Character Sheets

[Master of Monsters]

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[Zazaq]

Akrus Name: Akrus Thrunja, son of Malcrom Thrunja Race: Half orc Alignment: Neutral Evil Class: Barbarian Age: 14 Appearance: Human. He looks like a tall, muscular human and he hates it. You wouldn't mark him for a half orc less you were within a few meters of him, close enough to see the meager tusks and the light green tint of his skin. Barely 5.10, he's smaller then most half orcs. With a deceptively lean frame, bright blue eyes and a very human shaped face. He wants it covered by a thick black beard like his father had but he's thus fair failed to grow one. The hair on his head is kept short and messy. He wears his grime covered armor as often as possible, but keeps a loose pair of breeches which he sleeps and such in. Despite his martial prowess the Half Human moves more like a fat drunk then a powerful predator. Long overdone swings, pounding footsteps, constant leaning on his hands. Character’s Occupation: Shephard, though he'd probably introduce himself as a freeholder.   The Blood Skull tribe's success could be attributed to its chiefs unique style of leadership. One based on a single simple rule. Every life in the fort, every single one was his slave. Not revolutionary for an orc, but he took it a step further and decreed that killing or seriously injuring anyone in the tribe was stealing from him directly. Regardless of circumstances, killing someone meant you wronged him personally, and if you didn't have damned good reason you were dead. It was exceedingly strict order for an orc tribe, and of course many hated him for it. But he possessed both the strength and the cunning needed to keep the many disgruntled in line. The tribe had something akin to order. Akrus had a better upbringing then most of his kind, certainly happier then most raised by orcs. His 300 strong band was large enough to be safe from nearly all external threats. And being the sole son of the tribes chief, he was relatively safe from violence within. His father was decent, by orc standards, and his mother was a prized possession that lived in the same 'lavish' dwelling as him. Having her close let the young orc grow up with affection most of his kin were starved of, and his father was intent on molding him into an excellent warrior. He had attention from both, he was happy. Even when his little brother was born, he was happy. Six years later though when Akrus was a little older and a little wiser, he finally realized what a full blooded orc brother meant for him. He saw how his fathers focus shifted. Saw how he was getting a lot less respect from the warriors he was meant to inherit, and how his father didn't seem to care. Even he wasn't surprised when the runt was officially named the successor. It was two nights later the renounced son left. He might have found a spot in another tribe if he hadn't stolen his father's ax on the way out. A precious item that was to be passed down from father to son in their tribe, a symbol of sovereignty within a family. There wasn't another chieftan in a thousand miles who would give a 9 year old boy sanctuary when he could get his weight in silver for returning him. Or worse make an enemy of the Blood Skulls by not doing so. So the young boy ran for days, through the land of eternal night and finally into the plain lands it bordered. Half dead from exhaustion, he found his way to the nearest farm where he demanded food and shelter at the point of his ax. The young widow living there wasn't particularly intimidated, and even deduced the adolescent boy was most likely from the orc lands, but she put him up all the same. She had an extra room and plenty of food, besides she liked the idea of having an ax swinging half orc around. Her in-laws loud complaints that her child wasn't fathered by their son, and that all those goats their adventuring child had bought should be theirs, were becoming more frequent, more worrying. So what if the stupid half orc called her his slave? Or referred to the land and herd as his? This was about her safety, and that of her son. It worked out for her. When men in masks came to her house with big knives and small hatchets the young man chased them off, swinging that oversized ax so savagely they never dared return. She even got him to shepherd 'his' goats each day. Having him around was definitely worth what he ate, even as much as he did. Growing up Arkus regarded the woman less as a slave and more as a second mother, especially as he grew to understand human society better. And consequently the fact she could almost certainly have had him killed if she was smart about it. As a man he feels conflicted, he still thinks of himself as an orc through and through. And with his fathers brilliant new leadership style he's sure they really can begin conquering the world, righting the wrong done to their great one eyed god. He still wants to. At the same time though he likes human society; soft beds, convenient shops to sell or buy anything, astounding fortresses and even art. Life is better out here, he admits that. He dreams of a world ruled by him, the iron fisted general of an orc armada like the world has never seen, but maybe the humans could also rule themselves. Like vassals or subject states without armies, but otherwise as they are now. It'd be complicated but he has time to figure it out. He knows not what he'll do long term but he knows his first step. Wealth, fame, and immortality. Wealth enough to equip his entire tribe with the finest equipment that could be bought, fame so more orcs will flock to him, and well, everyone knows tribes fall apart when chieftans grow old. So for the empire he will carve to last forever, so must he. With that in mind, the young boy is setting off, he's wasted enough of his life watching goats. He's fully grown now, he's a fierce warrior, one capable of Raging, he see's it as a divine thing.channeling the orc father no less! Its time he truly begins his quest, time he begins proving his might, building his name, and accumulating wealth.   Malcrom(father): An ideal of everything a leader should be, strong, fearless, cunning. He's right where he belongs at the head of clan Blood Skull, he barely had to kill anyone to take over. Just the previous chieftain, nobody stood by the pathetic old predecessor, the coward who demanded his lieutenants save him when he was challenged to fight in single combat. He rules the tribe far better; he keeps the warriors from wasting too much, he leads them to victory time and time again, he crushes ruthlessly any challengers. He's an ideal of everything an orc should be. Mary(mother): A beautiful, gentle woman, with golden hair and a voice like a nymph. Akrus can still hear her gentle lullabies sometimes when he lies half asleep in bed. She served her master dutifully, taught her child he was a man he should emulate. She taught him orc society truly was better then human, where a serf no matter how clever or strong, would never be anything but a serf. Where weak, fat, cowardly kings ruled only because of who's nether's they crawled out of. Canjuk(Brother): Barely walking when Akrus left the tribe, but he had good lungs and was big for his age. Started walking early too, another sign of a great warrior to be, Akrus thinks maybe he'll keep him alive as a captain after he returns. Catherine(Mother): A stout and wide hipped woman that reminds Akrus much of the maiden warriors at his tribe. She's fearless, but still cool headed and practical. A no nonsense woman that carries a sort of weight, or weariness about her. The woman's proud of what she holds and she'd die before she let anyone truly take it from her. Her world revolves around her land and her child, though she's grown some grudging affection for the dumb young orc that blew into their lives. She even gave him her baby daddies old breastplate. Robby(brother): At nine he's still more child then anything else. He likes to wander in the woods, he likes hearing stories of battle and adventure, he likes 'sparring' with their 'owner' on the rare occasions the man's in the mood. In fact the boy has been absolutely spell bound by the real live orc warrior since the moment he arrived, and he's weaseled a place in the man's heart as well. Professional Network: He could probably find some orcs willing to give him the time of day in the land of eternal night, long as he was carrying his families ax. Hell if he really did kill his father in single combat he'd probably have very loose command of the tribe, for that reasons smart orcs from there might be inclined to speak with him. In the lands around Thornwal he has a few third hand connections with the local sell sword guilds. Particularly the Gold Swords whom Catherine's spouse was an honorary member of. He might be able to get through some barriers by introducing himself as a 'friend of Scandol'. Besides that there's not much, the freehold he lives on is a bit on the outskirts, and he spends most of his free time training.   clicky

[Mrjoegangles]

Name: Jonathan “Bails” Balefinn
Race: Human
Class: Inquisitor (Living Grimoire)
Traits: Blind Zeal, Bruising Intellect
God: Savras
Alignment Lawful

Description/Background Young, Able-bodied, and very intense. Blinded by a wasting sickness when young Bails has found his vision in service of The Law. A devote follower of the All Knowing Savras, Bails looks to bring justice and order to the weak and downtrodden, and knowledge to the ignorant. Usually found clutching a massive tome full of treatises and laws throughout Faerun, as well as prayers and benedictions to his god. The tome also serves as his weapon of choice, and many criminals have been felled by the iron bound book. Tall and relatively good looking, though unkempt as appearance is a vanity that most blind men avoid. When possible Bails covers his head in a plain helm, which many find disconcerting as the faceplate has no eyeslots, Giving it a sinister look. When out of combat Bails uses a cloth to cover his eyes to spare those around him, as his sickness left them milky with sinister red pupils.

Family: Firstborn to a vain, corrupt noble family in Waterdeep, all eyes looked expectantly to young Jonathan as the future of House Balefinn, when a blinding sickness took his sight however, his family quickly pushed their embarrassment aside. The young man was sent to live in a Monastery far from the prying eyes and gossip of the other noble families. In a sick sense of twisted humor the boys father chose a church of the All Seeing Savras, and there Jonathan was raised.

Personality: Softspoken, collected, and polite when in a social setting. When faced with lawlessness or injustice can be loud, evangelical, and brash. He is immensely loyal to those he is pledged to, but is unwilling to overlook transgressions to his god or the law. While he is most comfortable among the common folk, Bails is capable of working inside the inner circles of the influential and powerful.

Profession: As a holy inquisitor for the lawfully minded God of Knowledge, Jonathan is often called upon as a mediator to settle disputes. Property, trade, even maritime law fall under his expertise as a non biased 3rd party judicator. His other occupation in service to the church is the apprehension of criminals. As a Justicar, Balefinn acts as a holy bounty-hunter bringing Law to the lawless. His order is well known by most City Guard/Watches along the Sword Coast, and most small town constables/magistrates appreciate the help (and the discounted price per bounty).
Contacts/Relationships:
His holy Abbot Reginald Constance: Heads the local holy order and is concerned by the zealotry and fevor young Bails shows.
Holy Knight Vlad Von-Kellsnitch: Mentor and head of Justicars. Is especially proud of the way Jonathan has overcome his childhood adversity and made it a strength.
Gillis Coldstone: A ruthless dwarven merchant who is proud of his expert bartering, and his uncanny knack for always having the latest information on criminal happenings. While he is a rude, abrasive man, he has always had a soft spot for young blind Balefinn. So much so that sometimes he even lets the odd rumor “slip” for free.
Keni Balefinn: Younger brother, heir to house and title. Arrogant and abrasive, pities brother, while grateful that Jon’s bad fortune has benefited him.
House Balefinn: A group of wretched bootlickers desperate to maintain their shrinking wealth and influence. Headed by Jonathan’s father Bruce and mother Kyliss.

[Angel]

Name: Dymithria Molotov

Race: Human

Class: Warlord

ACF: Bushi

Traits: Unorthodox Method, Unpredictable, Psychoportive Talent

Drawbacks: Headstrong

Alignment: Chaotic - Good

Description: Standing at 5'8, Mithy isn't the tallest hand to have ever wielded the Katana hanging at her waist. Nowadays, her figure is something that can easily be described as function over form, not attractive in its conformity to what many an artist would sculpt as the image of a patron of fertility. For if hers would be the silhouette of a divine being, then it would be that of a goddess of war. A valkyrie, whose every muscle and tendon is chiselled with deadly purpose. A beauty honed with ceaseless efforts, that comes to fruition in the flow of her movements, only in the zenith of battle, when decisiveness and experience tilt the balance on the razor's edge between life and death. 



That said, even when her sword is at peace, her face seems to carry a sort of ceaseless determination. In contrast, a tinge of playfulness, like a predator who has already seen ten moves ahead of it prey, never leavers her dark amber eyes. Regardless any height difference, she always seems to be able to look at someone, as if she were standing taller. 



Dymithria is dressed in an explorer's outfit, complete with backpack and cloak. Her garments in brown to red and dark to black green cover the armor underneath and almost fully blur out the more alluring subtitles of her features.

Family Members:
Gergory Molotov - Her Father, generously commended for his services in driving away the raiders of the northern nomadic tribes, from the the kingdom's borders. Presently alive and heading the Molotov estate.
Oriana Molotov - Dymithria's mother, former wife of General Molotov. A knight, who started out as but a common soldier, but quickly rose in rank over the course of the turmoil on the kingdom's border. She died in battle, shortly after the birth of Dymithria's brother, having resumed her knightly duties after she'd recovered enough post-birth.
Alexey Molotov - Dymithria's baby brother, presently 15 years of age and set to inherit to the Molotov estate. Despite his age, he exhibits prodigious skill in the Scarlet Thrown discipline.

Backstory: The General's Daughter

Dymithria Molotov spent her youth learning the tradition of her family's martial style, as well as the intricacies of court life. For the most part she was a model daughter, someone her father could openheartedly take pride in and her little brother look up to. That is of course barring the odd scroll mishap, when her curiosity would drive her to the mansion's arcanist's chamber, or her occasional venture past the manor walls, much to her father's displeasure, without supervision or guard. This should come as little surprise after all, as growing up she also had ample opportunity to meet adventurers and other worldly types, since circumstances sometimes forced General Molotov to barter for the services of prominent sellswords. It was through these chance encounters that her prowess secretly came to grow beyond the teachings offered by her martial training and that she was able to attain a very astute perspective, which allowed her to look past the expectations placed on her since birth. With the wide halls, the grandeur of which had once awed her as a child, feeling ever more confining by the moment, it eventually came to pass that Dymithria renounced her claim to the Molotov inheritance and struck out to make her own destiny. It was her fervent wish to shape the world according to her own will, rather than resign herself to slowly being pressed into a mold anyone could fill. Much like her mother before her, Mithy felt she could strive for more than what her birth promised, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by her father and one which would ultimately seal his decision not to stop her.

Character Occupation: Although she may consider herself, or even strive to be what many would romantically describe as an adventurer, the only service she's used to get by outside the walls of the Molotov manor is selling her sword.

Contacts:
Zander Eller - A man Mithy considers her Master, for it was her chance encounter while he was in the service of her father, that lead her down the path of the Sleeping Goddess.
Julie d'Aubigny - Another persona Dymithria came to know before she set out on her journey. A very controversial human bard, one who's curriculum vitae sounds more like a work of fiction, then anything that would actually happen in the real world. Needless to say this woman had a profound impact on Mithy and even though Mithy blushingly had to refuse Julie's advances on multiple occasions, it was through Julie that she got the idea to head to Thronwall and take it from there.
Alleus Ravni - A covert unit veteran tasked by General Molotov to "keep an eye" on his daughter from afar and intervene if she ever gets in over her head. Dymithria neither knows him, or of him.
Edgar Minnus - A nobleman's son who once courted Dymithria, but couldn't even win a friendly fencing match against her. A man she eventually came to find deplorable due to his attempts to use politics and intrigue to make her his own.

[Rylus]

Name:
Baron Semdi

Gender:
Male
Race:
Alternate Racial Traits: Shadowhunter, Magic Resistant, Death’s EndDwarf
Class:
Bone spirit with an Ioun Wyrd Spirit animalShaman
Occupation:

Basics Appearance: Baron is slightly taller than a normal dwarf, at five feet tall, but weights almost a hundred pounds less, at about a hundred pounds. His head is mostly shaven save for a band the goes from the middle of his forehead back to the base of his skull and hangs slightly lower than his shoulders in a pony tail with bits of bone and beads woven tightly into the black mane. His beard is the standard size for a dwarf just becoming an adult, that is it hangs just above his pecks, and is also woven with bones and beads. His eyes are sunken into his head, a feature that's mostly hidden by his cloak, but are a grey almost soulless color and indeed many would say that Baron has no soul but a few have seen the true fire that blazes behind his eyes. Runic tattoos cover the bald parts of Barons head as well as his shoulders and arms, all in a dark blue grey ink. He wears a set of Lamellar armor most of the time, never know when the dead will rise he often says when asked why he wares it all the time. Over that he wears a black sheep skin cloak with a hood that shadows his face enough that you can't really make out his eyes, the cloak has silver trim with blue runes embroidered on it. A pair of thick leather boots adorn his feet and as worn as they are its easy to see they are well made and cared for. His weapon of choice is a weighted spear, a staff with a spear head on one end and a thick metal ball on the other like a mace. Its shaft is made of black wood with traces of grey in lines spiraling around it, from the spear end there are bones, and bits of fur dangling. Personality: Baron seems cold when you first meet him and often has more respect for the dead than the living. He gives off a cold creepy vibe but if you can get past that he's not a bad guy and strives to make the world a better place with his actions. People would likely call him a hypocrite if they knew he practiced necromancy but his respect for the dead is for the soul, which has passed on to be judged by the spirits, not the body left to rot in the ground. That being said he will not abide people using the bodies of the dead for evil purposes....like smuggling. Baron is a caring person to those who he calls friend and would do everything in his power to ensure there safety, indeed this extends to those he doesn't know if they get in a deadly situation.

Background, Family, Friends, and Networks oh my! Family information: Father- Gared Moor- Deceased- Was a Gravekeeper Mother- Sharon Moor- Vanished- Was a medicine women Older Brother- Dreek Moor- Deceased- no occupation but was training to be a town guard Younger Sister- Marion Moor- Deceased?- no occupation only seven at time of death Professional network: Kirik Grey- Alive- A small time gang leader that has a deal with Baron to hide loot in the graveyard as long as they don't disturb the dead.- Friendlyish Momon Doggrin- Alive- Local guardsmen who is often sent to deal with Baron when they need someone buried- Professional friend Vahn Kale- Alive- Local crime boss who hates Baron after he caused a loss in contraband that was being smuggled in corpses- They hate each other Morgan Creed- Alive- A local barmaid who, for reasons unknown, is in love with Baron- Secret love that is unknown to Baron Jordan Phall- Alive?- A traveling merchant who Baron saved from some undead- Honor debt/friendship Childhood: Baron had what he considered a normal childhood, as normal as you could being raised by a grave keeper and medicine women anyway. His older brother was training to join the guard and Baron would often follow him and watch all while writing notes in his book that he kept with him at all time. Dreek, Baron's older brother, often ate more than his share...taking Barons' portion sometimes which caused Baron to develop oddly. He wasn't as strong as normal kids but to make up for this he noticed more and could often point out problems in his brother's fighting styles before the instructor could. People called him gifted to his face and strange when his back was turned. His sunken complexion and thin body was unnatural for a dwarf and caused some to ridicule him. As he grew he found himself taking walks through the graveyard and out the back into the forest and that's where he would let his frustrations out where no one could hear him....or so he thought. One day after venting about losing an apple to Dreek a voice on the wind spoke to him. While this would have frightened most people Baron found it fascinating. After many days of conversations he learned that the voice was the spirit of bone, a keeper of the dead and undead. It guided Baron with advice, though Baron didn't know why, and showed him the ways of magic both benevolent and malevolent and how they could be used to make the world a better place. Soon Baron was gone so often that his family began to take notice and Baron knew that he was going to have to tell them when he was asked about where he was going. Baron went to the window and opened the shutters giving a call and a few moments later a being of floating bone coated rock came through. His mother gasped "A spirit." his father looked confused, his brother drew a weapon, his sister just smiled. Baron explained that he had been conversing with a spirit of bone and was given this creature, named Malask, as a guide. It took an hour or more of explaining to get his father to understand, though his mother understood and accepted it without much question. The next few years Baron was guided by the spirits. They guided him back to the forest one night, telling him that he was in danger. Puzzled Baron sat in the forest for hours trying to figure out what they meant before heading home. When he returned home he found his house on fire and surrounded by guards. Baron screamed when he found out that his family had been attacked by undead, the guards had found his brother and father dead and being eaten by zombies. There were so many undead that in order to protect the town the guards had locked the doors and set the building ablaze. Tears filled his eyes as he fell to his knees watching the flames but the spirits assured him that all was as it was supposed to be and that the pain would subside in time. The spirits had never lead him astray before but he gave himself the time to watch as the flame ate everything that he knew. Dawn brought the end of the flames and a new Baron. After vanishing from the town for several weeks, where he was communing with the spirits, Baron returned on the day of his birth. Now the age of twenty he was forced to become an adult long before a normal dwarf should. He spoke to several people in the town, including the mayor who was dreading not having someone to dig graves, and set himself upon the path of work his father did. The mayor was so grateful, and sorry for Baron's loss, he had a small home built near the graveyard. The next twenty years flew by as Baron tended not only the graves but the spirits of those who needed help moving on. During these years he made a few friends, and some enemies but he knew that he needed to stay and tend the grave....even if he didn't understand the reason why the spirits would want this of him.

[Alphaeus]

Doctor Tavryn Wolvera Luen Name: Doctor Tavryn Wolvera Luen Race: With Variant 57 replacing his SLAAngel-Blooded Aasimar Age: 27 Gender: Male Class: Mesmerist Alignment: Chaotic Good Traits: Caretaker (Religion), Innocent (Aasimar) Scholar of the Great Beyond (Faith) | Occult Bargain (Drawback) Deity: Calistria Appearance and Personality: Tavryn bears the look of youth and age at once. His face and figure is that of youth -- clean, aquiline features; piercing aquamarine eyes; a slender but fine figure with a narrow waist and broad shoulders; thick and unruly hair...quite the picture of a handsome young gentleman. There is something, however, that lends a weight of years to him. His motions are typically measured and slow, as if there is a weariness that seeps from inside his bones. His thick blond hair is fair, but with tones more ashen than platinum. His expressions run the full gambit of emotion but feel as if they are seen through a nearly imperceptible veil. His clothing, too, reflects an odd contrast. They are certainly fine clothes and still fitting for formal attire, but have quite obviously seen extensive use in his line of work. The base colors are the white and teal stereotypical of his rank and profession healing those in need, but the decoration is in gold, dark symbolism, and skulls. His personality does indeed match this impression...but, fittingly, has its contrasts. On first impression Tavryn is a forcefully trustworthy figure. He conveys whatever he says to be spoken with utmost honesty and conviction, always with concern for the well-being of the hearer at heart. In truth, of course, this is only partially true. While he enjoys mending the broken, his definition of good places others in a decidedly utilitarian light -- in his mind, his personal good always takes precedence. If he himself is not in a good position, how can he help others? Besides, concepts of vengeance give him a right to his self-predilection at times. His bedside manner is exemplary, and there is good reason he is known as an Angel of sorts by many of the poor souls he has returned to health from the brink of death. On top of this, people seem to simply like him as a person. He is slow to take sides in a conflict, but will regularly stand up for the side of righteousness, justice, defense of the weak, etc. His overall attitude, despite the subtle shadows that suggest his more shadowed past, is universally one of pure love for life. To many he may indulge a bit too far, particularly when it comes to his fondness of women...but every man must have his flaw, as Tavryn would say. Most people might be forced to shake their heads at his "wink and laugh" approach to life, but they would also have to smile when they do it. Admittedly, he takes pleasure from making the world a better place than he found it. Yes, there may be ulterior motives much of the time, and he is far from being above duplicitous mischief, but that is always in either good sport or in service to his on-going cause...so most people wouldn't even find it in themselves to hold that against him. Childhood and Current State of Affairs: Tavryn was the product of a union between an older nobleman and a Calistrian prostitute. Despite the illicit nature of their union and truthfully questionable parentage, the child was recognized as legitimate for the simple reason that the noble had produced no other offspring and needed someone to bear his name. His mother's name remains a mystery to him -- apparently the child of a prostitute was tolerable in noble circles but not the prostitute herself. Nevertheless, his father -- Lord Martin Luen -- raised him kindly, and told him that Tavryn's name was chosen by his mother, who had also loved him. His childhood was filled with stories about the mystery woman, and due to the regular stories of Martin the young boy felt as though he knew his mother, in some way. For the first decade of his life, he found himself in a comfortable home filled with love and fond memories. Indeed, this time is both a treasured one in his mind, and a despised one -- for just as peaceful as it was, so its ease left it bereft of anything that was truly memorable or valuable for his future. Life in the coastal town of Baermoth was never an easy one, however, and it was not long before a few mismanaged trade deals demolished Luen family's estates and left them with little more than a hunt cottage on the edge of the woods outside of town. Tavryn was only twelve then, and adapted quickly. His father, however, did not fare as well. Lord Luen -- now a noble only in name -- was sixty-two at this point, quite the old man for the time. Having to do much of his own labor for housekeeping when his most strenuous activities just prior were signing papers and dancing at balls...this was not the life for him. Without the funds to care for himself, Martin's health waned over the course of the next few years. Responsibilities for the household fell more and more upon the shoulders of the young boy, yet at the same time his father insisted upon finishing Tavryn's education -- one of the few things he had secured without debt. On his graduation ceremony from the Baermoth College of Physicking -- a highly esteemed school for all things medical -- his father died. Tavryn buried him without theatrics in an old graveyard near the hunt cottage's tiny chapel. Most of the headstones were names of family members long past, although one headstone was marked with the simple line "Herein Lies My Angel, Fallen. May She Rise Again To Elysium." It was the newest grave, and beside this he dug his father's final bed. The matter was solemn, but the illness had wasted Martin away for years, so the death was more of a release than a shock. At the age of sixteen, then, Tavryn -- in all technicality, Lord Tavryn Wolvera Luen, although without land or wealth he saw no reason to make use of such a title -- was on his own. As a trained physician, however, he set about converting the cottage into a decent little clinic. His first clients were local woodsmen, but Tavryn was a crafty businessman, quickly making connections with huntmasters...then later with the masters and Lords themselves. He tolerated their polished mockery of his condition because for all their pomp it quickly became apparent that unless they wanted to pay a large sum to call in a doctor from the College, Tavryn was the best physician they would find. Remarkably, it quickly became known that he could mend lethal blows without even the slightest equipment, needing only his hands and some muttered words...and all of this in a matter of seconds. While even the most esteemed doctors were taking an hour to perform such complex surgeries, young Doctor Luen could make his patients whole more quickly than he could pour a cup of tea. Speculations flew, but Tavryn somehow always managed to ever so tactfully avoid any true investigation into his talents. As he well knew, the powers did not belong solely to him. After the loss of the family fortunes he had turned to spending most of his free time around the temple of The Lady in the Room. It was the sort of place one went to relieve stress and escape the judging gaze of all the noble children with whom he studied. At first it was only an escape, but soon it became the destination itself. There was something pure about the faith they taught that spoke to him in a way the noble life never had. He enjoyed life as a noble, but the rules and propriety and double standards grated on his nature. This, too, was the only tie he had to his mother, and in that way represented a side of himself he could willfully indulge without feeling as if he had dishonored his bloodline. This was his bloodline, after all. Eventually the destination turned into a devotion as he grew into an adherent of Calistria's teachings. Rumors flew and for the life of him he could not help but feel that both the misfortune of his father and the vanishing of his mother were far more than fate's vagaries, but rather intentional actions by someone. Someone who, as years passed, he made an oath would most certainly pay. Character's Occupation: Doctor Tavryn Wolvera Luen is, obviously, a Doctor. Though everyone knows he is possessed of more than the average talent for medical matters, most of his work is mundane in nature. At this too, though, he excels beyond reason for his experience, having earned quite the reputation as someone who is effectively guaranteed to succeed in whatever medical treatment he undertakes. Conversely, he also enjoys working his influence into the general populace, earning himself small favors and generally ingratiating himself with them through his repeated service...as well as his less conventional skills. Currently, having heard rumors that a certain noble family by the name of Aergan arrived at Baermoth only a few months before he was born and then left after his father's death, Tavryn has pulled up his roots and his the road to see what he can track down. Between his propensity and earning favors and his useful talents, travel has been easy on him. Work as a traveling Doctor/Medic is quite in demand almost everywhere, and is rarely the sort of thing that leads to trouble. Family Information: Paternal: The Luen family have been Baermoth nobility for centuries. Baermoth is a temperate sea-trade town built off of the fact that it is the only good harbor within a month's sail in any direction, and quite capable of hosting a number of ships over the winter if such need be the case. The Luens built their fortune off of the shipbuilding industry. Legend has it that far back before the seas were safe to sail, August Luen -- the family patriarch -- build a small dry-dock and set to work on a new breed of vessel. Many generations passed from that point, but the Luens steadily supplied the best quality ships to traders, earning a reputation that stretched to any seaport worth its harbor. By the time Martin came along, however, there was one simple problem -- the Luen family was built off of innovation, yet more and more they relied upon several engineering and woodcrafting families to be the minds of the business. The family once known as warriors and crafters had turned into just another plush noble lineage. Martin's lack of supervision over his affairs allowed these families to be bought out by eager rivals and the business to collapse under his feet. The family name is one that, now, is typically met with a mix of derision and mere habitual respect by Baermoth locals. Beyond the tight confines of this somewhat rural city, however, the name is either not known at all (for most inland folk) or treated with knowing respect (by seafarers). Except in matters of trade, however, it is not one of influence...and even then anyone up to date on their international gossip would be aware of the Luens' misfortune. Maternal: With his paternal line solidly human, the only conclusion to be made is that his maternal line is the source of his Angelic blood. Tavryn's medical training has caused him to realize that he is far more than just a man, but rather a scion of celestial heritage. Despite his best efforts, the city seems to be a shut book about his mother, to the point that his suspicions about foul play in his life are based largely on obvious absence of information alone. All he knows is that she was a Calistrian prostitute of remarkable beauty, and the few interactions his father had with her. She was described by Martin as pure yet fierce, bearing a strength forged as much for passion as it was for war. In truth, despite the stories Tavryn has realized that what he convinced himself he knew about his mother was little more than his childish mind adding layers of imagination to his father's words. Character's Professional Network: During this time of travel, that varies. He typically, however, focuses on establishing good rapport with both leading citizens and nobles, particularly anyone he feels may serve his ends well as he searches for information. His personal network at any given time will almost always include a good cross-section of these sorts of people, making him the sort of person everyone in a town will recognize after only a few weeks, even if they do not know him personally. On a deeper level, he has two man sets of connections...   Order of the Savored Sting: As a devoted adherent of Calistria, Tavryn has quite the number of allies within the ranks of her followers. {1} The priestess responsible for administering his rite of passage -- Elohan Eithelian -- is an elven cleric of widespread renown in the temple. Baermoth's prominence in international trade made the temple there an infamous hotbed for secrets far and wide, as well as an asylum for those spreading and seeking them. Though she refused to give any information to him in regards to what he sought, she said that the truth was there...it was merely his personal task of vengeance to seek it. She remains an ally, however, and should time permit him to dispatch a message to her, help would be assured. {2} "The lady with the white skin" is certainly an ally, in Tavryn's mind, but at the same time a complete mystery. He has been traveling now for two years, honing his psychic talents now to supplement his mundane ones. During this time he has regularly spotted a certain lady -- petite, slender, and with skin as white as bleached bone -- along his journey. Invariably, whenever he spotted her he noticed things that go slightly better for him, or times when he gets just a touch too lucky. It took the full first year for him to get her to speak with him, and then only because he had sharpened his psychic powers enough to put her own will off balance. He failed to learn her name -- or anything about her aside from the fact that she is always heavily cloaked and smells of sea oats in the spring. She did convey, however, that while she was there to help him, somehow or another his quest was also helping her. {3} Beyond individuals, followers of Calistria will respond to his call for aid more often than not...provided he can find them. Though the various factions often suffer from infighting simply due to their nature and secretive habits, all in all there is an overall expectation that they will look out for a fellow believer.   The Merchants: Tavryn himself has only limited experience with the now-decrepit family business, but he can at times put his name to use. Though he has no specific contacts in this field, he does have the ability to call in old favors owed to his family. As shipwrights, any trader who received goods from a land across a sea or whose life was in the hands of a stalwart Luen ship will typically have a touch of gratitude, although this gratitude often amounts to nothing in the end. Still, he comes from a family with far reaching ties who took no sides but helped spread wealth and power for all...the name is not at all an unwelcome one. At the very least it has, at times, earned him a bed in a crowded guild-hall. Build Stuff:   ***These rolls are originally done here*** 28d6 total Str: 6 Dex: 4 Con: 3 Int: 4 Wis: 5 Cha: 6 Dice * Str: 1d6 6 1d6 6 1d6 1 1d6 2 1d6 4 1d6 5 Dice * Str Reroll: 1d6 3 Dice * Dex: 1d6 6 1d6 6 1d6 3 1d6 6 Dice * Con: 1d6 5 1d6 5 1d6 1 Dice * Con Reroll: 1d6 5 Dice * Int: 1d6 6 1d6 1 1d6 2 1d6 2 Dice * Int Reroll: 1d6 3 1d6 1 1d6 3 Dice * Int Reroll: 1d6 6 Dice * Wis: 1d6 1 1d6 4 1d6 2 1d6 4 1d6 4 Dice * Wis Reroll: 1d6 2 1d6 6 Dice * Wis Reroll: 1d6 4 Dice * Cha: 1d6 2 1d6 1 1d6 1 1d6 1 1d6 1 1d6 1 Dice * Cha Reroll: 1d6 1 1d6 4 1d6 5 1d6 3 1d6 1 1d6 6 Dice * Cha Reroll: 1d6 1 1d6 3 Dice * Cha Reroll: 1d6 2 Dice * Cha Reroll: 1d6 2 Dice * Cha Reroll: 1d6 3 Base Stats: STR: 17 DEX: 18 CON: 15 INT: 15 WIS: 14 CHA: 15

[Sirviantis]

Ren Flametongue Name: Ren Blazefreed, sometimes goes by Rend when dealing with ne'er-do-wells. Race: Tiefling Class: Magus Appearance: The young man's heart shaped face is covered in a sickly ghoulish grey skin, marked with innumerable scratches it has a raw feeling to it. The onyx colour of his deep-set eyes contrasts with the pale skin and gives him a steely gaze. Between them sits a rather pointed nose, below which a slight smile plays on his cracked lips. His blond hair, with streaks of black, frames the face whenever it wants, it's only restriction being the five horns curving upwards giving him the look of a crown. While his face marks him as rather monstrous looking it's his body that's most impressive, his digitgrade feet and fanged tail easily inspire terror in those who don't know him. Much to Ren's displeasure As a result he often hides most of his body in a long cloak and uses a holy symbol of Tyr to offset his mysterious looks. Personality: Ren's fully aware of his wicked looks and hopes to find people who'll look further than that, when he does occasionally find someone like this he usually breaks from his usually cold demeanor and turn rather festive. TThe man truly hopes to finally be accepted into the world regardless of his looks, to shed his cloak without seeing little kids look in horror and disgust. Tangential to this is Ren's social hunger, he's got little preference in the various types of person in the world, being happy to talk to just about anyone from the poorest thief to the grandest king. When talking he'll often start out with a polite demeanor but soon switch to mimic the way his conversational partner is talking. The man's past gave him a steely resolve to uproot any mistreatment of other people, turning especially angry, possibly even bloodthirsty, to protect little children. While he himself is a law-observing person in general, he recognizes the difference between "Law" and "Goodness" and will only defend and enforce Goodness. This doesn't mean he won't apprehend a thief, but given a good enough reasoning he'll drop the chase. Backstory: The pale flesh that covered Ren's body soon marked him for the daemonspawn he was and seeded a distrust between the parents. From a young age the man's life was devoid of love, he didn't recieve any from his parents and saw only animosity where one might expect love. The two were only united in one purpose, to keep Ren isolated and hidden. It worked, somewhat, to the local villagers they lied and said the pregnancy failed. The only human contact that remained to Ren was the uproar upstairs, of his parents discord turning into fights and his brothers and sisters joining. As he grew up, the stench of liquor became more and more frequent, his father would visit more often, and colour his pale skin black and blue. Similar sounds were heard upstairs. When he was eight years old the situation reached it's limits. One night the father came home, smell of ale forcing itself into the room. The usual noises of bickering stopped abrubtly and gave way to those of fists. A cacophony of dull thuds spiked with screams of pain. Though Ren couldn't remember the last time he'd seen their faces he could strike the names off the family tree. Nila, Edras, Mother, Guliar, Father. And then it stopped. He heard the bolt behind the door shift, and in the door opening stood his eldest brother Oldik. Eyes of full of displeasure and a blade dripping crimson. He dropped the weapon with a clang, and went to burn the house. Ren, aghast by the turn of events, walked out of the door. He kept walking, without purpose, without destination, without hope. The forest soon engulfed him like a predator. It's fangs were soon upon him, steel in the hands of man. The bandits took him in, raised him and thaught him to wield a sword. Ren was soon allowed to join in convincing travellers to "share" their valuables. He was never thaught how morals worked, but the gang was good to him, so he liked his work and didn't tend to ask questions. Eventually, when Ren was about fourteen, the band, "The blackfangs", turned greedy. Having a demon faced child on their team inspired fear, and fear inspired generosity. Feeling confident, the group planned to assault the nearby village of rivergate, Ren's birthplace. He didn't object to the plan, he had no good memories to the place and deep down, he wanted to close the book on his past. When they arrived however, they found themselves marching into the knights of holy judgement. Their attack didn't last. Ren, much like many of his companions, ended up in cellars in chains. He was well-kept in his dungeon, and his cellmate was friendly. An old mage named Akrius. When he wasn't busy mining for silver the old man taught him to wield the elemental forces of the world to perform miracles. After months of hard work the justiciars let him go, claiming he'd served his dues but needed to attone. From here on he was transferred to a chapel in Thornwall. The deacon took pity on him the moment he heard the boy's tale. Instead of having him beaten and force him to serve the man, Argus Roanpike, allowed him to read the holy texts to teach him of good and evil. He began to feel remorse, and soon shared his revelations with the chaplain. Hoping to right the wrongs he'd done. Ren was allowed to join the order of the merciful swords. He was made a squire, but soon became fed up with stepping aside to let others do the work. His charge, Ser Patrek Vondray, saw the frustration in the youth, and discharged him, to allow him to forge his own path. Ren felt confused, alone and forlorn on his own two feet, and for weeks he lived in the gutter. This lasted until a familiar face encountered him. His brother Oldik had made his own way to Thornwall and took him in for several days. Together they talked through what happened in their youths, the night their house "spontaneously" burned down and what they've been doing since. Ren recieved a torough scolding from his brother, but ultimately Oldik understood how he felt and urged him to seek his own "order of knights" to make the world a better place. Occupation: From Bandit to Jailbird to Squire to Tramp, Ren has done a lot in his life, very few things for which he was actually paid, though he made do to get by. Contacs: Oldik Rinvar: His oldest brother and moral guide to Ren, his is a quiet life, living in his own house and working as a priest. While not exciting the two are loyal to one another and willing to aid themselves over anyone else, hoping to preserve the little family they have left. Sindera Shakleborn: Ren's "adoptive" mother and leader of the Blackfangs, a mostly imprisoned group of criminals. While likely still in chains her former "tribe" was blindly loyal to her, to the point of reverence. While she herself may not be useful, the people she worked with likely will be eager to help her foster child. Akrius longgaze: A cellmate of Ren's and mentor in all things magical. The man's quite knowledgeable concerning all things arcane, though sentenced to a life clasped in irons for dangerous experimentation. Argus Roanpike: The local Chaplain to Tyr, Argus is technically responsible for Ren's actions. The tiefling often visits (when he isn't busy) to talk about his life. He's the first person Ren would confess any sins to and the magus' external moral compass. Ser Patrek Vondray: A knight of the merciful swords. He likes to see the best in people, as such he released Ren from his service to send him on his own quest to breakeven with the world.

[danab]

Complete Name: Khagra Race: Half-Orc Class: Unchained Barbarian Alignment: Chaotic Good Appearance: The feeling of being in the presence of a wild thing assaults you as if it were something physical. It's akin to meeting a big cat, a tiger for instance, on a game trail. You have no idea when that savagery would be turned on you. The cat analogy is strengthened by the leonine cast of his face. Perhaps the missing tusks help in that regard. The olive green skin, the hair, the scars, and the flat nose. He's clearly a half-orc. He's staring back at you. Those baleful red eyes. Nearly seven feet of muscle coming your way. There's no hesitation in him, he could do anything... This one, with his seasoned weapons and armor, and... A Guard uniform. But how could the Guard let someone like him in? Why? He passes on to his duties and out of you life. Personality: Khagra wanders through life much like a spectator. Reserved, unfeeling, implacable. It's not surprising considering the things he's seen, done, or have been done to him during his time with the Fell Pit. It was easier to close himself off than to let in others and the pain their lives can bring to his. It also protects them from him. It's no secret to Khagra that something unwelcome and new twists and gnaws at his gut. His rage freezes his blood and boils the air. His family, his friends, everyone can feel it when they're around him. He's a powder keg. When his control slips, whether he chooses to or not, he becomes a howling monster that is terrible to behold as he tears the world apart. So why doesn't he leave and find solace somewhere he can be truly alone? The answer, is that he loves his family too much. He wants to give them the sort of life he was denied, to see them cast off the horror of the past few years. They deserve a happy life and he does his best to give it to them. Background: Among the orc tribes of the Sword Mountains strength, its acquisition, and the willingness to use it were the only things that mattered. This could be said of any of the orc tribes, but in particular of the Fell Pit Tribe. They were willing to go to any length to gain more in the service of the nameless master at the bottom of their namesake. Cruelty grew rampant in the wake of this obsession and it was in this environment that Khagra grew up. Ever a quiet and thoughtful child, he was a poor fit for life in the camp. Still, he managed to survive, doing as he was told, well into his tenage years. He had to, what other life was there? The only respite came when he had time to be alone with his wandering thoughts or at home with his mother and siblings. Well, most of his siblings... Sarvik, his twin brother, was a completely different creature. Sarvik embraced the tribe and their lifestyle, hollowing a place for himself into the social order. The boy's father and chief, Ferghul, couldn't have been prouder. A pride that was marred by Khagra's unwillingness or inability to do the same. Finally, having had his fill of the boy, Ferghul ripped out Khagra's tusks at Sarvik's urging. Declared tuskless, Khagra was exiled. That should've been the end of Khagra's story, but something else had been growing in the young orc this whole time. Stubbornness. He refused to leave behind his family to suffer like he had. He stole back into the camp while the warriors and his father were out raiding. It didn't take much to convince his mother Asli and younger sister Maza to escape with him. They gathered up the rest of the children and made their escape. The only crinkle in the plan was Sarvik. Left in charge by Ferghul, he barred their escape. Khagra knew it would be an uphill fight, and he was right. Sarvik was an iron caster; magic and swordplay were his to command. It was like trying to battle the mountain. Khagra fell. In the final moments, as the darkness started to take him, he saw Sarvik turn his attention to the rest of his family. Khagra's vision, the whole world in fact, went sideways. Blood and color swirled together. The only clear memory he has of any of it was shearing Savrik's jaw away with his axe. By the time he awoke again there were in Asli's childhood home of Waterdeep. With no other options they settled in the orc quarter of Downshadow and opened a shop there. While everyone else adjusted easily, Khagra found his aggression harder and harder to control. He would have ended up in jail or worse if not for a open call to join the City Watch. It was a perfect fit. He got the chance to bleed off some of his anger, made new friends, got the combat training he was lacking, and managed to get a little money to send his family's way. He's still dour and taciturn as ever, but things have been looking up. Recent he's was assigned a solo mission in Thornwall. Hopefully it won't be too much trouble.

Personal Information Family: Asli Ercin- Khagra's mother. Captured while traveling by Ferghul and forced into his harem of wives. Before that she was trained as an alchemist and continues the work in the Downshadow from a shop called "The Pitted Cauldron." Despite being forced to become the mother of six, she loves her children and only wants the best for them. She wishes Khagra would actually find a nice girl and settle down. Ferghul- Khagra's father. Leader of the Fell Pit tribe. and a blight upon the northern Sword Coast. Since the escape his raids have become much more violent. A real contender for unifying the other tribes into a cohesive whole. Sarvik- Khagra's twin brother. Sadistic and cruel, Sarvik takes after his father. It's unknown whether he's alive or dead, but it is certain that he's missing his lower jaw. Maza- Khagra's eldest little sister. Almost looks human save for the tusks. In adulthood she's taken a great deal after her mother as she's picked up alchemy and helps out in the shop. Has been in a relationship with Corbin for a little while now and recently revealed to Khagra that she thinks she might be pregnant. Thugrim- Khagra's eldest little brother. Nearly an adult now, Thugrim has taken to city life with gusto. He's memorized every street and back alley in the city. Used to be pretty small and weak in the tribe, now he finds he's usually bigger than most of the other boys his age. Has been offered a place a gang called the Red Hands, but hasn't said yes just yet. Lash- Khagra's youngest sister. Lash used to be Thugrim's shadow until her brother made it quite clear he didn't want one. Her anger is a problem. It's not a brutal thing like her brother's, but if her hackles rise it's a sure sign she'll start swinging her fists soon. Tends to idolize Khagra as he understands her better than the rest of the family. Tamir- Khagra's youngest brother. The baby of the family. At three he doesn't remember the camp at all. Always has a smile on his face. Khagra would do anything for him. Has recently displayed the disturbing talent for creating fire out of thin air. Occupation: An armar in the City Guard of Waterdeep. Specifically he's a member of the Cormyr Irregulars, named as such mostly because their captain was a former Purple Dragon knight. Many of the less "human" members of the Guard end up in the Irregulars. Typically they roam the countryside around Waterdeep looking for potential threats before they become a problem. Force Grey has a habit of poaching their numbers for new members as the Irregulars often have to resort to adventurer tactics to get the job done. Contacts: Corbin Leadrin- Khagra's best friend and the Irregular's resident civilar. This human ranger has saved Khagra's life many times and is currently courting Maza with his blessing. Corbin has big dreams and wishes to join Force Grey someday. He'd like to bring Khagra with him. Ejar Ryne: The the half-elf captain, or senior civilar, of 8th Company, better known as the Cormyr Irregulars. A disgraced Purple Dragon knight, Ejar settled into the role like he was born to it. A task master, Ejar expects excellence and the very best from his men. Tends to be a little careless with their lives though...

[Torack]

Muinor Name: Muinor Race: Elf Class: Warden Alignment: CG Description: Muinor is slightly taller than the average elf, and a lot bulkier in terms of meat on his bones, but despite that, he's very agile and quick on his feet. He has black hair that goes down to to his upper back, split at the sides to reveal his characteristic ears. He's distinguished quite easily by the tattoos on his face, a mark of honour for him since it signifies he was part of a special operations unit in the elvish military. He has little scars on his face, but a few on his upper body and one scar along the length of his upper right arm from a sword. Muinor wears simple gear, standard studded leather armour from his time in the military, a hooded cloak, and sparse else. Personality: Muinor is a calm and collected individual. It takes a lot to shake him, and only a few things in his life have shaken him to any significant degree. He is the type of elf with a constant smile on his face despite all the hardships he faced, believing wholeheartedly that whatever happens will eventually work out. Because he's going to fix it and make it better. He takes things in stride, and because he's lived for so long, events don't usually have much of an effect on him. Many see him as aloof because of this, but it's simply because he knows in time he will either get past it or it'll find a way to fix itself. He is also the type of person that's very traditional and old-fashioned. Elves, although very traditional due to their long lives, are slowly beginning to change due to the climate around them, and Muinor is adamant that he stick to the old elvish practices he grew up on. Rituals that he knows are meaningless, but give him a sense of purpose and grounding are paramount to him. Many would also say that he's somewhat apathetic, but that's simply because he's reserved. Having grown up and raised around elves, they value composure and poise more than the expression of emotions, and often see the expression of high emotions in public as rude and a sign that one lacks self control. These traditions and ideas are instilled deep within him, especially since it's so closely upheld in the elvish military where one cannot show anything except a passive face to their officers. To his personal friends and those he considers brothers and sisters, he is far more loose and open with his emotional expression, smiling freely and even willing to cry in front of them. Otherwise, even when he jokes, he offers little more than a simple smile.

Backstory   Muinor was born in the Elf city Neeth Themar deep within the High Forest. His childhood was uneventful, having grown up as other elf children did: running around through the streets of the city under the watchful eyes of their elders. At the age of seven, like many elf children, he was taken away from the city and left under the care of a Surrogate Family in deep in the woods. A custom to teach children the harshness of life and to fend for themselves. There, Muinor was expected like all children to hunt for himself and make his own food. It was difficult at first, the bow awkward in his hands, and his feet making too-loud noises with every step he took, but through the course of years he slowly began to learn. The Surrogate Family also taught him how to hold a sword and how to defend oneself from an attacker. And although the likelihood was little, the knowledge was instilled within him and his Surrogate siblings nonetheless. Through the years, their awkward sword strokes and hunting skills began to get better, until they were like shadows when hunting and their swings were practised as well as any fighter. And as his skills grew, his life became easier with the Family, and hunting became second nature to him and his Siblings. It was only then that he was allowed to return home at the age of forty six, still a teenager by elvish standards. Upon returning, he helped his father with his merchanting venture for a few years before a sort of wonderlust took hold of him at the age of eighty four, and eventually he signed up to the elvish military within the High Forest. Training was difficult and prolonged, often the drill sergeants pushing him and his fellow trainees to their limits. He was often sleep deprived, a feeling he'd never before felt; he was starved, and put through rigorous training courses under such conditions. He pushed himself, with the thought that if one could do it, what prevented him from doing it as well? And with that mindset he managed to impress an officer from the Thrangail Corps, a spec ops division of the elvish military. He was taken through a minor training program, and soon after, he was inducted into the corps. Thrangail, roughly translated to common, meant to shield or protect, and so that's exactly what the division did. They watched the borders of their land, and oversaw the merchants that would enter their forest, watching them without being seen. He was trained in subterfuge should the time come where they were needed to go behind enemy lines, and his weeks were filled with patrols and running drills. As time went he began to get comfortable in his position. The drills were tough and hard, challenging and meant to push him and grow his limits for any possible eventuality. A hundred years passed without incident, and during that time he was often allowed to go back and visit his family. Things began to change quickly soon after however. Human bandits began to increase in number outside the fringes of the the High Forest to the North, leading to merchants coming from the north west to avoid going into forest altogether. A sudden drought in resources one season drew the attention from the elf nation's higher ups and they tasked Muinor's squad to investigate. It was the first time he travelled outside elvish territory by a significant degree, going all the way to Silverymoon. They embedded themselves within the city, a contact teaching them the local dialect and elvish slang to help them fit in. They spent the next few years digging around, and found that an elf merchant had disrespected a powerful lord within the city and he set a group of bandits to block their trade routes. Muinor and his squad returned with the news and he heard that an ultimatum had been set for Silvermoon a year later. To either fight the bandits off or the elves would sanction all trade from reaching the city. Silverymoon responded with false promises and vague assurances, but over the course of fifteen years the bandits slowly began getting more and more aggressive, even attempting to cross into elvish territory. Orders promptly came down to set up roadblocks leading to Silverymoon and turn merchants heading towards the city away under threat of assault. Meanwhile, Muinor and his squad and a few others from the Thrangail Corps infiltrated the city once more to remove the lord and replace him with another that was more sympathetic with their cause. After twenty years, with several clashes between Silverymoon and the High Forest elves, the city relented and elvish nobility entered the city and established themselves within to keep a watch on the city. Muinor and his squad were ordered to return to the High Forest and keep watch on their borders. During one of their watches, a half-elf merchant walked mistakenly into Thrangail head quarters, an offence that would have seen anyone killed on the spot. However, Muinor who was keeping watch at the time, told the half-elf to go back and forget the place existed. The mistake led to a covert assault on the base, and with most of Thrangrail in Silverymoon, the elves could do little to defend their base. Many of Muinor's brothers and sisters were slaughtered in the assault, and although they tried to keep the enemy engaged and entrapped until reinforcements could arrive, they managed to flee. Muinor was dishonourable discharged, bringing shame to his entire family. However his superior officer, instead of allowing an honourable suicide, told him to seek his honour elsewhere in the world as a sort of punishment, knowing that Muinor would have trouble living with the shame and guilt. He now seeks to bring honour back to his family and ancestors through his deeds.

Character Information Parents: Morfinnion - Father - Alive/Merchant Lisendae - Mother - Alive/Soldier Siblings: Calafindor - Brother - Alive/Merchant Kaelanor - Brother - Alive/Mercenary Nisseria - Sister - Alive/Part of the Elvish Merchant's Guild Occupation: Previous - Soldier Current - Sellsword Contacts: Joren Gras - A seedy merchant that often needs favours Eron Trek - A fence Triston Hurr - Underground weapons dealer, heavy drunk Heron Dell - A courtier

[Lord Loco]

Ottar the wizard Name: Ottar Vols Race: Human male Class: Wizard Age: 25 Aligntment: N Religion: Pays respect to Mystra and Silvanus. Description: Ottar is a man of medium height and heavy build. Not heavy with muscle, just heavy. He has curly brown hair, and an impressive bushy beard, the result of never having touched a razor in his life. He wears a wizard’s robe, but of plain brown, rather than the more traditional brighter colours, and it is cut for riding. His pointed wizard’s hat is a similar earthy colour, and has a number of fishhooks stuck in it. All the time spent in the company of his master has given him the speech pattern of a much older man. Personality: Ottar is a somewhat mercurial, outgoing and boisterous man. He likes a good laugh, a good drink, and a good (or even a bad) song. His mother brought him up to learn that the end justifies the means. The years under master Andvar’s tutelage tempered this philosophy a bit, in particular because he was forced to consider the many and often horrifying means available to a skilled wizard, but old habits die hard and he can still be plenty ruthless once a goal is set and deemed worthy. Fortunately, he gets on fairly well with most people. Exceptions are made for idiots, and anyone telling him that he can’t do something. Although wizardry is traditionally an indoor activity, Ottar is much more comfortable out of doors, either fishing, hunting, setting snares, or even just walking. Some fresh air does a body good! In his craft as an arcanist, he tends towards professionalism and sensibility, but he isn’t above the occasional practical joke even here. Background: Ottar's father Reidmar came from one of the barbarian tribes of the frigid north. Originally his quest was to find a wife and return with her to the tribe, but he took a liking to the milder lands south of the Spine, and Hilda did not have a hard time convincing him to stay. Ottar's mother Hilda was the only child of an unfortunate pair of farmers. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father never again saw the world except through the bottom of a bottle. Thus faced with poor prospects, Hilda saw a potential in Reidmar she might otherwise have missed. For some time Reidmar worked as a game warden and huntmaster for the local baron, whilst Hilda worked as a maid. She also took the opportunity to learn a few things about finances, and soon enough they managed to afford some land of their own. It was close to the wilderness, which was a liability for most, but a bounty and a boon for Reidmar. The furs and meat from his hunts supplemented their household so they could devote more acres to expensive luxury crops, and his culling of the wolves bought them much favor with their neighbors. Favne was their first child, born on a cold winter night. He took a lot after his father, and grew strong and capable, but inherited his mother's drive. Already from a young age he worked to build the family farm, and towards his eventual inheritence. Hilda's next birth were the twin girls, Lynghe and Lovnhe. Although not as shrewd as their mother, they took her advice and married men well connected to help grow the Vols family's influence and wealth. The fourth child, Regin was born nearly ten years after the twins. He was apprenticed to a smith, but felt a call to the divine and wanted to become a cleric. Their mother agreed on the condition that he joined the temple of Chauntea, as the goddess has high standing in the community and such a cleric holds much sway amongst the farmers. Ottar is the youngest child of the flock, born just one year after Regin. Of all his siblings, Ottar was the one who most enjoyed the wilderness, and often joined his father for hunting and fishing. However, it was decided that his considerable cerebral talent could be put to better use. He and Regin were both sent to apprenticeships in the city, Regin as a cleric, Ottar as a wizard. Although the rooms they could afford were cramped, the two brothers managed well in the city. Regin even found a wife amongst the throng. Ottar did not, but his appreticeship was sufficiently eventful. He discovered and expanded his tolerance for alcohol. He learned that he quite liked to sing, in spite of most people asking him to stop. There was a river full of fish to catch; this close to the ocean there were even sharks sometimes, and Ottar swore that he would get one of them at some point in his life. Once he used a spell to make a guard’s helmet appear as though it was covered in dancing paper flames. Even with the fine from the city and master Andvar’s diciplinary belt Ottar thought the joke had been worth it. Regin’s apprenticeship ended well before Ottar’s, and he moved back home with his pregnant wife. A few months later, Ottar got a letter telling him that he now had a new nephew, but Regin’s wife had died in labour. Ottar was with master Andvar for five years. The magic itself came fairly naturally to him. He liked the arcane mysteries and harnessing the powers of the universe. It was exacting and complicated work, enough so that Ottar didn’t grow too restless with the many hours he had to spend inside. Eventually Andvar was satisfied with Ottar’s progress and the apprenticeship came to an end. Although he knew that his mother would want him back as soon as possible, Ottar decided that his skills would be put to work soon enough, before that he wanted to spend some time roaming the land in the custom of his father... Occupation: During his apprenticeship he supplemented his allowance with crafting wooden trinkets. The craft was taught him by master Andvar as a complement to the wizardry. Andvar made his living making and selling various magical items, and did not approve of commissioning artisans for every single wand or ring. Ottar did not get sufficiently skilled to be useful for this purpose, but he could make some money making toys and simple wooden tools. Family: Father: Reidmar: Formerly a barbarian from Icewind Dale, now a peaceful farmer. Mother: Hilda: Ambitious and driven farmwife and tamer of barbarians. Brother: Favne: Eldest child and heir to Reidmar and Hilda's fairly extensive lands. Married and has four children of his own. Brother: Regin: Cleric of Chauntea and former smith's apprentice. Widower, and he has a son. Twin sisters: Lynghe and Lovnhe, both married, and a bunch of nieces and nephews thereof. Professional network: Master Andvar: Wizard, and Ottar’s teacher in the arcane arts. Quite enjoys his exaggerated reputation as a crotchety old man and harsh taskmaster. Master Ivaldi: Alchemist, and Andvar’s complete opposite. Ottar ran many errands between the two masters.

[KevinFipps]

Sebastian Walker
Gentleman Rogue

If there is any skill Sebastian can claim to have mastered, it would have to be saying too much. His mouth, coupled with his considerable ego has led him into more scuffles, brawls, chases, duels and arrests than he can count. The adopted son of a wealthy merchant in Waterdep, he had the privilege of education, but none of the money or renown that his older siblings enjoyed. He studied swordplay at Silver Tide University under Sword Master Lyric Caulder, where he showed considerable skill. When he graduated, he devoted most of his time to chasing women. A skill that he likewise shows some aptitude in.

Maybe it’s the eyes. The way they glitter in the moonlight. Maybe it’s his charming wit. Who knows? But for some reason people like Bastian, more the ladies than the men. He's just got that kind of flair, panache, and gusto that makes him seem that much closer than some stranger in off the street. He found work as a freelancer around the city and used a few contacts in the navy to secure jobs within the merchant marine throughout Westland.

With a silver tongue and a quick wit, Sebastian, or Bastian for short, has charmed, cajoled and conned his way into and out of more trouble than most people would admit. All of it in search of a good time, and maybe a coin or two to rub together. But his story took a darker turn a few months ago.

While Sebastian was at sea, his father, a minor noble of the city and a powerful player in the shipwrights guild, took a commission from the royal navy to design and produce a new fleet of pirate hunting vessels. The design was unlike anything seen before. Fear of the new ship design caused one notable pirate lord to send a message to shipwrights’ guild. All vessels built, maintained, or chartered by the Hawkwinter family were declared open game by the pirate lords.

Their ventures faltered at every turn. Revenues fell, overhead soared. Soon the family was defaulting on every bond they owed. Garrick Hawkwinter was thrown out of the Shipwrights guild. The family holdings were seized to pay for lost inventory. Only the family townhouse remained. But even that would not stand for long.

A contract was put out on the members of the family. Sebastian’s brothers, mother, father and younger sister were all murdered. His older sisters were lucky enough to have been married to other families, and therefore removed from the house. When Sebastian returned from sea, he found his world destroyed. Using his contacts on the street, he found out that the Black Blade Martial Academy had taken the contract. It had been the master of that academy Byron Di’Garren that had taken the lives of his parents and younger sister.

Last son of a disgraced family, Sebastian had no recourse among the guilds, and the royal navy was in no position to go after the pirate lords and the Black Blade Academy was firmly entrenched within the city of Cliffdale, and any attempts at justice would be viewed and act of war by the military power. Only a single prototype of the new vessel design was ever built, and it disappeared from the docks during the purge of the Hawkwinter household. Sebastian made an attempt to garner allies within the city of Waterdeep, but it soon became apparent that his power structures of the city would not stoop to help a foppish noble with no title worth mentioning.

Before long, Bastian’s attempts at finding allies and resources had led him afoul of the major criminal players of the city. His status as a Hawkwinter left him with a persistent contract on his head. Before long, his exploits led to a swift departure from the city.

RP Sample Bastian was awakened to consciousness by the wind in his ears. His eyes snapped open just in time to see the ground rushing up to meet him. Damn. The young man thinks as he tucks into a ball. At the last instant he kicks out hard to one side, sending himself into several rolls to lessen the impact. He comes to his feet facing back the way he'd come. Two of Viktor's goons were spreading to flank him. He had them to thank for his impromptu flight. The meeting had not gone as he had planned.... Earlier that Day When Sebastian Hawkwinter found a bag of obviously stolen loot on the body of an unfortunate sap that had slipped of a sky bridge; he thought it best to seek finder’s fees rather than attempt to fence the stolen goods. A ring in the bag had led him to Andross Viktor, or more specifically, to Viktor’s wife. Apparently the woman had been robbed a few days before and much of the merchandise was hers. She had been exceedingly grateful to Sebastian, and it was in the midst of her expression of gratitude that Viktor had happened upon the two….. in the lady’s bedchambers. Being a businessman, Viktor had been willing to make a deal with the boy. If Sebastian could explain the situation adequately, then he could keep his skin. Sebastian’s tale about doing a story on the 10 most loyal housewives of Neverwinter for the Waverider Times was apparently not adequate. Hence his current situation. The two men the wealthy merchant employed as “payment collectors” were now charged with collecting various parts of Sebastian, ones he’d rather not part with. That had led to his daring leap out the window. Forgetting for a moment that all one found outside the window was a stunning view of the forest below the cliff-side manor house. Come on now gentlemen. Let us be reasonable. This has all been a series of misunderstandings that we need to resolve before someone gets hurt. The two thugs continued to close with the rogue. Bastian looked from one to the other for signs of reason. Their determined faces offered only one thing: Pain. Bastian hates pain. Alright then. Rolling to his side, Bastian came up with a device in his hand that must’ve confused the heck out of the man before him. His confusion was still apparent after the bullet created a clean hole between his eyes. The other stopped in his tracks. What the…? stuttering from his lips. Oh, don’t worry. I have another. Bastion’s second pistol appears in his other hand. See? Looting through the pockets of the fallen men yielded 60 gold pieces and crummy dagger. Viktor obviously doesn’t pay his men well enough. Bastian thought. At least they won’t be all fired up to come after me then. Sliding his weapons back into the holsters hidden at the small of his back, Bastian returns to the base of the cliff he had tumbled down. Looking up at the broken window, some 50 feet above his head, he shouts. No hard feelings Andross. Good luck with the organized crime syndicate. I’m sure your neighbors will never find out. He parts quickly, largely due to the crossbow bolts arcing down at him, and partly because he just remembered he has a date tonight…. with the mayor’s daughter. If there were anything good to come of the event it was winning a bet with Lord Samson Zent. Zent is secretly the head of the Night Masks. A group of thieves, assassins and other ne’er-do-wells that operate in the region. Bastian had bet Zent, while at a formal function that he had talked his way into, that he could bed just about any woman in the room and get away with it. Zent is reluctant to pay up on the 1,000 gold piece bet. Partially because Victor caught the two and Sebastian did have to kill two thugs to get away, but largely because he would hate to admit that the kid succeeded where Zent himself had failed so many times before.

Physical Description: Bastian stands a wiry 5' 11" with hair black as night and silver eyes like the moon reflected in a quiet pool. His warm smile and innocent face have seemed to keep him one step ahead of trouble most of his life, and he's pushed his luck in many of those occasions. Never-the-less, he approaches every situation with a somewhat cavalier attitude. Though incredibly agile and a master swordsman, Bastian tries to avoid combat whenever possible. He seeks to end disputes through compromise and discussion rather than strength of arms or skill in battle. And he is not so proud that he won’t run screaming from overwhelming odds. A pair of matched dueling pistols helps as well.

Contacts:
Lyric Caulder: Swordmaster at Silvertide University, Waterdeep
Samson Zent: Head of the Night Masks, Neverwinter
Victor Andross: Crimelord, Neverwinter
Evelyn Brasharrow: Elven Merchant, Varies

Sebastian’s current goals:
1. Recover the Sea Avenger, the prototype built by his father.
2. Bring down the Black Blade Academy
3. Restore the Hawkwinter family name.
4. Resurrect his young sister, Arelia Hawkwinter.
5. Gain great renown in the region, either for heroism or criminal exploits.
6. Amass a small fortune. Around 200,000 gp.
7. Kill Byron Di’Garren.
8. Collect on 1,000 gp bet with Samson Zent.
9. Improve his firearms.
10. Regain titles of nobility from Waterdeep.