[D&D-5e] Chronicles of Jôrd: Troubled Lands

[Drifter One]

Hi - hoping you are accepting new applications and cobbled this together:

Name: Skarn Blackwater

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 42

Alignment: ??

Appearance: 6'4 - tall and although muscualr he is not ripped. He has the beginnings of middle age spread around his belly, although not too much. He has long, lank grey hair and a grisled, weather worn face which hides his once haansome features. He wears old and battered chain armour, rusting in places, and his tabard is frayed and torn and so dirty, the coat of arms is barely visable

Class: Fighter

Background: soldier

Personality traits: Gruff, short with people and generally considered rude and without manners. Although he has a big heart, it is hidden deep within the regret and trauma he has suffered. Emotions have been worn down through being on the run and evading capture, as well as mercenary life. He is very matter of fact, and may be viewed by others as cruel and heartless, yet he really has a desire to do the right thing but struggles to express himself.

Ideal: Freedom. Tyrants must not be allowed to oppress the people.

Bond: To protect the weak and/innocent

Flaws: Due to what he did all those years ago, Skarn has a weakness where he has to prove he is not a coward, nor showed cowardice and makes him very Angry. Skarn also has turned to drink to numb his internal pain.

Backstory:

Skarn was born in a border village called Heydon, dividing the line between Upper Cwyll and Northlands. His life was a simple affair, dull to some, including himself, but it was a place that remained absent of politics, hierarchy and Tyranny. Heydon was a village where its people worked for the people and the good of those that live there. There was trade with surrounding villages, but no major routes and as such, Heydon was never an affluent place. It just existed. During his early years, Skarn settled into the usual way of life, foraging, building, cooking, weaving, hunting...generally sustaining life as best as they could. The ost exciting times came when he would join a caravan patrol to a neighbouring village for trading purposes, but other than that, noting much happened in Heydon.

Skarns parents, Juliaan and Seraphina, loved him very much and were alway there for him. He could not want better parents. However, as he grew, a d games became less and less frequent and entertaining with his daddy, he began to feel a strange yearning in his belly. By the time of his mid teens, he understood what this yearning was. He wanted to have ore from life. Be self sufficient, own a home. Accomplish something! As much as they tried, Juliaan and Sera could not disuade Skarn to change his mind, and on his 20th birthday, when he came of age, he affirmed he would leave for a better, brighter future. Taking a pack of food rations and a bed roll, Skarn set off east to find his glory.

It didnt quite work out as he had intended. Weeks of travel and an encounter with a pack of wolves which left Skarn scarred and weak, he ended up in the province known as Eastmark, far to the south. With no money and no dwellings, Skarn soon found himself in dire straits and desperate. He tried begging but got him more beatings than he cared to remember, and thieving, well he was just no good at it. Until he happened upon a circumstance which would perhaps save his life, and certainly would change it forever.

Skarn enlisted into the military arm of Eastmark, promised 2 hot meals a day and a bunk to sleep in and a weekly pay. However, before he was given a single copper, part of his contract required him to "beef up his pathetic frame". Skarn fund that army life was in fact brutal, and he was whipped into shape and had grown muscle and was as fit as he had ever been. Yet, he beieved he was kept on the "training" program a lot longer than was necessary just so that the Generals could withold paying him for longer. Eventually, when he received his first assignment, he got his first pay packet of a meagre 15 silver.

The assignment was to travel to a mining colony to the south where reports had claimed bandits were regulary attacking and stealing the ore which was in the jurisdiction of Ballast. It seemed a simple mission; march with a small company of soldiers and deter the bandits. Upon arrival, ghe mission seemed to have a darker motive. When they arrived, the miners seemed quite content and were merrily getting on with their work. When Skarn asked about the bandit attacks, he was met mith bemused looks and blank stares. Then from nowhere came the order from Captain Maghelles.

" New orders in boys. Eastmark now claims this mine from the insurgents. This comes straight from the top. No-one to be left alive. Slaughter them all!"

As Meghalles drew his sword and charged into the stunned crowd, screams rang out through the valley. Skarns jaw dropped at the savagery and callousness of such orders and dropped his sword, covering his ears to try and muffle the sounds of the screams. A swift boot in his midriff from a fellow soldier topple him over.

"we ave' orders boy! Chop Chop!"

Skarn could not murder innocents, this was not the life he had ordained and he did not want to play a part in any regime such as this. Instead, amongst all the bloodshed and commotion, he turned and ran...

NOTES:

Skarn is considered a deserted from the army and as such, although not actively hunted, will be arrested on site. He has been avoiding this for many years.

Skarn, his emotions somewhat scarred by his experience and essentially being an outcast, has been getting by as a sell sword to earn coin. He has a high moral compass but is now very blunt, somewhat cold and emotionless as he tries to bury his memories. He struggles to engage with people yet he will always try to do the right thing

Impressions of Skarn will be that he is rude and devoid of compassion. This is not true, he has just struggled with engaging with people due to being basically alone

Contacts

Captain Meghalles (Hostile) - determined to hunt and kill Skarn for desertion

Juliaan Blackwater (Friendly - Father)

Seraphina Blackwater (Friendly - Mother)

Georje Blackwater (Neutral - Brother)

Thurin Longshanks (Friendly - contractor (Bounties))

Alleyne Greyfinger (Hostile)

Gabriella Sunstrider (Friendly/Hostile - dependent on the situation and circumstances) Fellow mercenary who sometimes is at loggerheads with Skarn on a contract.

[Pig Man]

App. Name: Dreigr Gender Identity: Cis-Male Race: Trollkin Age: 32 Class: Fighter (Battlemaster) Description: Ashen grey skin and bloodshot red eyes. His hair is white, streaked with dirt and cut very close to his head. He bears white scars all over his body, as a grim reminder of his time in servitude. His horns are medium sized, but pockmarked by scratches. The tip of one horn has been broken off. Dreigr is rather short for a trollkin, around 7 feet tall, but incredibly solidly built. He weighs around 320 lbs. His armor is modest; he wears his chainmail under a plain brown traveling cloak, and his halberd is slung over his shoulder. He doesn't carry much else, save food, water, and a rusty dagger. Personality: When one first meets Dreigr, they would say he is rather quiet. It's true, Dreigr doesn't say much; he knows that words seldom spoken have all the more impact. When he does speak, however, he enjoys telling stories and making short speeches. Dreigr goes to bed every night with a vision in his head; that the world was safe and happy. Dreigr's goal and driving force is to protect the weak, uphold justice, and fight against the forces of evil. Unfortunately, he is prone to fits of extreme anger; if he feels that someone he believes is virtuous is not doing the right thing, he becomes filled with rage. Deep in his mind, he believes that perfection is possible if everybody would just work hard enough. Background: Dreigr was taken from his home before he can remember. Slavers plucked him in the dead of night from his tribe, and raised him among the other slaves. He was taken to an underground slave fighting ring in Eastmark, where affluent individuals with a taste for blood could come and watch or pace bets. He was raised on fighting. Because of his naturally larger frame, he had an advantage in the ring - an advantage which allowed him to survive. Between fights, or when he was injured, he talked to another trollkin slave. This trollkin was named Volgr. She was older than Dreigr by several decades, and remembered the outside world. She told him stories of knights that traveled the land looking for evil, and vanquished it. She told him stories of a powerful and kind God. She told him these things to give him hope; and give him hope it did. He grew fast and strong; he learned how to use many weapons, and he learned to please the crowd. By the time he was 20, the other slaves saw him as a kind of leader because of his relentless optimism, fighting prowess, and mercy in the ring. One day, a Cwyll raid got close to the ring; chaos descended upon the slave pits. During the distraction, Dreigr and Volgr slipped away. Try as they might to rescue the other slaves, they were unable. Volgr used her battle experience to land a job as a soldier for one of the Marcher lords, who offered her housing as well. Dreigr, however, sought a different path. His head was still filled with stories of wandering knights; he wanted to see the world and make it better. Dreigr did manual labor on a farm for years to save up money to buy equipment; as soon as he could afford a decent suit of armor and a weapon, he bid farewell to the kind human farmer and set out on his grand adventure. Background Archetype: Entertainer (Custom: Slave Gladiator) Background Traits Personality Trait - I want to see the good in everything. Personality Trait - I am quiet; I know how to make my words count. Ideal - Greater Good. I use all I have for the betterment of others. Bond - I owe my life to those who have helped me in the past. I will fight until I am dead for those who help me in the future. Flaw - I often get frustrated when I believe that someone noble is doing something 'wrong.' Contacts: Contacts Volgr - Fiery-spirited trollkin, working as a guard and soldier under one of the Marcher lords. Was hired after being freed as a slave. Views Dreigr as family, although the two are technically unrelated. Ringmaster Hulio - Being that controls and finances the underground slave fighting rings in and around Eastmark. Spiteful that some slaves managed to escape; anxious to regain control over his escaped assets. Rhoulf Fairwind - Kind human farmer; an older, feeble man that knows the end of his days are close. Owns a flock of chickens and a single old but hardy pack horse named Spot. Dreigr enjoys the man's company, and considers him a true friend.

Application is finished and good to go. Cheers

[mountainbound]

Originally Posted by Thorsten

don't create a character you would want to play in 10 levels. Play a character you would want to play right now.

I like the advice above. Plus I've been looking to game with you for a while.

The character I want to play right now is a psion. I've been using the rules defined here for 5e psionics in a campaign I'm running and am enjoying it, but would like to actually play through with a PC.

[Talissen70]

Posting interest, working on a concept at present

[Thorsten]

Originally Posted by Drifter One

Hi - hoping you are accepting new applications and cobbled this together:

Hello and welcome to the site.
New applications are most certainly welcome and I am honoured you'd look to my game as your first application here! I've added Skarn to the list on the first page of this thread.

Originally Posted by mountainbound

I like the advice above. Plus I've been looking to game with you for a while.

The character I want to play right now is a psion. I've been using the rules defined here for 5e psionics in a campaign I'm running and am enjoying it, but would like to actually play through with a PC.

Will have a look at those rules at some point, but I'm not against psions as long as they thematically fits with the setting.

[cappucina]

I think I'm in the done category, though I might edit wording or grammar to make the reading of the passage easier, it will be the same message.

[Thorsten]

Originally Posted by cappucina

I think I'm in the done category, though I might edit wording or grammar to make the reading of the passage easier, it will be the same message.

Duly noted.

Less than a week to go, and so many great apps. I am running through several different constellations in my head and I could see a lot of them working wonderfully, which makes me happy.

I am currently trying to get Wonderdraft to cooperate with me so we have a map of Eastmark. If anyone has a contact with Wonderdraft I have a bunch of suggestions for their userface...I am not succeeding at the moment, but I will continue trying.

And for anyone interesting, an image of the map my tabletop group created and is using can be found here (warning - big and poorly taken picture)

 

[MercurialJack]

That is a damn fine looking map!

[Togot]

[GeneT]

---

Watcher Name: NkumeKamenGur Gender Identity: None Race: Watcher Age: 447 Class: Druid Description: The water is murky in the Mournfell. And at the GateHkone I sat only for very long. Open and closed kept I. In and out came They. Looking past the bubbles and eddy lines of the spring, I see myself first. Now set to walk. My GuardingHcawng shout raan ended. Head stone round, grey in color, with nubs for ears. There is moss upon my broad shoulders. It feels soft when I touch it. Bright in green, filigree skin. I am stout swollen stone oak colored limb and leg breadth bold. I laugh. The sight of me wonderful. It shakes the yellow leaves and sends Little things skittering. I make soft sound. Cool shadow long murmur. And the Littles shake way their fear of me. I am not Shadow or Raven-born. Talon bright against the Dark I go. Because it is time for the guarding of other things. I Sunlight softly sing. Voice like the spring. Burbling with a bit of swirl. Curling flow collapsing upon a turtle's shell. Jumping fish splashing upon heated shallows. The dark trees lighten a way for my heavy feet. Squelching mud marsh toes slimy silk at the Mournfell edge. I do not look back. Personality: Elongated breath. Tell me the numbers. You are blue in keeping with me friend. And it takes practice. First, two of your seconds in and out. Then four. Seven. Nine. Thirteen. Forty-eight. Six hundred and thirty-two. Long moment. But, I show you to stop counting and just breathe. Feel your fingertips. The hair on the back of your neck. The smooth even draw. And then nothing. Just life. One long slow elongated breath. The quiet slow. There is time for tumult. The Dark is alive. And then, we do not breathe the long slow of calm knowing self. We breathe the quickness and fire of action. When it is needed, we rise. Come. I will carry you as you practice. Remember, first two second in then out, then four, then............... Background: The watcher NkumeKamenGur was the Guardian of a Hkone deep within the Mournfell forest. Their watch lasted 437 years. At first, the Hkone had been used but then it became quiet. No new Watchers emerged. No Travellers came to bid entry. Eventually, after some hundreds of years, KamenGur understood it was broken, spoiled, spent. The edges began to darken and it started to crumble. KamenGur felt failure in it. And inside self. The Raven, Shadow, whatever the Dark is now named, had wiggled into the frame of its making and usurped its meaning. It was time to leave. Time to protect other things. Against failure and the Raven. KamenGur spent ten years walking out of the Mournfell. It took a long time to repurpose failure. And a long time to remember meaning. Guarding the Hkone of Mournfell for all the days before then and now had a singular settling on their mind. With its dissolution, meanings needed molding. They walked across the harsh lands of the Dalshore eventually coming to the Northsund sea. Along the way, they met people and others. And although they could not fish, being too heavy or tall for the small boats of the tiny fishing village that plucked silverlings and grappel from the cold Northsund, they could carry and they could think. Learning to mold what their meaning would be. One long breath at a time. Eventually, shaping themselves as the fishers-men and going to sea. A solitude or respite from Duty. Even Watchers diminish for a time under failure and when shadow has wiggled into their frame. They found they needed learning. Understanding. Not of the type the Mournfell taught them, but of the whole of Jôrd. Many things had been misplaced while they kept their GuardingHcawng shout raan. The Raven was growing. The Hkones are fallen. And meaning had been molded. They traveled along trade routes. Moving here and there. Eventually having found the rougher Eastmark. And others along the way. Sometimes, they walked with shorter legs. Sometimes not. All Times they Watch for Raven, Shadow, First Creation and taught their peculiar calm and also rising storm. One breathe at a time. Background Archetype: Outlander ,maybe Hermit Personality Traits x2/Ideal/Bond/Flaw: I am utterly serene, even in the face of disaster. (TR) Despite my making, I do not place myself above other folk. (TR) There's a spark of the Maker in everything. No matter how shadowed. Even the Raven. (Id) I will protect All against the First Creations. It is my meaning. (Bnd) I am slow to change my breath even under the direst circumstances (Negative Init) Contacts: Lutsk. Tucked in a harsh and difficult hollow of a fjord, the tiny fishing town of Lutsk is where KamenGur learns his shape. And to tie nets, set bait, clean fish, and eventually row and sail. You are a fisher in Lutsk when you have ridden out a storm or survived a flatness upon the Northsund. If you say that a raging storm be more dangerous, then you're not of the fjords of the Northsund or have ever witnessed the return of men who have suffered a flatness and the things that rise to feed in becalmed waters. Janseens Maaes. Janseens Maaes is no honorable man. Bandits such as he do not trade in such notions. And although he does not hold grudges, he remembers Luck and owings. KamenGur saved Janseens life. And that is a thing he cannot forget. Ivano. It is hard to tell why an assassin and thief such as Ivano takes interest in KamenGur. If you would ask KamenGur why they would share the rain with such a person, they would long breath the question away. They don't know either. Only that Ivano, whom it is not known whether male or female, pulls. Their breathing pulls. Their eyes pull. Their dreams pull. Which is complicated for KamenGur given Ivano's shadows. Muriel Joseph Cohen. Muriel is a trader out of someplace. She'd shrug off the question of where if asked as it doesn't really matter. She is a trader. Three wagons deep. KamenGur travels to Eastmark sitting by her side as she takes her wagons out. They are linked. Muriel masters the Long Breath in a day. A feat that is special. She masters the Coming Storm in the next, her breath even outpacing KamenGur's. And in a Holding, KamenGur gives in. Something he does not do for many. He does it as Muriel would Hold until her end, such is her spirit and calm. She is tough, somewhat short, and a bit overweight. Her hair is patchy and one of her eyes drifts. Her smile is lopsided. Her laughter wonderful. She has seen KamenGur complete. Round thick legs broad. Small ears grey rock pate. Yellow-eyed pits and square toes. KamenGur would Break Meaning for her. AstelTine. Bleak Mountain Dead Willow Shadowed Hand. Carcass Rain. Spoiled. AstelTine is a Watcher Turned. Raven-taken. KamenGur has seen them. Bright eyed malice storm lightening. Learned lament, fear, doubt. They make burning dreams. Right and Wrong mixed. Soul bent uncertainty of purpose. KamenGur's Heart-line they be. Unshakable. Unfathomable. Failure. Writing Sample: Do not count. Just breathe.

[Nasrith]

Not nearly enough dwarves applications. Gonna have to do something about that...

@Thorsten, question about the map. Looks like Jerghala is south and across the ocean. Am I seeing that right?

[Thorsten]

Originally Posted by Nasrith

Not nearly enough dwarves applications. Gonna have to do something about that...

@Thorsten, question about the map. Looks like Jerghala is south and across the ocean. Am I seeing that right?

Those signs are a bit all over the place, but you are, yes. A fair bit of distance south too.

[GeneT]

I added a pic. I'm not certain about it though. It was tough to find one depicting KamenGur's odd mix of Wild Watcher and Positivity. And figure how far I could push the Watcher subtype. Advice is appreciated.

[Nasrith]

Jahan Balaskas Name: Jahan Balaskas Race: Jerghalan Dwarf Gender Identity: Male Age: 37 Class: Rogue (eventually Inquisitive) Background Archetype Criminal Personality Trait 1: I always have a plan for what to do when things go wrong. Personality Trait 2: I can stare down a hell hound without flinching. Ideal: People. I’m loyal to my friends, not to any ideals, and everyone else can take a trip down the Styx for all I care. Bond: I would still lay down my life for the people I served with. Flaw: I wronged the entire Jerghalan military tradition with my crimes, and I brought some of my closest friends and family down with me. Description: The most striking thing about Jahan is that he has shed his beard. He shaved it off on his flight from Djeb Sherik, and because it is impossible to completely debeard a dwarf, the smuggler lives with a perpetually half-inch of prickle on his jaw. His chin and nose both end in hawklike points that lend him a predatory disposition that is not entirely out of character. Gold rings adorn his ears and his left eyebrow, and a gold-linked chain hangs heavy around his neck. Though out of style in Caldaria, Jahan stubbornly sticks to the silks of his homeland, swearing that anything thicker or courser is unbearable. His overcoat has a number of hidden pockets, as is befitting a criminal. And of course, a crossbow is strapped to his hip on the off chance a keen eye and a sharp mind aren't enough to avoid danger. Personality: Jahan holds loyalty to three things. Himself first. His friends second. Gold third. No grand ideals or frustratingly strict morals, Jahan is a businessman. While not overly charming, he has a shrewd mind and a lack of aversion to risk that served him well in the military and continues to do so as a smuggler. Besides himself and his friends, reputation is all that a man has, and Jahan sticks by his. He doesn't back down in the face of danger or threats, and he always follows through with a deal once the terms of been met. He has a callous sense of humor, smirks more than he smiles, and doesn't often sleep through the night, though he'll swear this has nothing to do with his past and everything to do with how damn uncomfortable the beds are outside of the City of Spires. Background: A dwarf is not born a lawbreaker, with some burning desire to smuggle goods in the shadows of the watchful eye of the The police force of Djeb SherikKuipal. The path of a criminal is walked like any other: one misbegotten step at a time. Jahan was born the middle child of dwarven tradesman in the city of Djeb Sherik. His father, a passable blacksmith and poor businessman. His mother, a seamstress so talented that she had once sown a shalvar for the uncle of Ithan Mol, back when his father still ruled. He had a younger brother and an older sister, who would eventually take after his mother and father, respectively. The dwarven family lived a middling life, always wanting for more but never fearful of lack. The first step of this particular smuggler's story came in his youth. Serving in the The precursor to the Imperishable Guard, of which all dwarves are required two years minimum serviceThe Immortal Shield, Jahan's natural intelligence, strategic cunning, and talent with both spear and crossbow saw him rise in military rank twice before his minimum service was up. While by no means a natural leader, his unfailing loyalty to his squadmates earned him their devotion in turn, and when his former captain stepped down, he half stepped, half was pushed into the now vacant role. In his third year with the Immortal Shield and his first as captain, Jahan's squad was sent to the Great Stone Flats to clear out a den of beasts that had been waylaying merchants for the better part of two months. The creatures were routed without incident, and as an added reward, one of the dwarves' of Jahan's squad discovered a pile of crates near the back of the cave, blended neatly in with the grey and shadowed rock. The goods were obviously illicit, which as a number of Jahan's squad were quick to point out, meant that no one was going to lay claim to them should they go missing. Someone's cousin knew a dwarf who could get something for the goods, and that was that. Laden with boxes of rare wood, antiques both counterfeit and real, and a small assortment of hard-to-acquire weeds and saps, Jahan's crew returned to the city. A week later, they were raising mugs, clinking coins, and slapping one another on the back after a job well done. It wasn't long until Jahan realized there were much easier ways to acquire objects just as valuable. Namely, by way of armament requisition. Jahan would put in the order, his squad would move a just sufficient amount to remain unnoticed, coins would slide from one hand to another, and eventually into Jahan's pockets. He was able to support his father's smithing business, his older sister's (poorly realized) political aspirations, and a squad whose overblown lifestyle was creeping ever-closer to conspicuously luxurious. Still, Jahan was smart. He knew exactly how much to take. Exactly which hands to grease and with how much. Who knows how long the good times could have lasted, if only a raid on a criminal hideout hadn't turned up gilded weapons of obviously military make. The end was swift after that. When the Kuipal came looking, everyone knew exactly where to point a finger to keep themselves safe: Jahan's Squad. They scattered to the four winds. Many were caught and prosecuted harshly. Some few were able to disappear into the bustle of the city or fall in with the criminal elements with which they had previously done business. Jahan put one last contingency plan into motion, buying himself enough time to slip anonymously onto a vessel departing the Crimson Bay for Caldaria. The next three years were spent re-establishing contacts in Djeb Sherik. Some few of his old squad had escaped the purge, and he relied heavily on them to get business moving again. At the same time, he relocated to Eastmark, a place he could use the convoluted laws and ever-warping borders to stay ahead of Caldaria's lawmen. Besides that, well, war was profitable.   Mozdeh Jahan hasn't so much met Mozdah as heard of her through his associates. He's seen pictures of the hard-eyed dwarven inquisitor so he knows who to watch out for. He's heard stories of narrow escapes from her clutches by those Crags still left in Djeb Sherik, and what happens to those Crags that don't slip her grasp. Mozdah's looking for him, the dwarf who could betray the trust of the Immortal Shields and escape unpunished. No one's confirmed as much, mostly because no one's stopped to chat with her, but Jahan knows it deep in his gut. No matter how long it takes, she won't stop till she finds him. Catches him. Brings him to justice. He's very motivated not to let that happen. Blue Thorns Eastmark is nothing special. Not too big. Not too well established. That's part of what brought Jahan there. He's a small fish in a small pond. Unfortunately, he's not the first fish by a long shot. The Blue Thorns have been carving out their spot in Eastmark's underbelly since the beginning, and they've grown fat on their takings. Rumor is they've got a working relationship with the Sigismund Mercantile Company to move their goods more quickly under a legitimate front. Those are just rumors, though. Smuggling. Thievery. Protection Rackets. Gambling. Drugs. The Thorns have fingers in every pot, and they haven't got this far by sharing. By Jahan's estimation, they recruit, kill, or run out of town anyone that gets too big. To be fair, that's exactly how he'd approach things too, were he on top. But he's not, which means he needs to stick to the shadows for now, stay out of sight and beneath notice. Better that than get eaten. Leofric Hockley Reeling after his flight from Djeb Sherik, Jahan was forced to take a number of risks to get his feet under him in Eastmark. Leofric was one of those risks, and he's paid off. Leofric is a husband, father to three young daughters, and an all-around good man. Luckily, he's shite as a lawman. While he doesn't particularly like Jahan, he does need the money the rogue puts in his pocket. He has a lot of mouths to feed. After his wife suffered a debilitating injury the year prior to the dwarf's arrival, Leofric hasn't been able to bring in enough gold on a lawman's salary alone. Leofric has gotten Jahan out of a number of tough scrapes, tipped him off a time or two, and has overall been worth the investment. The savvy dwarf's just waiting for conscience or someone else's coin to catch up with the man, though. For that reason, Jahan keeps him at arm's length. The Crags Rostam the Face. Omid the Brains. Shirin the Fence. Bobak the Bruiser. That's all that's left of Jahan's old squad. Shirin made the journey out of Djeb Sherik soon after Jahan, and set up in one of the port cities of Southern Caldaria. Rostam and Bobak had fallen in together on the streets of The City of Spires, adopted new personas, and taken to running confidence schemes when the need arises. Omid went partially legitimate, adopting a guise as a merchant and eventually weaseling his way into the silk trade. Jahan only recently re-established contact with them, and the chain is still tenuous. The communication takes altogether too long. And yet the loyalty is there, marked in the flesh by the ribcage tattoo of two dwarves standing beneath a rocky crag. Balgaire Niocalsan If there is one thing that Jahan knows, it is that war means profit. Someone always needs weapons, food, and information, and they need it badly enough to pay now and ask questions never. Balgaire Niocalsan is that someone. A twist of fate in an out of the way tavern on the outskirts of civilized Eastmark brought Balgaire into Jahan's life. A Cwyll hunter turned gorilla fighter, Balgaire needed a way to fight back and had gathered just enough coin to tempt Jahan into dealing with him, despite the obvious dangers. And Jahan... Well, Jahan had nothing yet, but he was a resourceful dwarf with no qualms about breaking laws, no skin on either side of the fight, and a nose for profit. Not exactly friends, it did make them at least potential business partners. Writing Sample Potentially forthcoming

[Talissen70]

Neran Tovuu Name: Neran Tovuu Gender Identity: Male Race: Jerghalan Dwarf Age: 85 Class: Cleric Description: Neran is unusually slight of build in comparison to the average Jerghalan standing at four and a quarter feet tall, causing some idle speculation there may be some human blood back a few generations. His white hair and beard are whispy and frame large ears and nose, with intense blue eyes. A pale complexion marks him as a Dwarf who has spent much of his life working indoors. He carries a shield on his arm and a Warhammer at his side, on a belt with a multitude of bags and pouches. Leather armour worn under a heavy cloak. He has long spindly fingers suited to someone with artistic talents. Personality: Pleasant and personable, if slightly nervous on first meeting. His years have brought him a low tolerance for nonsense and pompous behaviours. No stranger to sweet talking the price of his wares up over the years, he can be charming. But equally, he can be crotchety and judgemental when the mood takes him. Occasionally a bit vacant as if staring at a sight others have yet to see. But ultimately helpful Background: Born and raised on the streets of Djeb Sherik – City of a Thousand Spires, an orphan but familiar to many of the crafters and merchants due to his willingness to work. He impressed one such merchant. Dalrys the Cartographer, so much that he was taken on as apprentice for a number of years before leaving to undertake his military service. Which he served well, if not illustriously with no actual combat involved. When he was discharged, he rejoined the Artisan Dalrys, now in his later years and became a partner, before inheriting the business himself when Dalrys passed away. Continuing to work hard Neran married and raised a family. He crafted detailed maps from traveller’s accounts of lands in all four directions of the compass, his work sought after mostly by the idle rich who wanted to mount them on a wall rather than utilise their guiding potential. Over the years, his children grew and started families of their own, his wife passed away and he became isolated, his work no longer giving him the thrill it had in his youth. His daughter Elise took over the business with more modern techniques and materials, Neran seemed destined for the horizon and considerations on his own mortality. As he meandered towards his 80th birthday, Neran pondered more and more about the true meaning of life. He had been moderately successful; he had been loved and appreciated, his work hung on many rich walls. But he had never travelled, he had never seen the sun set on a distant shore or watched a waterfall cascade down a snowy mountainside or wondered at the noise of the herds as they galloped across the wide open grasslands. Sod this!, he thought, I’ve got a life to live. He gathered his trusty shield and his mighty war hammer (which if truth be told, seemed to have gotten a bit heavier over the years) and took the leather bound map from his study wall. He wrote a note to his daughter telling of his epiphany and wishing them all well. And left. Background Archetype: Artisan (Cartographer) Personality Traits: Tight. I don’t part from my money easily and will haggle tirelessly to get the best deal possible Artisan. Anything worth doing is worth doing right. I can’t help it – I’m a perfectionist. Ideal: Charity. I steal from the wealthy so that I can help people in need Bond: People. I’m loyal to my friends, not to any ideals, and everyone can take a trip on the crimson sea for all I care Flaw: Old. If there’s a plan, I’ll forget it. If I don’t forget it, I’ll ignore it. Contacts: Elise Tovuu – Daughter and current proprietor of ‘Dalrys and Tovuu’s Maps and Signage’ in Djeb Sherik. A very motivated and focussed individual, probably will be a few days before she even notices her father has gone. A practical sort, she will likely expect him to turn up again rather than be too worried. Cheon Falgrate – Friend and erstwhile mentor of Neran (location unknown) Erstan Callinger – Traveller/Explorer and more recently provider of guidance to Neran for maps (location unknown). A large and rambunctious human male, 6ft 4 and slightly overweight, despite all his time in the wild. Padraig Tolwynn – Innkeeper - Contact name in Eastmark given to Neran for lodgings by Cheon. Regin Algold – Travelling waresman and charlatan in most recent village Neran travelled through. Regin was pedalling snake-oils and fake herbal remedies. He suffered a humiliating exposure at Neran’s hand. Has been disgraced and holds a grudge. Has no proof but strongly suspects Neran was behind his fall from grace.   Neran had always been a vaguely pious man, giving regularly to churches and other community organisations. It was good for business and helped those who were in the position he had started from. He couldn’t get too excited about the whole thing because so many of the righteous figures seems to live far better off the cause than the poor they were trying to help. That’s just how it works I spose Neran made his exit through one of the quieter areas of Djeb Sherik, looking to throw off any who may try to follow him and end his fine adventure. He noticed a small church and decided a final blessing would mark an auspicious start to his journey. Entering quietly, he sat near the back of the empty hall. He was considering how good it was to get the weight off his old bones and how this might not be the best idea he had ever had when a dark cloaked figure sat beside him You look like a man set for a journey A sweet melodic voice spoke from the confines of the hood. That’s the plan Neran replied but with less conviction that he had felt two hours ago in the warmth and comfort of his home. I was going to see the world, you know, before it’s too late. Seems a bigger job now I’ve had time to think it through You just need a focus spoke the voice once more. What if I could give you that? And more . His gloved hand came into view, holding a battered flask out to Neran. Sounds nice answered Neran, noticing the frailness returning to his thoughts as he drew deeply on the flask. Neran came slowly to consciousness, mildly confused, watching the white clouds above him gently swaying to and fro as his body moved forward. As his higher cognitive functions kicked in, he sat bolt upright in the cart, one hand reaching for his purse and the other cradling his skull in anticipation of a severe hangover. One was present and one was absent, but not in the order he was expecting. His purse jingled softly and his head… his head felt better and clearer than it had in years. Moreover, his shield and hammer lay by his side and the cloaked figure sat opposite, hood down to reveal a young man of about 30 years with dark hair and eyes, and a charming smile. As Neran struggled to piece this new development together the man spoke, his accent difficult to place, but strong and confident, almost inspiring. You sir, have answered a calling. You want to travel; you want to see things and make a difference. I can tell. You’ve had enough of just letting things happen to you. You want to go out there he opened his arms wide and influence the world. Then that’s what you shall do! Neran started back as the man leaned in closer, noticing some of the arthritic pain and stiffness he would have expected from sleeping in the back of a cart to be mysteriously absent. I can give you a cause, a reason, a greater purpose if you will He lifted the familiar flask and offered it to Neran whose eyes widened and he shook his head quickly Eh, no thanks….On the drink I mean. A greater purpose though. Was that not what he wanted, what he had set out to find. And he had to admit, this was quite the impressive setup just to kidnap an elderly man. Neran’s eyes narrowed, ever the haggler, and if his years had taught him anything it was to get the best deal that he could.