Icewind Dale trilogy in which the Companions of the Hall were first introduced. I am familiar with Ten Towns and the ruthless environment in which the story takes place. I really look forward to being able to play in the setting. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game?: No I played some of the old D&D CPU games such as Pools of Radiance but never played Icewind Dale. Background Narrative: The shield dwarves who once resided in Mithril Hall are a tough bunch and make an equal match to the harsh enviorns that Icewind Dale has to offer, but if a dwarf is considered rough around the edges they would be fluffy next to the likes of Gulgrim Battlehammer. Prickly as they come Gulgrim is a cynical dwarf with a strong hammer who has seen some of the worst of what the fates have to offer. One of Bruenor's line he has heard the legends of the ancient home that their fathers had lost to the shadow dragon and their darker kin the duergar. He longs to one day visit his hammer among the smithies of his long lost home that has at last been freed by Bruenor. The smith was not always the crafter of his people. Years ago he was in fact a member of a group of an elite dwarven guard known as the hammer of Moradin. They were the ones sent into some of the most dangerous missions that threatened the people of Kelvin's Cairn and the Ten Towns with which they traded. It was said that when they were at their prime there was no foe that could stand the impact of the Hammer of Moradin. Gulgrim had earned a reputation of honor among his comrades but after an expedition north in which they chased off a group of Frost Giants that were threatening Ten Towns Gulgrim came back with a shattered hammer and spirit. He retreated into the smithy and seemed to work endlessly day and night taking the mantle of the Smith of the Battlehammer Clan. He forged great weapons and often travelled to Bruenor's "Temple" to attempt to create a masterwork. There is a rumor that Gulgrim had created one such weapon but has yet to find anyone he has deemed worthy to use it. Afraid it would get into the hands of someone who would use it maliciously Gulgrim was said to have hid the weapon somewhere in Kelvin's Cairn for safekeeping. It is said that when Gulgrim does finally find someone who is worthy he will retrieve the weapon and finally give it to the one for whom it was destined. Gulgrim was once again in his smithy hammering away at his latest craft when a messenger brought him a letter from Ten Towns. It was a call for aid from an old friend now residing in Easthaven. A call for aid and something else as well... the Frost Giants were back. A look of anger filled the face of Gulgrim, he knew their return was a poor omen and immediately called for the aid of the Hammer of Moradin to quell the situation. It was then that he learned they had all been deployed to Mithril Hall and the town was without their protection. "Tell the others the smith is closed. I gotta go see about a Giant." The only member of the Hammer left was Gulgrim who had stepped away so long ago. Looking at the letter in his hand he crumpled it up and threw it in the fire of the smithy, just before he grabbed his old gear and made his way to Easthaven.

[Tyeal]

DM reviewed ✔

The Magic... Man? Theme Music Name: Lore Militan Race: Tiefling Class: Warlock [Seeker] (With plans to experiment with a wacky Warlock/Paladin/Sorc build) Alignment: CG Physical Description: Lore stands as an atypical Tiefling. Red skin, visible horns and... That's it, actually. No smell of brimstone or sulfur, no cloven feet, not even a tail whipping behind him. He wears typical traveler's clothes of browns and greens, a heavy cloak against the chill of Icewind Dale, and walks with a heavily gnarled, black staff. His build is lean and lightly muscled, like a red-furred cat. His eyes are an odd shade of violet, with his hair a medium-length brown. Background:   Lore's first memory was of him appearing in a small bedroom, smelling strongly of ink, paper, leather, and something he couldn't identify. He noticed the figure sitting up in his bed, grinning to himself and letting his body go slack as he falls backwards. "My life's work.. is now a reality..." And let out a loud, final, exhale, passing before his eyes. The Tiefling could feel something entering under his skin, but wouldn't be aware of what it was until he would leave his 'home'. Over the next year, he absorbed everything he could find inside his benefactor's home. Reading books upon books and exploring the immediate area outside of the small home tucked away in a place he'd learn was called The Shadow Marsh. His host, Lorcras Militain, was a studious and well-read Half-Orc. Having kept volumes of various kinds of books about history, geography, monsters, cook books, magic, etc. There was also this one book that he couldn't open, no matter what he attempted to do. It was immune to damage, he couldn't pick the lock, and he didn't have the aptitude to dispel whatever magic might be holding it sealed. The book was simply titled 'Shaping A New World: Biography of Lorcras Militan'. When Lore felt he was ready, he stuffed whatever he thought he'd need into his benefactor's old Haversack, said goodbye to the grave he had made for him, and left with his first Astral Construct, Slim. Disguises and shaped as an Orc as he made his way across the swamp. Figuring having such a large, hulking creature at his side, folks would largely leave him be. And for the first few towns and cities, he was right. He barely got a sideways glance when he sat at an inn table, or did shopping for supplies. The very first person to approach him was a Gnome who identified himself as Arnedian Uronar, a Wizard. Lore himself was rather excited to meet an actual Wizard, and the two started swapping notes over a few mugs of ale. It wasn't until the Tiefling, who couldn't hold his alcohol, let slip that he wasn't actually a Tiefling. And openly confessed that he wasn't sure WHAT he was. But he existed, and wanted to continue doing so, even if he's something both living and non-living. After that, the inn erupted into a fight. The Gnome summoning monsters to fight Lore's own construct while they flung spells and powers at one another. All the while claiming that 'he shouldn't exist' and was 'upsetting the natural balance of the world and magic'. He managed to escape after altering his form to give him enhanced speed, with his Orc 'bodyguard' not far behind. He patched him up and started heading North, having been hearing rumors and tales of giants, spirits, ghosts, and unnatural weather forming to batter the entirety of the Icewind Dale. He decided to investigate these occurrences, planning and hoping to find some powerful arcane source for all these very much unusual phenomenon and uncover some answers of his own in the process. Personality Trait: Cautious and highly observant Ideal: "Magic is a fantastic force, one that I WILL harness!" Bond: "I am here to fulfill a purpose. And I will see it through." Flaw: "Life and time are finite and I must preserve both of mine." Quirks: He keeps his horns trimmed and filed down, mixing the shavings into drink and food. Or chewing on entire cuts of his horns. A Secret:   Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: Yes Have you ever played Icewind Dale the PC game?: Briefly. A few hours at best. Background Narrative: Lore seated himself inside the Winter's Candle Tavern in a small village called Easthaven. It had been a cold, long journey to this place but the few people he spoke to before heading out told him it would be the best place to visit first to get the lay of the land and supply for the harsh landscape. He had to admit as he entered the structure and knocked the snow from his boots and cloak, the tavern was indeed very warm. And the Boar Bisque he ate was piping hot in temperature and spice, as well as having delicious melty boar meat among a few sparse vegetables. Helping warm him from his horns to his toes. There were a handful of people in here, their attitude turning the warmer they got from the tone of their voice and what they discussed. He had acquired a small table pushed off to the side away from the fireplace as he had correctly guessed that was prime placement and his appearance was already unsettling to most. He reached into his backpack and produced a thick envelope, drawing from it a well-worn letter and reading it for what had to have been the 26th time.   Lore gingerly folded the letter up and slid it back into the envelope, placing it back inside his pack. He kept his hood up as he ate and drank, taking some extra time to produce a thick tome with a chain running under the spine and a heavy lock punched into the cover. He performed a few incantations to try and get a reaction from the book, knowing lockpicks, knives, and other such tools seemed to just break and dissolve inside the lock itself. A streak of arcane energy here, tracing a few runic symbols he knew, attempting to speak in the few languages he knew everything he had attempted in Common. However, an hour passed and he felt no closer to uncovering what made this book open. "Curses and damnation." He muttered to himself. He dejectedly stuffed the book back into his pack, finished his soup, and retired to his room for the evening. Feeling a few curious eyes on him as he ascended, no doubt seeing the pastel red skin of his hands as he went.

[Tommyk382]

Cassandra Valoran Basic Information Cassandra EDIT: Theme song: Empire of Angels Name: Cassandra Valoran Gender: Female Race: Feat: Magic Initiate - DruidVariant Human Class: Monk Alignment: Lawful Good Background: Reflavored as a travelling healerHermit Personality Trait 1: I put the needs of others over myself; even strangers. Personality Trait 2: I give generously and care not for material wealth. I can survive off the support of the people I help. Main Ideal: All have the right to live. Even the most evil person could repent. Secondary Ideal: The downtrodden must be protected. Bond: Everything I do is for the common people. Flaw: I am empathetic to a fault. This often leads to over-trusting and makes me appear naive. Quirks: - Cassandra has been known to administer first-aid to enemies after battles. In her opinion, almost all life is valued. Of course this can lead to friction when allies do not agree. - Cassandra can be both extremely extroverted and introverted. Due to her dealings with people, she can easily strike up a conversation and hold it continuously. On the other hand, due to long travels between villages to provide healing services, Cassandra has learned the value of silence and often finds comfort in it.   Description Sister Cassandra or, to her friends, Cassandra, is a woman in her early twenties with a welcoming and friendly demeanor. Golden hair drifts down to her mid-back and is obviously very well cared for; nestled behind her golden bangs are two friendly deep-brown eyes. With angular facial features and a warm grin, most find her extremely charming. Cassandra is rarely angered, and those she communicates with tend to find comfort in her calming voice. Talking with Cassandra shows that she is clearly educated, yet she appears just as comfortable talking to an uneducated peasant as she is a noble. With an extreme sympathy for all, Cassandra can tend to annoy those who believe that "might makes right". Standing up for the downtrodden and those who are unable to stand up for herself, she often feels Though she does her best to keep a cool demeanor and rarely shows her frustrationfrustration at those who pass over the needs of the weak and sick. She does not act in anger towards those who do not believe the same as her, but simply encourages and implores them to reach into their more humanitarian side. When not engaging with others, Cassandra can be found doing usually one of two things: praying to Ilmater and collecting herbs for remedies and salves. Cassandra has a steadfast faith in her god and is often found reading a small prayer book or deep in meditation. When her clerical rituals are complete, Cassandra is often found collecting various herbs and experimenting with them. Her experience in herbalism is limited to healing, using it as her primary tool to aid the sick. Origin Story and Recent Life Cassandra was born to parents who could not support her. As a baby, she was given to the local church of Ilmater and grew up in a loving environment with monks and clerics. The Abbey was merely known as Revered Father of the House, or Father if speaking informally. Father acted like a true parent should have. He always made sure that Cassandra was cared for and was happy. When Cassandra came of schooling age, Father himself began to teach her to read and write. Cassandra grew into a very devout follower of Ilmater and vowed herself to his tenets. As she grew older, other monks began to teach her the basics of unarmed combat. This is taught to all the Adorned so that they can protect those who cannot protect themselves. They do not believe in using blades, but often use staves and slings as well. Cassandra proved to be a capable combatant, although that was not her primary interest. Sister Morgan was an ex-herbalist who came to the church of Ilmater to offer her services to those in need. She knew most local plants and how they reacted, and used that knowledge to create healing salves and ointments for the various ailments of the people. Cassandra showed a natural aptitude to the skill and Sister Morgan took the adolescent under her wing, teaching her much about the non-magical healing arts. As Cassandra grew older, she quickly became the second-best herbalist in the church and many of the nearby denizens of the Ten-Towns came to the church to be healed by Morgan or Cassandra. At the age of 19, Cassandra had learned all she could from Sister Morgan and asked Father to help her learn divine magic to help supplement her skills. As a devout follower, Cassandra showed the potential to be a great cleric for Ilmater, but had so far had no magical answer to her prayers. Father helped her redouble her devotion to her god and gave Cassandra her very own prayer book. While only a simple used book, with missing pages, notes scrawled in the margins, and water damage, Cassandra loved this book. In combination with her daily rituals, Cassandra spent every morning with a focused hour of devotion to this book. This book contained all necessary information to prepare and use divine magic. As the following two years came and went, Cassandra began to feel discouraged as she was still unable to cast divine magic. In a conversation with Father, she mentioned that she felt this was a great trial and perhaps Ilmater was testing her. Having an idea, Father suggested that maybe Ilmater hadn’t granted her his blessing because she had not yet needed it. "Perhaps, Sister Cassandra, out in the world, going to the people in need, Ilmater will show you his favor, granting you strength when you need it most." Once that idea was planted in her head, Cassandra could not escape the feeling that this was the only way to receive Ilmater’s favor. Within six months, Cassandra had a farewell from her comfortable home setting and set out on an adventure, travelling the cold roads from settlement to settlement, offering her healing to the people and relying on their support to sustain herself. It wasn’t but two months after her departure from the trip that Cassandra found herself on the road between two of the Ten-Towns. The day had begun like normal, with the sun clearing through the overcast sky where it issued a warm glow. Lost in thought, thinking of the family she left behind, Cassandra nearly stumbled over the body of an unconscious man in the snow. The man was facedown, so Cassandra rolled him over and began to diagnose what was wrong. That didn’t take long. The man had a long slash running from the base of his ribcage to his waist. Looking up, Cassandra saw a trail of blood that continued on into the distance. He must’ve been attacked by something, escaped, and collapsed of blood loss. Cassandra checked the man’s pulse, and found nothing but a very slight fluttering. Breathing deeply, Cassandra remembered Sister Morgan’s instruction to always keep calm and began setting into cleaning the wound. There was so much blood leaking across the man’s leather jerkin that Cassandra could hardly see. Using a pre-made salve that would help prevent infection and some thick gauze, Cassandra was able to finally get the bleeding to stop. Cassandra used a sterile needle and thread and sealed the wound, wrapping it carefully to help prevent re-opening the large scratch. I can’t transport him in this state, and even if he could move, I am not strong enough to carry him. All I can do now is wait… Setting up a small camp off the side of the road, Cassandra set up a small nest for the man in soft pine needles with her winter blanket to keep him warm. Boiling water over a small campfire, Cassandra diligently cleaned the wound every couple of hours and could sense the man beginning the healing process. Before the day was over, the man regained consciousness briefly and was able to swallow a few mouthfuls of a simple soup before returning to his rest. As the night came, Cassandra sat vigilant over the man, but eventually fell asleep. The unforeseen problem was that whoever harmed the man, wanted to confirm the job was done. Under cover of night, a pair of goblins with small home-made blades and gnarled faces followed the obvious blood trail and came upon the camp while Cassandra slept. They grinned to each other and dashed into combat, their footfalls muffled by the blanket of snow on the ground. Even in her sleeping state, Cassandra’s natural alarm woke her to danger and she awoke to see the fire was dying. Unable to see anything she quickly heard a soft rustling. Emerging from the dark were two hideous creatures armed with small blades. Retrieving her staff, Cassandra rushed to protect the man, whom they were running at. Cassandra quickly found herself in the first combat of her life. Fighting desperately to defend the defenseless man against this sudden terror, Cassandra lost track of one of the goblins. Unfortunately, fighting for her life, she could not take the time to find him. After a bit of back and forth with this goblin, Cassandra parried his blade with her staff and followed up with an open-palm punch to the jaw and heard a sickening cracking sound. The goblin fell limp. Forgetting about the Cassandra assumed a creature attacking like such must be evilevil creature Cassandra turned to see the other goblin playing with the man, goading his unconscious form to defend himself and casually slashing small cuts into the man’s chest. Looking up and seeing the human woman running at him, he plunged his knife into the man’s chest and stood to fight. In a fury unlike she had ever felt before, Cassandra swung her staff two-handed straight into the side of the goblin’s head. The goblin gave a weak groan and collapsed, unconscious. Taking deep breaths, attempting to slow her beating heart, Cassandra rushed to the side of the unconscious man. The cuts were largely superficial, but the new gaping wound in the chest would be fatal. Cassandra felt sympathy well in her heart and she could not stop herself from crying. As she cried she prayed, "Ilmater, please grant me the strength to heal this man. I have done my best and it won’t be enough, only you can save this man now." As Cassandra remained crying, her tears dripping onto the dying man, she started to have a sixth sense of someone watching. Fearing that there were more attackers she looked around to find no-one. After a moment’s confusion, Cassandra realized that this was Ilmater’s presence, which she never felt before. With a new confidence, Cassandra felt he would answer her prayer now. "Ilmater, please heal this man and restore him to life. End his unjust suffering." As the prayer ended, Cassandra watched as the man’s wounds closed, color returned to his skin, and he began to breathe regularly. His eyes opened slowly and he simply said "Thank you. Thank you so much." Cassandra helped the man recover over the next couple of days. The first goblin was dead. Without intending to, Cassandra snapped his neck and she buried the body. The other goblin disappeared later that night, never to be seen again. Once the man had regained his strength, Cassandra prayed a blessing over him and they went their separate ways. Cassandra, stronger in the faith than ever before, learned of Ilmater’s healing powers and began to share that gift with the people she met. She became an even more remarkable healer and helped the sick at no cost. After an additional 9 months of travel on the road, Cassandra has realized that with the increasing danger in the region, she could no longer travel alone. In her travels from town to town, she came across a small caravan that was also travelling. Finding safety in numbers, Cassandra offered her healing gift to the group in exchange for traveling in the caravan. As such she finds herself in the middle of Icewind Dale, travelling in the caravan and using her talents as she can. Other Have you heard of Icewind Dale before?: I have heard of it, but have not played a campaign in it before. I have played campaigns along the Sword Coast. Have you ever played Icewind Dale the CPU game? As a child I very briefly played both Icewind Dale and Baldur's Gate, but was more of a Neverwinter Nights player when it came out. The only thing I remember from Icewind Dale was having 6 kick-ass characters and some very brief knowledge about the start of the game.