When you finish a short rest, regain spell slots totalling no more than 1, and each must be 5th level or lower. (use once/day). Arcane Recovery Time and money to copy an evocation spell is halved. Evocation Savant Advantage on charmed saves and immune to sleep magic. Fey Ancestry Though others must often endure extensive interviews and significant fees to gain access to even the most common archives in your library, you have free and easy access to the majority of the library, though it might also have repositories of lore that are too valuable, magical,or secret to permit anyone immediate access.You have a working knowledge of your cloister's personnel and bureaucracy, and you know how to navigate those connections with some ease. Additionally, you are likely to gain preferential treatment at other libraries across the Realms, as professional courtesy shown to a fellow scholar. Library Access Can choose up to 1 + spell's level creatures to automatically save against your evocation spells and take no damage. Sculpt Spells Trance 4 hrs. instead of sleep 8. Trance
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: Touch
Components: V, M (a firefly or phosphorescent moss)
Duration: 1 hour
You touch one object that is no larger than 10 feet in any dimension. Until the spell ends, the object sheds bright light in a 20-foot radius and dim light for an additional 20 feet. The light can be colored as you like. Completely covering the object with something opaque blocks the light. The spell ends if you cast it again or dismiss it as an action.
If you target an object held or worn by a hostile creature, that creature must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw to avoid the spell. Light | Transmutation cantrip
Casting Time:1 action
Range:120 feet
Duration:1 round
Components:V, S, M (a short piece of copper wire)
You point your finger toward a creature within range and whisper a message. The target (and only the target) hears the message and can reply in a whisper that only you can hear.
You can cast this spell through solid objects if you are familiar with the target and know it is beyond the barrier. Magical silence, 1 foot of stone, 1 inch of common metal, a thin sheet of lead, or 3 feet of wood blocks the spell. The spell doesn't have to follow a straight line and can travel freely around corners or through openings. Message | Illusion cantrip
Casting Time:1 action
Range:30 feet
Duration:1 minute
Components:S, M (a bit of fleece)
You create a sound or an image of an object within range that lasts for the duration. The illusion also ends if you dismiss it as an action or cast this spell again.
If you create a sound, its volume can range from a whisper to a scream. It can be your voice, someone else's voice, a lion's roar, a beating of drums, or any other sound you choose. The sound continues unabated throughout the duration, or you can make discrete sounds at different times before the spell ends.
If you create an image of an object—such as a chair, muddy footprints, or a small chest—it must be no larger than a 5-foot cube. The image can't create sound, light, smell, or any other sensory effect. Physical interaction with the image reveals it to be an illusion, because things can pass through it.
If a creature uses its action to examine the sound or image, the creature can determine that it is an illusion with a successful Intelligence (Investigation) check against your spell save DC. If a creature discerns the illusion for what it is, the illusion becomes faint to the creature. Minor Illusion | Transmutation cantrip
Casting Time:1 action
Range:10 feet
Duration:Up to 1 hour
Components:V, S
This spell is a minor magical trick that novice spellcasters use for practice. You create one of the following magical effects within range:
• You create an instantaneous, harmless sensory effect, such as a shower of sparks, a puff of wind, faint musical notes, or an odd odor.
• You instantaneously light or snuff out a candle, a torch, or a small campfire.
• You instantaneously clean or soil an object no larger than 1 cubic foot.
• You chill, warm, or flavor up to 1 cubic foot of nonliving material for 1 hour.
• You make a color, a small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or a surface for 1 hour.
• You create a nonmagical trinket or an illusory image that can fit in your hand and that lasts until the end of your next turn. If you cast this spell multiple times, you can have up to three of its non-instantaneous effects active at a time, and you can dismiss such an effect as an action. Prestidigitation | Evocation cantrip
Casting Time:1 action
Range:60 feet
Duration:Instantaneous
Components:V, S
A frigid beam of blue-white light streaks toward a creature within range. Make a ranged spell attack against the target. On a hit, it takes 1d8 cold damage, and its speed is reduced by 10 feet until the start of your next turn.
The spell's damage increases by 1d8 when you reach 5th level (2d8), 11th level (3d8), and 17th level (4d8). Ray of Frost
First Level Spells: 1st-level Enchantment
Casting Time:1 action
Range:30 feet
Duration:1 hour
Components:V, S
You attempt to charm a humanoid you can see within range. It must make a Wisdom saving throw, and does so with advantage if you or your companions are fighting it. If it fails the saving throw, it is charmed by you until the spell ends or until you or your companions do anything harmful to it. The charmed creature regards you as a friendly acquaintance. When the spell ends, the creature knows it was charmed by you.
At Higher Levels. When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, you can target one additional creature for each slot level above 1st. The creatures must be within 30 feet of each other when you target them. Charm Person | 1st-level Transmutation
Casting Time:1 reaction, which you take when you or a creature within 60 feet of you falls
Range:60 feet
Duration:1 minute
Components:V, M (a small feather or piece of down)
Choose up to five falling creatures within range. A falling creature's rate of descent slows to 60 feet per round until the spell ends. If the creature lands before the spell ends, it takes no falling damage and can land on its feet, and the spell ends for that creature. Feather Fall 1st-level Abjuration
Casting Time:1 action
Range:Touch
Duration:8 hours
Components:V, S, M (a piece of cured leather)
You touch a willing creature who isn't wearing armor, and a protective magical force surrounds it until the spell ends. The target's base AC becomes 13 + its Dexterity modifier. The spell ends if the target dons armor or if you dismiss the spell as an action. Mage Armor | 1st-level Enchantment
Casting Time:1 action
Range:90 feet
Duration:1 minute
Components:V, S, M (a pinch of fine sand, rose petals, or a cricket)
This spell sends creatures into a magical slumber. Roll 5d8; the total is how many hit points of creatures this spell can affect. Creatures within 20 feet of a point you choose within range are affected in ascending order of their current hit points (ignoring unconscious creatures). Starting with the creature that has the lowest current hit points, each creature affected by this spell falls unconscious until the spell ends, the sleeper takes damage, or someone uses an action to shake or slap the sleeper awake. Subtract each creature's hit points from the total before moving on to the creature with the next lowest hit points. A creature's hit points must be equal to or less than the remaining total for that creature to be affected.
Undead and creatures immune to being charmed aren't affected by this spell.
At Higher Levels. When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, roll an additional 2d8 for each slot level above 1st. Sleep | 1st-level Enchantment
Casting Time:1 action
Range:30 feet
Duration:Concentration, up to 1 minute
Components:V, S, M (tiny tarts and a feather that is waved in the air)
A creature of your choice that you can see within range perceives everything as hilariously funny and falls into fits of laughter if this spell affects it. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or fall prone, becoming incapacitated and unable to stand up for the duration. A creature with an Intelligence score of 4 or less isn't affected.
At the end of each of its turns, and each time it takes damage, the target can make another Wisdom saving throw. The target has advantage on the saving throw if it's triggered by damage. On a success, the spell ends. "T.’s Hideous Laughter
Equipment: Pouch, staff, small knife, book, robes, ink pen, bag of sand, parchment, backpack, spellbook, ink
__________________
Oh, after all the folderol and hauling over coals stops, what did I learn?
Last edited by The Rat Queen; May 17th, 2020 at 12:46 AM.
Unferth stands at a stocky 4' 2" with full framed shoulders and a bit of a belly from enjoying a touch too much ale when the mood strikes. His face has deep lines through his cheeks that disappear into his well kept beard. His leather armor looks to be worn from years in mercenary service with adjustments and buckles in different places to stitch together old tears. A large battleaxe hangs from his belt while daggers are hidden among his effects for closer encounters.
His hood covers a shaved head marked with tattoos spanning from simple foul language in different dialects to bold geometric designs that also appear on his hands, forearms, and chest. He is rarely seen without a mug of ale or cigar of dwarven tobacco. His eyes can feel like they are boring holes into your mind, expectant and searching. The dwarf speaks with short, clipped sentences forcing others to get to the point quickly and efficiently.
Character Personality:
Personality Traits
- I keep my personal possessions in secret places which are known only to me
- I do nothing, move no finger or blade, unless I hear the jingling sound of coins
One Background Ideal
- Unsullied Honor: I never break my promises or my contracts for anyone or anything.
One Background Bond
- I seek to reclaim something of great importance to me, and it requires a great deal of coin and blood.
Character Flaws
- I would send an innocent to face his death if it means I will win the fight
- I have crippling debts that my work barely pays off
Summary: Unferth is a dwarf driven to earn as much coin as he can without breaking his word, even if that means a few civilians are hurt along the way. He keeps his reasons for such a ravenous appetite to himself, though it seems as if all the coin he gains is immediately vanished. The dwarf tends to be quiet, but when he does speak he tends to state things in a very "matter of fact" manner leaving others to assume he is just a cold, calculating merc.
Backstory:
Unferth was the second son to a minor dwarf noble within Citadel Sundbarr, though his family was forced to flee after the War of the Silver Marches. For the last few years the younger dwarf has found work among the Vilhon Mercenary Corps and has proven himself a capable, albeit unorthodox, fighter. He tends to stand directly in the melee with the other front line warriors, hacking away with his broad battle axe just as any normal trooper though odd occurrences seem to happen around him. His axe bites deeper than his wiry muscles would imply and on more than one occasion his foes have had their cuts cloaked in unnatural shadow, but his captain is pleased with the his performance and the company cares little how a job is done as long as they get paid.
As the years continued on, he continued with his grim resolve. He accepted ever more dangerous assignments and saw plenty of the young warriors placed under his command die, but the job was always completed despite the odds. He had even gained a minor reputation among his company that those assigned to him got all his bad luck. His team had just finished a job and were returning to Baldur's Gate when they came upon the stream of refugees starting a brawl with a dozen or more Flaming Fist members in the Blackgate district north of the Upper City. Unferth sensed an opportunity for some extra gold for he and his troops.
RP Sample:
Crixus cried out in pain as an arrow punched through his buckler and embedded itself in his hand. "Blasted greenskins, I will wring their filthy little necks!" The ambush had definitely not gone to plan compared to what the dwarf had seen it in his mind. Crixus and he were supposed to cut off the goblins escape route while the other five flushed them out of the thicket the raiding party had camped in. Obviously the oaf of human Unferth had brought along had not quite picked up on the idea of stealth, clomping through the high grass and not even trying to crouch down to blend in with his environment. A few goblins had begun to fire sporadically at the two mercenaries while a half dozen others rushed out to encircle them. "Time for plan B." The dwarf aimed his axe head skyward to fire a green blast of eldritch energy, signaling the others to attack. "Hopefully they get here in time..."
As the skirmish wore on, the rest of the Corpsmen had begun to hack away at the rear lines of the little raiders. First the archers were cut down then they crashed into the melee engulfing Crixus and Unferth. The warlock caught sight of their quarry, the goblin "chief" with a tiny red cape and one ear missing, attempting to flee the battle. The dwarf could slip through the greenskin line to run him down, but doing so would leave Crixus alone and surrounded. The job comes first. He slipped past a wild swing of a dagger and broke into a run so he could catch up with their target. He closed the distance and fired another blast of eldritch light, blowing a hole in the small creature's form. Unferth patted down the corpse, finding the locket and gold ring their employer had stolen from them as well as some extra coin in a hidden purse.
The mercenary veteran returned to the others as they dispatched the last of the goblin creatures. "Losses?"
"Just Crixus, sir. Two knife wounds to the back as he was strangling one of the buggers to death."
"Gather up his valuables and personal effects so we can see them to his family, contract now splits six ways instead of seven."
"Aye, sir." Unferth could tell Shani didn't like the order, but she complied just the same. Unferth's Corpsmen set about piling the bodies to burn while the dwarf wrote a small report. Crixus Lahgman, owed 1/7 of a 150 gp contract. Fell in battle when completing the job, family resides in Baldur's Gate.
Make a ranged spell attack against a target within range. On a hit the target takes 1d10+3 Force damage
Eldritch Blast Illusion Cantrip Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 30 ft Components: V,M (a bit of fleece) Duration: 1 Minute
You create a sound or an image of an object within range that lasts for the duration. If a sound, it can vary from a whisper or a scream. It can also be any sound you choose. It can be continuous or sporadic for the duration.
If you create an image, the object must be no larger than a 5 foot cube. It can't create sound, light, smell, or other sensory effect. Any physical touch will pass through the object.
A creature can make an Investigation check vs my spell DC to determine that it is an illusion. Minor Illusion Transmutation Cantrip Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 10 Feet Components: V, S Duration: Up to 1 Hour
A minor magical trick that can create one of the following magical effects within range:
- You create an instantaneous, harmless effect. (IE shower of sparks, puff of wind, faint music, or odd odor.)
- You light or snuff a candle.
- You clean or soil an object no larger than 1 cubic foot
- You chill, warm, or flavor up to 1 cubic foot of nonliving material for 1 hour
- You make a color, a small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or a surface for 1 hour
- You create a nonmagical trinket or an illusory image that can fit in your hand and that lasts until the end of your next turn Prestidigitation
1st Level Spells: 1st level Abjuration Casting Time: 1 Action Range: Self Components: V,S, M (a cup of Water) Duration: 1 Hour
A protective magical force surrounds you with a spectral frost. You gain 5 temporary hit points for the duration, and if a creature hits you with a melee attack while you have these temp hit points that creature takes 5 cold damage.
At Higher Levels: Temporary hit points and cold damage increase by 5 for each level above 1st. Armor of Agathys 1st level Enchantment Casting Time: 1 Action Range: 30 ft. Components: V,S Duration: 1 Hour
Charm a humanoid you can see within range. They must make a WIS saving throw, with ADV if they are fighting you. If it fails, it is charmed by you until the spell ends or you do anything harmful to it. When the spell ends, the creature knows it was charmed by you.
At higher levels: You may target one additionally creature for each level above 1st. All creatures must be within 30 ft of each other when you cast this spell. Charm Person 1st level Enchantment Casting Time: 1 Bonus Action Range: 90 ft. Components: V,S,M (Petrified eye of newt) Duration: Concentration, up to 1 hour
You place a curse on a target you can see in range. Until the spell ends, you deal an extra 1d6 necrotic damage to the target whenever you hit it with an attack. Also, choose one ability when you cast the spell. The target has disadvantage on ability checks made with the chosen ability.
If the target drops to 0 hit points before the spell ends, you can spend a bonus action to curse a new creature
At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell at 3rd or 4th level, you can maintain your concentration for up to 8 hours. When you use a 5th level slot or higher, you can maintain it for up to 24 hours Hex
__________________ "We are sons of Durin, and Durin's folk do not flee from a fight. I have no right to ask this of any of you, but will you follow me one last time?"
Erna stands half a head above the crowds of humankind, her half-orc ancestry gifting her with a rugged build. Her grey-green skin and fangs likewise come from her orc blood. Her expressive blue eyes stand out in contrast to this brutish heritage, twin sapphires that reflect vulnerability and tenderness. In general, her features are very much human: a crisp, thin jaw; a narrow nose; full lips. Overall, it is the human side of her that dominates her appearance; she is more delicate than is common for her heritage.
Erna has a certain haphazard energy about her; her actions evoke words like "flounce" and "swoop" and "gesticulate". It's a good-natured, happy-go-lucky kind of haphazard, though. Some might find it endearing.
Character Personality:
Trait: Erna has an ebullient, bubbly personality that gushes over with enthusiasm.
Trait: Erna has been taught generosity and kindness since her infancy.
Ideal: Good. Erna believes that all people deserve dignity and respect. Her life is in service to that end.
Bond: Erna is sworn in service to the church of Tymora.
Flaw: Erna cannot take a compliment gracefully and can even be offensive in the way she evades praise.
Flaw: Erna has little patience for planning and can be dismissive of others' plans.
Flaw: Erna struggles to maintain positivity in the face of failure and rejection.
Summary: Erna's effusive energy brings sunshine to mind. She's got a half-full glass for every situation, and an abundance of compassion for people who are hurting. She's not the deepest thinker, maybe even obtuse at times. But she makes up for it with a good nature and an earnest eagerness to help.
Erna thinks she has a hazy memory of fire, but she's no longer certain of it. By now, the stories she has been told of her rescue have eclipsed any memory she could have had. A party of adventurers was trekking through the Cloakwood, the story goes, when they stumbled upon an orc camp. The orcs leaped to the attack, and the adventurers cut them down. She was left alone, strapped to a travois and swaddled in furs. The party brought the infant Erna back with them to Baldur's Gate. When they stopped for healing at the Temple of Tymora, the Tymorans took her in.
She grew up a ward of the temple. Temple life was good for her: she had physical security, food security, and a group of kids to grow up with. She thrived in this environment, blooming into a vibrant young girl with an excess of energy and an effusive personality. Gleda Mistay, the mistress of the wards, was even-handed with her charges, and perhaps even a touch too indulgent.
Her past was not entirely behind her, though. It did not escape her notice — nor Gleda's — that when the children played a game of heroes and monsters, Erna was almost always assigned the monster role. Visitors to the temple treated her differently than the other wards, too. As a half-orc, suspicion naturally landed on her. Erna could have taken that suspicion as license to misbehave, but she went the opposite direction instead: she strove to be the model ward, polite and kind. She was supported in this endeavor by all the temple's clergy.
The early childhood trauma also left its mark. Throughout her youth, Erna had nightmares, or really one recurring nightmare. In her dream, Erna was standing in a small camp. Orc bodies lay scattered; blood and earth was churned into a foul, viscous mud. The tents were burning. She would see her mother lying among the bodies, and she would run to her, shaking her, trying to save her. Then her mother would cough out a death rattle, the life going out of her eyes — and Erna would realize that it wasn't her mother at all, that her mother was a different one of the bodies. She would run to that body instead, and again attempt to revive her. This would repeat over and over until she thrashed herself away.
When she was eight, this changed. It was on the night of the summer solstice. She fell asleep after eating too much, and the dream began again. She was standing in the ruined orc camp, and scanning the bodies for her mother. She thought she saw her, but before she could move to her, she felt a restraining hand on her shoulder. She turned to look; it was a halfling woman with long golden hair and a warm smile.
"This is no place for you," the woman said. "Look." She points, and Erna looks. The indistinct forms of a group of five are there. One steps forward, holding out his hands, and, in a wave of memory that threatens to overwhelm her, Erna remembers the warm woolen smell of the man's cloak, the cold metal of his chain shirt, and the bristle of his unshaven cheeks. "Erna, your rescue is no accident. I have called you to my service. I have need of your courage."
The halfling woman produced a golden coin and pressed it into Erna's hand. "I have called, now you must answer."
In her dream, Erna turned the coin over in her hand. It had a smiling woman's face on both sides, a device that Erna knew very well. This woman was Tymora! With that realization, Erna snapped awake, only to find the coin still in her hand.
She leaped from her bed, stumbling over her shoes and bursting through the door of the children's quarters and running down the hallway in her shift. She found Gleda, who was just preparing for sleep, and recounted her tale. Were it not for the coin, Gleda may have dismissed it. But it was a curious coin: a gold piece, stamped with Tymora's face on either side.
That dream wrought considerable change in Erna's life, though the only immediate consequence was that the nightmares stopped. Larger-scale change was mostly confined to conversations she was not privy to. Gleda immediately took the report — and the coin —*to Hardwick Chalmers, Tymora's head priest. The portent clearly identified Erna as one of Tymora's chosen, but exactly what she'd been chosen to do remained a mystery.
Gleda had been tutoring her charges all along, but now she renewed her focus on guiding Erna. While the other children and the Tymoran community at large continued to see Erna as the half-breed orc kid, among the clergy she became regarded as a sort of diamond in the rough. She was trained in the temple's customs, and offered opportunities to become involved in the inner workings of the church. Erna herself talked about the dream to her friends; the responses varied from awe to disbelief to envy.
At 8, Erna was not particularly gracious about things, but by the time she was 12, she had learned to share her privileges with her fellow wards — at least those who would accept them. Four of the nine kids she grew up with opted to enter service with the temple, becoming acolytes who assisted the clergy in their daily duties. The other five went a variety of ways. The oldest, Henrick, joined the Flaming Fist as soon as he was old enough to enlist. Dominica entered service to one of the patriars at 16. Josef had a knack with animals; he was younger, but showed no inclination to enter the priesthood. Salida, at 8, apprenticed with a weaver. And Amelinda, ever the black sheep, was angled at a life of trouble. She was young enough that she remained a ward of the temple, but it was clear from her petty thievery and dodgy deceptions that she was headed toward Guild membership.
The other four were strongly influenced by their upbringing. Gerhardt was 15 and already assisting in services when Erna had her dream. He tried to suppress it, but he was deeply jealous of Erna's status. Carlin was of an age with Erna, and the two had been fast friends since they met. She took delight in Erna's favor, and reported a dream of her own — but no coin — some weeks later. While the clergy remained skeptical of her dream's veracity, they gladly welcomed her into the temple's service. Kirsten was younger, 4 years old at the time of Erna's dream, and never really knew differently. The youngest of them, Bertram, was not yet among them at the time of Erna's dream. By the time he was old enough to hear the story, he already idolized Erna, and followed her around like a puppy. Erna returned his affection, but found him occasionally annoying, not that she would say so.
Life in the temple tended to model wholesome behavior, but the wards still managed to get into trouble. One night in particular, when they were 14, Erna and Carlin snuck out of the temple. They made their way to a tavern in the Lower City. The day prior, they had met Ambrose Clement, a bard of some notoriety, and he informed them that he would be performing at the Goose & Firkin. They arrived in time for the show, but the crowd was quite a bit rougher than they had expected. During a scandalously raunchy song, some burly drunk man in the crowd seized Carlin by the arm and pulled her in for a grope. Erna, already almost six feet tall and sturdy as the city walls, popped the guy in the jaw, laying him out flat. His friends, equally sloshed, did not care for this development, and a brawl ensued. The fight escalated until the Flaming Fist got involved. The officer who returned them to the temple found the whole thing very amusing, but Gleda was quite displeased. She assigned them scullery duty for the next two months. The girls were fortunate that they escaped injury, and even more so that they were not punished more harshly.
The bard, Ambrose, stopped by the following day. He apologized on the girls' behalf, corroborating their story and expressing admiration for her right hook. Gleda was mollified, but only after several liberal applications of Ambrose's charm. The bard spent the day, then the evening, entertaining Erna's fellow wards; the temple's priests stopped in to listen, too.
It was here that Erna first learned of the Fellows of Free Fate, the members of Tymora's clergy that directly sought to foil Beshaba's schemes. Ambrose wove tales of magic and mayhem, of light meeting darkness in a struggle that knows no end. Erna was certain that this was the fate Tymora was leading her toward, that she would become Tymora's champion and lead the charge against the Black Fingers.
Her mentors were not quite as certain, but they agreed that Erna should be trained in combat. Whatever Tymora had in mind for Erna — if in fact she had any plans beyond what had already been revealed — being ready for a fight seemed wise, especially since she did not seem inclined to avoid them. Her work in the temple began to shift from acolyte's duties to a more aggressive training regimen, where she studied a wide variety of divine magics instead of focusing on pure healing. She took to it quite naturally.
Carlin did not. She did not have much appetite for fighting, and for the first time, the two girls went separate ways. As Erna prepared for a life spent pursuing danger, Carlin redoubled her efforts to rise in the priesthood. The two remained fast friends, but they grew in different directions.
Three years later, Ambrose came back through town. He had a group of adventurers tracking down a lost caravan. He was looking for some support, and had a modest stipend to offer as well as a share of the bounty. Hardwick and Gleda agreed that Erna was ready for such an expedition, though Gleda worried something fierce. Erna was away for a month, travelling with Ambrose and his two companions, Tormud and Liv. Tormud was an arcane scholar, versed in the arts of magic; Liv fought with sword and shield. Erna earned her place beside them; the caravan had fallen victim to a gang of kobolds, and the four adventurers managed to drive them off. It was too late for the caravaners, but they managed to recover most of the lost goods.
On return to the temple, Erna found herself growing restless. She continued to assist in the rites, and more and more frequently, was drawn upon to offer healing to the faithful. But she was restless. She was wondering if the adventuring life was what lay next for her, but was not ready to leave the safety of her home. She was not sure how else to gain the experience she needed to join the Fellows of Free Fate. She would also need allies to go after Beshaba's Black Fingers, another thing that adventuring could provide. But everything she knew and held dear was in Baldur's Gate. So maybe she should sign on with the Flaming Fist, like Henrick?
During this period of conflicted feelings, Erna began having recurring dreams again. These were spaced out by months, and always a little different. Erna recognized them all as stemming from the same source, though. For instance, in one of the dreams she was standing at the back of a horde of orcs. The orcs were all surrounding a mountain of bones, atop which stood Gruumsh, shaking his spear. Gruumsh turns his baleful eye toward Erna. She is paralyzed, unable to move her head. At the moment they make eye contact, Erna wakes. Awake, she lays in bed, adrenaline coursing through her system, ready to fight.
Erna has responded by doubling down on her works of faith.
Erna at 11: awkward and earnest, diligent in her pursuit of the right thing. She's dressed for market in a long gray cloak over a plain brown dress. In her pocket, she has a leather purse heavy with coin. She is to buy provisions from the market; today, a hog.
The boy with the pigs is being a bit of a prat. "So, what do you say? You pay me three gold, I tell the boss-man twenty-eight silver, we split the extra two silver?" He grins rakishly. "Won't hurt anyone, three is a fair price. So's two-and-eight. Everyone walks away happy."
Erna frowns. "I need a pig, and I think I heard you say two-and-eight is a fair price for your pig. Yes?"
"Three gold," the boy says, frowning back. "I also said that's fair."
"I will find another pig," Erna says. "Thank you very much."
She turns on her heel, walking away. She may or may not find another pig for sale, but she would not be enmeshed in corruption by the swineherd! She keeps her head down and marches resolutely away. Then she hears footsteps pounding up behind her. A hand on her shoulder.
"Hey! Hey, sorry." It's the boy again. "Hey, you're right. How about two-nine? He's a hefty pig." That was true. Erna had done enough kitchen duty that she had a good eye for meat.
Erna was conflicted. At two gold and nine silver, she imagined that the boy was likely to pocket a silver. She didn't care much for that, but two-and-nine was a decent price for the pig, and she wasn't sure where to get another....
"Very well," she says. "I rather like the looks of him. Excellent hams." She dug in her purse for the coins.
She made her way back to the pig pen with the boy and paid him. The boy looped a rope around the pig's neck and handed the lead to Erna.
The journey back to the temple was sufficiently long that Erna had plenty of time to torment herself over the affair. Should she have refused to deal with a dishonest merchant? Should she have turned him in to his boss? Or was her merciful response the correct response?
The muddled feeling did not abate, so Erna sought out Gleda. She explained the situation to Gleda, including all her own second-guessing.
Gleda laughed. "He thought he'd pick you up on your own coin? Clever of him, if not especially wise. No, you've done fine, Erna. He will find hogs own way to honesty."
Erna was relieved, though she could not shake her troubled conscience. It would be much later before she understood Gleda's wisdom.
Character Appearance: Sarillar always wears armor and clothes in black. Horrible burns cover much of his body, including his face. As such, he never removes his helmet or armor unless in private, and even then, for brief periods of time. Like a glacier, his movements are usually slow and methodical. He does not rush or run. His belief in his mandate is such that he cannot comprehend any eventuality where he does not enact his master's will. In the end, he will always succeed in what he came to do.
Character Personality:
Two Personality Traits: I will not tolerate those that defy the rule of Szass Tam or declare alternate faiths and worship of other gods. I have accepted my death and do not fear it. My master's own had has shown me there are far worse fates than death. One Background Ideal: My master's word is law. None can resist him and I shall find success in championing his cause. One Background Bond: I owe my life, such as it is, to the grace of Szass Tam and wll do anything to protect him and his interests. Two Character Flaws: I am inflexible in my thinking and will not consider anything that runs contrary to the will of my master. Like my master, death is inevitable and preys upon those of week will.
Summary: Sarillar possesses an unshakable loyalty to his master, Szass Tam. His master's word is law and he will not be deterred by anything from carrying it out. This however, has made him very single minded in how he handles people and situations and has, on occasion, worked with those that might otherwise have been his enemies, to accomplish a task where their goals alligned.
"You did well in the fighting pits of Eltabbar, human", Szass Tam commented offhandedly while reading from a scroll that appeared as though it were ready to crumble. "I might even go so far as to say that I was mildly entertained. You can imagine my surprise when you were offered a boon by your master and you requested to speak with me. Surely, you must know that such an insolent request will cost you your life." The lich turned his gaze toward Sarillar, two red beads of burning light bearing down on the man in front of him.
Sarillar was thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, my lord. I came to ask that you take me into your service. Let your enemies be my enemies. My life has no meaning in the pits. Let me spread fear into the hearts of those that would seek to do you harm."
"Hah", the lich laughed with a shrill voice. "You think I need you to do that?"
"No", Sarillar replied matter-of-fact.
"Perhaps you're not as stupid as you look". The lich's gaze drilled through the man, boring into his soul. "So be it, I can always use your corpse, if nothing else. I will grant you a sliver of power so that you might have at least a modicum of success. Kneel."
"Yes...master", Sarillar replied as he kneeled before the lich.
"As I suffered the flame, so shall you". Blue flames appeared around Sarillar, burning his flesh and incinerating his clothes. "Aagghh", he screamed, but did not move. After a few moments, the flames dissipated and left the man kneeling before the lich, covered in burns.
"You have some mettle to you. Perhaps you will prove me wrong. Rise".
Sarillar rose before his master, burnt flesh creaking as he did.
"I have it on good authority that one of the Red Wizards that betrayed me is in Baldur's Gate. You will go there and make an example of him and any that aided him. While you are there, I also want to learn what you can about Elturel. I have my suspicions, but you will go and see for yourself. Now begone, before I decide I do like you better as a mindless worker."
Across the Sea of Fallen Stars and by way of Turmish, did Sarillar find himself standing outside of a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Amn. With a snap of his armored heal, he shattered the door and stood in the frame, glaring at those within. A man ran to the other side of their dinner table to stand in front of his wife and young daughter.
"Please", the farmer begged. "Take whatever you want. We don't have much, but it's yours."
From under his mask, Sarillar sneered in contempt at the man prostrating himself in front of him. His weakness and fear were nearly a palpable thing. "Nearly a month ago, you sheltered a man. Gave him food and lodging. Protected him".
"What? No...I," the man started to whine, but Sarillar raised a armored hand in his direction. The man froze.
"You will tell me what I want to know. Did you shelter this man"
Sweat began to bead on the farmer's forehead as he seemed to struggle with his answer, before finally blurting out, "yes!"
The man's wife began sobbing.
Sarillar approached the woman and child holding one another beside the table where they were eating and drew his sword. As if possessed with some dark intent, it began to glow an angry red.
"Please", the farmer pleaded. "They're innocent."
Sarillar looked down at the young girl who was now facing him, the light of his blade reflecting in the tears in her eyes. The voice of his master was clear in his mind: Make an example of any that aided him."Yes they are", he replied, before plunging his sword through both of them, his long burning blade bursting out of the farmer's wife's back. Sarillar slowly turned to face the farmer and stared at him for a moment before pulling his sword free, mother and child collapsing lifeless to the ground...The will of Szass Tam had been done.
HP: 18/18 | AC:16 | PP 12 | |Init: +1 STR 16(+3) DEX 12(+1) CON 14(+2) INT 10(+0) WIS 10(0) CHA 14(+2) | NoneConcentration | Hit by acid, cold, fire, lightning or thunder damage: Cast Absorb Elements Hit by an attack or magic missile: Cast ShieldReactions
Feats & Class Abilities:When you are wielding a melee weapon in one hand and no other weapons, you gain a +2 bonus to damage rolls with that weapon.Dueling | You have a limited well of stamina that you can draw on to protect yourself from harm. On your turn, you can use a bonus action to regain hit points equal to 1d10 + your fighter level. Once you use this feature, you must finish a short or long rest before you can use it again.Second Wind 1/1 | When you hit a creature with an opportunity attack, the creature's speed becomes 0 for the rest of the turn. Creatures provoke opportunity attacks from you even if they take the Disengage action. When a creature within 5 ft. of you makes an attack against a target other than you, you can use your reaction to make a melee weapon attack against the attacking creature.Sentinel | At 1st level, you gain the ability to use a bonus action to magically create a telepathic link with one creature you can see within 30 feet of you. Until the link ends, you can telepathically speak to the target through the link, and if it understands at least one language, it can speak telepathically to you. The link lasts for 10 minutes, and it ends early if you are incapacitated or die, or if you use another bonus action to break the link or to establish this link with a different creature.Invasive Thoughts
Character Appearance: Angular, clean-shaven face with close-cropped black locks and slightly pointed ears frame Solas' unnaturally purple eyes. To some they were a feature of great mystery and therefore, attraction; to others, a reason to fear and suspect darkness. The perks of youth gave the half-elf strength and vigor, which coupled with broad shoulders and a tall, muscular build made him often a popular topic amongst maidens from noble families. His smile bore the promise of secrets most succulent, or perhaps a mischief left undone. Solas preferred dark and plain clothing, albeit still made with rich material and embroidered in the elegant elven styles. He almost never wore armor and was seldom seen with a sword or other weapon on his person, but it was rumored that Solas once beat Iriaebor's Captain of the Guard in a quarterstaff match, making several soldiers a little bit poorer in the process.
Character Personality: Throughout most of Solas' young life, the half-elf considered himself incredibly lucky. For one thing, as the second son of prominent a horse merchant in Iriaebor, Solas inherited a life of comfort and luxury. As he grew to maturity, it was discovered that he had quite a magnetic personality, mingling easily with all sorts of individuals. Unfortunately, he did not inherit his father's talent for horse breeding; that privilege was his older brother Sadarr's, heir-apparent to the equine empire. Solas instead served in the Iriaeben court, mostly getting by with his easy charm, good looks, and sharp wits; Trait 1: I'd rather make a friend, as being my enemy is usually a poor choicehe made friends quickly, enemies rarely, but was still invited to all their parties. Solas himself thought of his duties in court to be simply another form of entertainment, but he was Bond: My family made me who I am today.loyal to his family and was always concerned about preserving the family reputation. His reputation, not so much.
However, despite this privileged life, Solas hungered for adventure; he Trait 2: I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick.was always interested in what made the heroes of old great, or how empires fell from the most insignificant events, yet understood the nature of his magical talent so little. He knew that somewhere out there he would find answers about how he was the only one in his line with this arcane heritage, and what his real purpose was in the world; surely it wasn't simply to waste his life away in the next entertaining spectacle at court. If there was a way for Solas to Ideal: Aspiration. When you're from the City of a Thousand Spires, there's nowhere to go but up!enhance both his skills and craft while also building on his family's legacy, then he was willing to go out of his comfort zone to accomplish it.
That said, Solas isn't without his faults. His father always berated him for being Flaw 1: I like the pleasures and comforts of life a little too much.too distracted, often chasing after petty things like women or baubles and not hunkering down to gritty, hard work for what really mattered. Flaw 2: Money is only good when you spend it.His spending habits have also been a matter of jest by his father and siblings; Solas would never stoop himself to beg, but his predilection for gambling was only tolerated because most of the time, it was what kept him out of actual debt.
Backstory:
It was said that when Solas was born and his parents saw his amethyst eyes, they praised Amaunator for having a blessing in the family. Though as he grew to adulthood, the young half-elf inherited his mother's gift in the arcane, he was too inquisitve about everything and getting himself into all sorts of trouble to be a reliable businessman. When his father, a prominent horse merchant, first brought him to the Court of Iriaeben to observe how to negotiate and deal with various levels of nobility, Solas was regarded as his "lucky charm"; many of the merchant council were a superstitious lot, and they too looked favorably upon the child. Some even thought that Solas was a gift from Waukeen, for tributes and commerce were at record highs whenever Solas attended.
Soon, Solas himself started to believe that he was indeed born lucky, watched over by whatever pantheon of gods were out there. He, unlike most of his kin, was not religious, yet did not reject their attributions or superstitions regarding his magical lineage. Solas was simply pragmatic; he often pushed his own luck to its limits, betting ridiculous amounts of gold just to see if he would win, or doing something foolish at court simply to know if he could get away with it. This culminated in a minor scandal with one of the merchant councilor's daughter, when Solas had an evening tryst that ended up with the couple being in full view of the house help without a stitch of clothing.
Sensing that perhaps his luck was not what he thought it was, and his welcome in the court quite strained, Solas decided to join a shipment of horses travelling to Elturel. He had never been to the holy city, for it was never of religious significance to him. Yet in his effort to understand the exact nature of his arcane bloodline and desire to discover how exactly he could hone and master his magical talent, perhaps in further service both to his family and his city, the sorcerer went. He had heard of several stories about the Companion, which provided the city with continuous light.
It came as a shock then to discover not only that the shipment of Harann horses were no longer needed, but that the city itself had suddenly ceased to exist. Where the city once stood at the crest of the holy hill, there was only deeply scorched earth. Unwilling to return empty-handed, Solas decided to travel to the next best city: Baldur's Gate. He had heard rumors that there were refugees from Elturel there, and if its reputation was reliable, Baldur's Gate was more Solas' style anyway. Hoping to find old friends and make some new ones - both for his own curiosity and the betterment of the family business - Solas rode further on to the largest metropolis in the Sword Coast.
RP Sample:
Steam was swept by the cool night breeze from blaring stallions' nostrils as Solas sat atop his saddle, looking over the vast, ruined crater where once the holy city of Elturel stood. The cliff was still there, of course, which was a major reason for the half-elf courtier from Iriaebor to trust that this was indeed the city's original site; otherwise he would look just as confused as his stablehands. No moon shone down at them tonight; there were only thick clouds, a few twinkling stars, and the smell of sulfur. Not even the fabled Companion, Elturel's source of endless light, was present. It seemed like this once glorious and proud city vanished in the span of one day. Solas sighed audibly, unsure of what to do next. The horses were nearly foaming in the mouth, haggard and pushed to their limits to make the journey shorter. All for naught, it seemed.
"W-was this... Was this really Holy Elturel, m'lord?"
Solas looked at the crater, silent. After a while, he said: "Seems that way. See to our beloved beasts. I won't be long." Dismounting, the second son of the Harann horse ranchers walked closer to the site of destruction, intrigued and more than a little bit frightened at this discover. What manner of calamity would befall the great capital, that the whole city would be eaten up in a single moment? The gods must be cruel, for their holy city to be destroyed like this... Solas had hoped to find answers in the great temple libraries about his own arcane bloodline; he was the only one in three generations to manifest the divine spark, and none remembered exactly how it came to be present in his lineage. The temple libraries would have held some answers, no doubt; but now they were ashes. So too was the contract to deliver these horses to the Riders, who were faithful clients.
As the sorcerer turned from his stroll to look for his companions, his gaze fell to the left, to the part of the woods that approached the coast line. With his keen sight despite the moonless dark, he spied a flickering dot of light. Carefully, the half-elf descended the outcropping, dirtying his long-sleeved linen tunic in the process. Tsk-ing inwardly, Solas continued to approach the light, making sure he was neither heard nor seen. When he was a few feet away, the half-elf realized that the dot of light was a lantern, placed near the edge of what looked like a deep hole, about a child's height. There was a man inside, shoveling dirt with his back turned to him; based on the bones peeking behind gaunt skin, he was human; old, and weak. Stopping at the edge softly, Solas politely coughed.
"My good man, what are you doing?"
"W-waugh!" The man nearly jumped out of the hole as soon as he heard the cough; hard to do, since he was about three feet under. The human looked indeed old, with wrinkled face and white hair, but he had the most curiously youthful eyes. Behind the lantern, hidden if not for the odd angle that made something silver glint in the light, was a long cane. Solas realized that he was slowly walking towards it; the old man soon realized the same. "A-aint right, sneakin' up on folks like that! This ain't none o' your business, so best move along now! Hey, don't touch that!"
The warning came too late; Solas was irresistibly attracted to the thing; everything about it spoke of elegance, and strength. The cane was about two and a half feet long, made of darkened oak and topped with a silvered steel handle resembling a small creature with ribbed wings; upon closer inspection, it was a bat, with tiny sparkling red jewels for eyes. Rubies? The man had started to climb out of the pit he had dug, but Solas was only half-aware of him; continuing to inspect the item, the sorcerer sensed something special about it; pulling a little at the handle, he discovered that hidden inside the wooden scabbard was a thin but solid blade; made of a dark metal he had never encountered before. It drank in the lantern light strangely; Solas suspected that there was magic imbued in it. The old man was approaching, shovel held threateningly in both hands.
"That ain't yours, elf-blood. Give it here. Now."
Solas backed away, slowly, unwilling to let the sword-cane go. "Oh? And is this thing of beauty yours, then? You certainly look old enough to need one, but something tells me you stole it from someone. Perhaps that someone wants it back..."
"Listen to me you little brat," the old man was livid now, and was slowly raising his arms. "That thing is cursed, and I'm gonna bury it in that hole an' yer gonna join it if you don't wise up! NOW HAND IT OVER!"
The man lunged forward, and time slowed. Solas was accustomed to violence; he didn't seek it out, but it was simply part of his education. Whether in tests of might or magic, the sorcerer was well-versed and practiced in both. He was simply going to conjure up an arcane barrier to fend off the crazed old oaf, but something strange happened. Without a thought Solas saw more than really understood that he had the blade now fully exposed, and his arm thrust slowly forward, straight at the old man's heart. No, wait-! In heartbeats that took minutes to finish, the rapier pierced the man's tattered jerkin and slowly emerged out his back. Shovel clanked on the ground, and as the man's full weight wrested itself out of the sword, Solas could move at normal speed again. Sadly, by then it was too late. If he was looking, the half-elf would have noticed that the drops of blood on the blade were not trickling down as gravity should have dictated; yet they slowly dissipated, as if being absorbed by the dark metal itself.
"Tha-that crazy old fool! It was an accident! I never meant to-"
Voices. Shouting in the distance; back up the edge of the wood, where Solas had left his companions. Kicking up sand to douse the lantern, Solas sheathed his rapier and scrambled up the low cliff, leaving the scene of his crime behind.
Da** it; it wasn't my fault! It wasn't- I'm sorry, I'm sorry; gods, what have I done?! I'm sorry I'm sorry-
Dazed, confused, and wracked with guilt, Solas ran; the thundering of his own heart filling his ears with a deafening cacophony.
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Head is full. Taking it slow.
Last edited by DaysUntold; Dec 11th, 2019 at 09:15 AM.
Character Appearance: Bethani is of average height, for a Half-Elf, with long unkempt hair. Half is pulled back in an extreme pony tail, and the other half lays over the right side of her face, to hide a mark she earned long ago. She has sad, dull-brown eyes that show no emotion while meeting prospective clients. She typically wears a scale mail that was passed down to her from her mother. Under the armor is hidden a lean, but strong body, with more than her fair share of scars, each with their own story likely to never be told, but always to be remembered by her.
Character Personality: Bethani is friendly... enough. Actually, most would not consider her to be friendly at all. But most of them are men who want to share a drink with her, rather than leave her to drink in peace. No one has, or ever will, consider her to be a great conversationalist. But the women and men who serve her drinks, and show her respect, find that she can be very generous with her tips. And those who hire or work with her often tell others of her professionalism and impressive skills.
Personality Traits
I have no patience to be gentle or unnecessarily kind. Nor do I care to gather gold simply for the sake of being wealthy.
I like to remain calm, no matter the situation. Acting on emotion is what gets fools killed.
Ideal
Vampires and other creatures of the of the grim magics of the world are abhorrent to nature, and need to be destroyed.
Bond
My mother trained me to follow in her path. Her armor shall always remind me to remain on course.
Flaws
Even though I know I am a "lightweight", when it comes to drinking, I can't seem to keep away from the wrong side of taverns.
I secretly love letting go and losing myself in my emotions.
Summary: I was raised by my mother, a full-blooded Wood Elf, to be a Monster Hunter just like her. Specifically hunting vampires, but others have fallen to my bow as well. She gifted me with an old set of her armor, before setting me on my final test. Having been taught that emotions are an unnecessary luxury has had its own toll on me, and I found myself looking for a way to bury my feelings. I found the opposite.
What began as an occasional respite, has become a nightly need. A need that landed me in prison for three years, derailing my quest and leaving me knowing that Mother would be ashamed of me.
Backstory: Bethani was born to an Elven woman in need of an apprentice to follow in her footsteps. She has no idea who her father is, only that he was a human adventurer that Mother once shared a passion with. Whether that passion was just the passing in the night that conceived Bethani, or an adventure the two shared beforehand, Mother has never told. From the time that Bethani could pull a bowstring back, and let it loose with control, she has known nothing but her training. Everything she did, was in the service of being the perfect Monster Hunter. She learned not to show any emotion, good or bad, during her training years. Only later does she realize what it was costing her, and yet she still needs her Mother's love and adoration.
Five years before, Bethani was sent out into the world on the quest to bring home the lower jaws of twenty vampires. This, her mother told her, was how she would prove that she was a true Monster Hunter, and not to come home until she had such proof. At first, Bethani was steadfast and true to her goals. But after the first month, she realized that in order to continue her pursuit, she needed a more steady income. She began hiring herself out as a tracker, a hunter, or any other odd job that could pay for her room and board. And that was when she first found ale. And of course, ale lead her to prison, which eventually lead to her learning of the vampires that inhabited the city of Elturel, or at least had at one time.
Excited by the idea of having such a rich hunting ground, Bethani traveled North to Baldur's Gate. From there she began her journey to Elturel, only to find herself in the path of a tidal wave of refugees that quickly engulfed her and pulled her along with it, heading back where she'd just come from, Baldur's Gate. Keeping her wits about her, Bethani stayed near the middle of the flood. When it finally crashed upon the gates, she dove low and slipped through the throng, pushing those in her way aside, down, and on one occasion, into the arms of a mercenary reaching for her. Once safely inside, Bethani made her way back to the tavern she'd only a few hours before called home. She wasn't sure what her next move would be. But she had a feeling that her skills might come in handy, for a price.
RP Sample: Bethani woke with a start! Her heart beat quickly in her chest as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Something sticky coated her chest and her arms. Slowly, she started to look down, but a sudden spike of pain seized her, and her hands went to her temples instead. After what felt like forever, she released herself, and took another look. The sticky substance was blood, and she was covered up to her neck in it. Confused, she checked herself for wounds, but there wasn't any. Deciding she needed to leave, now!, Bethani slid her legs out of bed, reaching out for the ground. Instead, she found the leg of someone else laying on the floor.
Bethani's feet immediately retracted back to the bed, before she looked down upon a man she vaguely remembered. Another stab of pain inserts itself into her brain. Fighting through it, she finally gets off the bed and turns the man over. Just as she had feared, he was the source of blood that covered her. Worse still, she found one of her stakes under him, clearly the weapon used to kill him. Bethani felt sick. She turned away and tossed her insides near the foot of the bed.
After a few breaths and more heaves, she was beginning to feel a shy bit better. The pain lanced her skull once again, but she grit her teeth, trying to think on what to do next. She could use the wash basin, clean herself up, and make a run for it. And part of her wanted to do it. It was a nice city, but she had no real connection to it. It wasn't her room. Was it? She stood up and made for the basin, then stopped when she saw herself in the mirror. Before her she saw a monster, no better than those she hunted. No, she couldn't bring herself to run. She had to face up to what she might have done. Pulling her tunic on for decency, Bethani padded down the stairs to retrieve the tavern owner, or one of her assistants.
The owner, a Halfling woman who always had a warm smile for her patrons, heard Bethani's approach and began greeting her without looking up. "What'll ye be having m'd..." Her smile falls as she sees the girl covered in blood, her arms covered protectively over her stomach. "Come here, come here, come here." she took Bethani by the arm and pulled her to the back. Bethani, not entirely in her wits, was not a little surprised by the strength of the Halfling, and so was easily pulled along. "Tell me what happened?"
"I... I don't know." Bethani answered honestly. "There's a dead man laying in my... I don't even know if it's my room, or not." The fear overwhelmed Bethani, a sudden onslaught of emotions she wasn't used to having, and she burst into tears. Her arms began to open, but closed over her belly again. "He's dead." she says quietly.
The Halfling pulled herself to Bethani, holding the young woman in a hug. "It's alright dear. Everything will be alright, you'll see." It was a lie, of course. But she needed the girl to remain calm. And a hug was what she needed, not harsh words. Those, unfortunately, would come later. "Let's get you clean up, and I'll send somebody to fetch the authorities." she turned her head to one of her boys just starting to take out the morning trash. "Willem, go get the magistrate." she ordered, before leading Bethani to an unoccupied room to get washed up.
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Has taken the Oath of Sangus.
Ask a pixie almost any question,here!
Last edited by In the Mix; Dec 4th, 2019 at 03:50 AM.
Nothing can shake my optimistic attitude. I can find common ground between the fiercest enemies, empathizing with them and always working toward peace.
Charity: I always try to help those in need, no matter what the personal cost. (Good)
Despite my lack of faith, I cannot remove how important religion of any kind is to me.
I judge others harshly, and myself even more severely. My irreverence is often enough to make soldiers blush.
A billowing cloak of navy and purple, held together by a turquoise gauntlet clip. Short black hair shining in the sun, cloaking overly large ears and dusky eyes behind custom-crafted spectacles from the Church of Gond. Willowy and tall with heels, if not for the blade, she might seem a noble. But Relena Goodknight is neither soldier nor sellsword: she is a fallen daughter of the Loyal Fury, Torm himself. A grin with a smell of lavender on the wind, a grin from full lips that seem naturally and deeply red, inviting a touch of chaos. A good heart marred by inhibitions and bad judgment. Relena is many things. Loyal and furious are neither of those things. Her loyalties belong to many gods, many churches, yet none at all. Her fury is reserved for none: she sees the good in those that have none. Neither naive nor jaded, she falls between, and walks that line with grace.
How much is a persona of certainty, and how much is truth hidden behind offsetting eyes?
Description: Background:
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he/him\his
In Repose
Last edited by Sassafrass; Jun 11th, 2020 at 02:20 AM.