My faith in Rhigl Farbellows has long since proven itself. The story is as follows.
Growing up a lone human child in dwarven halls taught me many lessons. First amongst them:
You have to be in the spotlight for the right reasons!
But back to that in a moment. The dwarves have taught me honor and devotion, yet I see they suffer constantly under the viscious onslaught of the Abyssals. It is not their honor nor devotion alone which preserves their way of life from the evils of those creatures. It is their strength at arms. The might of the war hammer and the glory of battle.
I go out there to fight against injustice. To stop the horrors I've seen. I'll be honest, those Abyssals are not so great. And look what's happening above ground these days! Those short-lived funny little elves all prancing about with their death mumbo jumbo and mutter-shmutter. At least the knights of Deverenia have true strength at arms.. but the glory's all been had in that land. And they're not terribly nice either. And the Nothrogs, well, I've seen their way of life too and man do they have some rock solid abs! But they just don't know how to stop with the killing and cruelty.
Really, the dwarves were right to ally with these human tribes. They need all the help they can get -- and they don't mistreat their kids, abandoning them and leaving them all alone to ... grumble grumble ... my point here is that this is a nation worth saving. A challenge just asking for someone to come along and lend a sword. Or a hammer. Or a hammer and shield. A shield with spikes -- these really shiny spikes that were worth every ounce of gold. The light just gleams off the spikes and highlights my biceps, which by the way are absolutely screaming -- this breastplate (of the finest, shiniest dwarven mythril) -- leaves just the right amount of bare arm for the ladies to admire and the foes to, well, shiver in fear over and all that.
Anywas, my point is that it's clear this rag-tag nation needs a little help. And here I am. It doesn't hurt that I've gained a wee bit of notoriety along the way. And it doesn't hurt that I am no longer viewed as that frail human that the damn dwarves could not bring their honorable selves to admit they disdained with his weak vision and his... okay, on topic now Durthy. Stay on topic. These abovelands are where I will make my mark.
Ah now, the topic is Righl Farbellows. Now that is an honorable dwarf. The finest wrestler in all of Larisnar, or I'll have you face me right now in any form of combat you choose (except that pansy mumbo jumbo blasty froo-froo from a distance crap!). That man taught be about discipline! Err, that dwarf I mean. That was a dwarf worthy of being a man! Yes! You heard me.
It's too bad I didn't shape up as a wrestler. But I learned a few things from Righl, I did.
1) Practice. Practice with your warhammer. Practice with your shield. Sit ups. Push ups. Push downs. I do 65 sets of Push Sideways every morning before my Wheaties(TM) -- my favorite dwarven breakfast travel ration, courtesy of Mikhal of Jhordan Hall. Great Dwarf. But recognize that my devotion to my skills at arms have lead me to unparalled feats of trained might! There isn't a moment you won't catch me working out. Ahem, I have a pocket set of hand weights, in case you're wondering what that bulge is and where my hands are...
2) Strength, Speed, and Power. My body is a finely tuned instrument which is tuned finely as an instrument. It is my body that swings my hammer, my body that aims the blow. It's my body that fights for me and it is my body I develop. In the body I trust. I also happen to oil it most mornings when I'm out there practicing -- rust is never, ever good!
3) Accolades are okay. There is no need to be humble! When you have spent years of your life training for one thing, it is only reasonable that you accept the fruits of your labor. Kord would have it no other way, Bless him and all that jazz.
So these are the lessons I learned from Rhigl Farbellows, in the earthen bowels deep beneath your feet. And this is why I prowl the overlands, defending this human empire in it's glorious conflict with the evil nations of whatever. And this is why I have come to the city of Merrick.
I will be known.*
-Durthen Morgrin
*(and I kinda wanna save the children. but don't you dare tell anybody.)
Description: If you can't tell, Durthen is covered in shiny (but pretty light) armor, is draped with weaponry and bulging muscles, and stands out in a crowd. If you find a crowd he doesn't stand out in, you'll find Durthen in the nearest store shopping for neon green silk. He occaisionally evinces dwarven mannerisms but won't readily admit it.
Mechanics: Smashy smashy. Bashy bashy. He leaps, he ducks, he grunts, he kills. He also can be had for only 6 easy installments of 19 platinum (shipping and handling for only 6 blue diamonds of at least 5,000gp each, or 2 bars of ferengi latinum)!
Showing posts with label backstory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label backstory. Show all posts
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Ili's travels
Background: It was common for the villagers in my hometown in the freelands to die young. Whether it was from raids from orcs, disease, drought, or one of a million things. The priests of Albrecht had a large orphanage, for the children of these unfortunate families. Of course, many parents also left extra children on the doorstep, if their families were already large enough. It was a strict religious upbringing, but I found that I thrived and basked in the love of Albrecht. I became devoted to him, and with all of my religious ferver, I decided to dedicate my life to spreading his cause by bringing justice to our lands. I also decided that I did not need weapons to this, as Albrecht had blessed me with strength that could be delivered through my fists and feet. I am here to protect a group of priests (some may call them zealots) that are trying to bring the word of Albrecht to all of the heathens that have gathered here for this peace conference.
Physical Description.
I am a tall woman, who appears a bit intimidating, since my head is shaved and tattooed with Albrecht's holy symbol. I wear robes that are similar to priests vestments, embroidered with the holy symbol.
Mechanics:
Human woman, Lawful Good, Monk 1/Paladin 3
Physical Description.
I am a tall woman, who appears a bit intimidating, since my head is shaved and tattooed with Albrecht's holy symbol. I wear robes that are similar to priests vestments, embroidered with the holy symbol.
Mechanics:
Human woman, Lawful Good, Monk 1/Paladin 3
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Out of the shadows
Borrow wasn’t happy in the sunlight. It was like everything glowed—it hurt his eyes. In fact, it hurt so much that he’d tied some cloth around his head like a blindfold to keep most of the light out. It felt much better that way and he could still see everything going on around him. Even at night things were brighter than he had expected.
And the temperature changed. The caves where he’d lived his whole life were the same temperature no matter what time of day it was. Sure, some were hot. Some were cold, too. But the hot caves were always hot, and the cold caves were always cold. When they broke through the surface it had been beneath the radiant sun and it wasn’t long before his cloak had started to stifle him. When he tried to drop it by the roadside he’d been scolded by one of the elders for waste.
But they’d had to stop for water, and no one had seen him kick it under a bush. But then night had fallen and it had become bitterly cold and he missed his cloak.
As he huddled near a fire for warmth he wondered how he had wound up here. It was a bit too close to heroism, and his father had always cautioned him against that.
The dwarves had been at war with the Abyssals as long as he could recall. As his father and he moved around Goldenaxe they would sometimes pass the Hall of Heroes, where heroes of the dwarven nation were interred. Or at least they were if there were anything left; otherwise there was just a memorial plaque. His father would make a point of detouring into the Hall, no matter how much of a hurry they were in. His father preferred to call it the “Home of the Brave” and would give him a lecture on how you could make a significant contribution and live to a ripe old age by sticking to the shadows instead of leading a charge.
Not that it had mattered much. Borrow was old enough to get into trouble but not old enough to be dragged into the war. Some of his friends had already earned their names, but who knows how long they would live to enjoy the privilege?
The problem was that the Abyssals were so elusive—so many of them could blink from place to place. We&rsqou;d erected teleportation blocks to stop them jumping past our defences but they seemed to care little for their own existence and were many in number.
One day my father came home with a particularly sober expression. “Well boy, ” he said, “apparently sometimes ‘heroism’ can’t be avoided. Apparently the Church has divined a spell to destroy the portals that the Abyssals are coming through. Unfortunately they have to get close to the portal and we can’t possibly fight our way there through the main passages—they’ve ‘asked’ me to escort one of their vicars through the Hidden Ways to a point near where we think they have a portal, and then bring him back safely. It’s definitely a ‘hero’s’ mission and I doubt we’ll make it back.” He spat on the ground to punctuate this last point. “Remember what I’ve taught you—keep your head down and you’ll live a long life.”
I was shaken. My father clearly expected this to be his end. But I was strangely curious as well—my father had occasionally mentioned the Hidden Ways. Heck, everyone had heard stories of them. But he had never once intimated that he actually knew them.
And so it was that the next morning when he set out I too left our house. I didn’t follow him directly from our house—I went to a vantage point near the Church of Kor since I figured he’d have to show up to meet the Vicar.
It was a good spot. That part of the city is reasonably open and you can see a lot from there, and surprisingly easy to get to. I didn’t see my father arrive, but when he left with the Vicar and two of the Hammers of Kor it was harder to remain unseen. I saw them pass down the Way of Devotion and turn into the Street of Gold. Then they took the twisting little Path of Fools that leads through to the Plaza of Gems. Only they didn’t come out in the Plaza, and there are no other exits from the Path of Fools.
I took careful note of where I lost sight of them, and where I should have been able to see them again, and then climbed down and ran to the Path of Fools. There were no marks of passage through here—even though people don’t often come this way (if they’re smart) it’s still well paved. Even though I couldn’t see anyone about better to not take risks--there’s a reason why it’s called the Path of Fools.
I slowly made my way onto the roof—my father always said I should learn to climb better. I crept along slowly, trying to stay hidden as much as I was trying to see whether there was anything interesting down below.
It was not long before there was a strange twist in the Path, and I noticed that there was a patch about 5’ wide where the roof didn’t seem to belong to any of the houses. I swung down and searched the wall carefully but could find nothing. In fact it was kind of suspicious because the wall seemed much better made than I might have expected.
I backed up as far as I could to try and take in the whole scene to see if something was out of place but still nothing stood out. I cast about on the ground and finally I found it’a thin gap between some of the paving stones just big enough to insert a small thin blade into. So I did. And I heard something faintly click, and then the wall swung silently open in front of me.
I stepped through and the switch was much easier to find on this side. Not right out in the open, no, but somewhere that someone who knows their trade could find it. And where someone that already knows where it is could hit it on the run.
In here it wasn’t hard to follow the trail because the clanking of the armour of the Hammers was easily discernible. I made good time as I closed the gap, not wanting to be too far behind in case there were some deceptive echoes around cross passages.
I marvelled at the effort that had been invested in creating these unknown passages. They were finished in the highest dwarven quality and ran for miles. That so much work had been done and yet these passages still remained nothing more than a legend was close to miraculous.
We went for several hours, occasionally passing small chambers clearly designed for camping out. There were also some traps. Well, perhaps not traps. They were so unsubtle that only the most careless intruder could set them off. They appeared to be deadfalls, but occasionally I saw wires leading off into the walls and I wondered whether there was more to it.
I almost ran into them. They’d stopped in a passage and I guessed they were close to the exit they wanted. As I listened I heard their plan, that my father would make sure the way was clear, and then withdraw into the passage to watch while the Vicar read the scroll and the Hammers made sure he got to complete it. While the number one priority was to complete the spell from the scroll, the second priority was to return to the Church and let them know what whether the spell had worked.
My father crept out of the Ways and was gone for a few minutes. When he came back he said it looked like they should be good for several minutes, but of course standing at a portal he couldn’t provide any guarantee.
The Hammers moved out to take up defensive positions and then the Vicar moved out and I heard him chanting. Then there were sounds of fighting. I heard the chanting continue through the fighting, but then the battle grew more intense and I could hear the chanting no more. Because he was closer I could hear my father curse and then I guess he had reopened the concealed door because the sounds of battle became clearer.
I moved up to the door and sure enough he was gone. I checked the back of the door and found a peephole. I could see that the Vicar and one of the Hammers were down, and my father was scrambling to get the scroll while the remaining Hammer fought back some nasty looking Abyssals.
Then one of the Abyssals snuck under the guard of the Hammer and leapt on my father’s back. It ripped into his flesh as he tried to crush it against the wall. Without thinking I ran through and cut the Abyssal from his back, but the damage was done. My father spat curses at me and told me to get back to the city and pretend I’d never been there, but I couldn’t leave it that way.
I picked up the scroll and blindly read the words written upon it. The Abyssals must have suspected what we were doing because they began howling in fury and throwing themselves against the Hammer that had them bottled up in the passage. As I continued to read the portal began to shimmer and distort. I have no idea how long I read that scroll but it seemed like so long, so long. As I neared the end claws started to reach through from the other side but it was as if I was bricking closed a doorway and there wasn’t enough room for them to get through to me. I finished the scroll and the portal winked out, leaving a clawed arm twitching on the floor.
I called for the Hammer to follow me and he just laughed, saying that none of us would make it if he moved from where he was. I grabbed my father and began to drag him into the passage, closing the door behind me. I continued to drag and we moved so slowly. He was no longer conscious and I wasn’t sure if he was alive, but I dragged nonetheless.
After a short while I heard thumping from the area of the portal. I would never make it back to the city with my father, and if the Abyssals got this far they would eventually find a way straight into the middle of the city.
So I left him lying there, and retreated back to the deadfall trigger. And I set it off. At first nothing happened, and then I heard a dull rumbling. A thick section of the roof immediately in front of me slid down like a door and behind it I heard the sound of falling stone—a lot of falling stone. My guess is that it might have gone all the way back to the exit.
I made my way back to the Path of Fools, and from there to the Church of Kor. I told them I was looking for my father, because I wasn’t sure who knew what was really going on. For several hours I sat there, occasionally speaking to another official who assured me my father wasn’t there, and yet none of them actually told me to leave.
Eventually one of them showed me into a small room and after another few minutes I was joined by the High Vicar himself. He apologised for the long wait, and said that my father had been sent on a mission of great importance. They had hoped he would be back by now, but as he wasn’t they could only assume the mission had failed.
He told me what a great loss it was for our people, and how my father would have a plaque in the Hall of Heroes—what irony. He talked for several minutes and I let him talk, still numb with my loss. Eventually he mentioned the cost to our people of the failed mission and I remembered my real purpose in coming here.
I told him that I had followed the expedition, and seen them die, but not before the scroll had been read and the portal closed. The High Vicar heard me story with some surprise, and obvious relief. I think he suspected something when I sidestepped mentioned who had read the scroll, but I think he decided I had been through enough.
“You have done a great thing today, and your people are grateful. I am leading a great expedition to the surface to gather aid against the Abyssals. Apart from anything else, there are several rare components needed for the spell that was on the scroll and we don’t have them. I would like you to join us and help me to track them down. Not many people know about this spell, so I can’t ask too many people to look without explaining why. If we can’t find the components, there’s no point raising hopes.”
Oh crap.
And so we set off some days later, but on the way to the surface there was a cave-in and a small group of us was cut off from the rest of the expedition. We made our way to the surface after several months and now we’re heading to Ghostwood where the expedition was headed. With Kor’s blessing the rest of the expedition will make it also.
And the temperature changed. The caves where he’d lived his whole life were the same temperature no matter what time of day it was. Sure, some were hot. Some were cold, too. But the hot caves were always hot, and the cold caves were always cold. When they broke through the surface it had been beneath the radiant sun and it wasn’t long before his cloak had started to stifle him. When he tried to drop it by the roadside he’d been scolded by one of the elders for waste.
But they’d had to stop for water, and no one had seen him kick it under a bush. But then night had fallen and it had become bitterly cold and he missed his cloak.
As he huddled near a fire for warmth he wondered how he had wound up here. It was a bit too close to heroism, and his father had always cautioned him against that.
The dwarves had been at war with the Abyssals as long as he could recall. As his father and he moved around Goldenaxe they would sometimes pass the Hall of Heroes, where heroes of the dwarven nation were interred. Or at least they were if there were anything left; otherwise there was just a memorial plaque. His father would make a point of detouring into the Hall, no matter how much of a hurry they were in. His father preferred to call it the “Home of the Brave” and would give him a lecture on how you could make a significant contribution and live to a ripe old age by sticking to the shadows instead of leading a charge.
Not that it had mattered much. Borrow was old enough to get into trouble but not old enough to be dragged into the war. Some of his friends had already earned their names, but who knows how long they would live to enjoy the privilege?
The problem was that the Abyssals were so elusive—so many of them could blink from place to place. We&rsqou;d erected teleportation blocks to stop them jumping past our defences but they seemed to care little for their own existence and were many in number.
One day my father came home with a particularly sober expression. “Well boy, ” he said, “apparently sometimes ‘heroism’ can’t be avoided. Apparently the Church has divined a spell to destroy the portals that the Abyssals are coming through. Unfortunately they have to get close to the portal and we can’t possibly fight our way there through the main passages—they’ve ‘asked’ me to escort one of their vicars through the Hidden Ways to a point near where we think they have a portal, and then bring him back safely. It’s definitely a ‘hero’s’ mission and I doubt we’ll make it back.” He spat on the ground to punctuate this last point. “Remember what I’ve taught you—keep your head down and you’ll live a long life.”
I was shaken. My father clearly expected this to be his end. But I was strangely curious as well—my father had occasionally mentioned the Hidden Ways. Heck, everyone had heard stories of them. But he had never once intimated that he actually knew them.
And so it was that the next morning when he set out I too left our house. I didn’t follow him directly from our house—I went to a vantage point near the Church of Kor since I figured he’d have to show up to meet the Vicar.
It was a good spot. That part of the city is reasonably open and you can see a lot from there, and surprisingly easy to get to. I didn’t see my father arrive, but when he left with the Vicar and two of the Hammers of Kor it was harder to remain unseen. I saw them pass down the Way of Devotion and turn into the Street of Gold. Then they took the twisting little Path of Fools that leads through to the Plaza of Gems. Only they didn’t come out in the Plaza, and there are no other exits from the Path of Fools.
I took careful note of where I lost sight of them, and where I should have been able to see them again, and then climbed down and ran to the Path of Fools. There were no marks of passage through here—even though people don’t often come this way (if they’re smart) it’s still well paved. Even though I couldn’t see anyone about better to not take risks--there’s a reason why it’s called the Path of Fools.
I slowly made my way onto the roof—my father always said I should learn to climb better. I crept along slowly, trying to stay hidden as much as I was trying to see whether there was anything interesting down below.
It was not long before there was a strange twist in the Path, and I noticed that there was a patch about 5’ wide where the roof didn’t seem to belong to any of the houses. I swung down and searched the wall carefully but could find nothing. In fact it was kind of suspicious because the wall seemed much better made than I might have expected.
I backed up as far as I could to try and take in the whole scene to see if something was out of place but still nothing stood out. I cast about on the ground and finally I found it’a thin gap between some of the paving stones just big enough to insert a small thin blade into. So I did. And I heard something faintly click, and then the wall swung silently open in front of me.
I stepped through and the switch was much easier to find on this side. Not right out in the open, no, but somewhere that someone who knows their trade could find it. And where someone that already knows where it is could hit it on the run.
In here it wasn’t hard to follow the trail because the clanking of the armour of the Hammers was easily discernible. I made good time as I closed the gap, not wanting to be too far behind in case there were some deceptive echoes around cross passages.
I marvelled at the effort that had been invested in creating these unknown passages. They were finished in the highest dwarven quality and ran for miles. That so much work had been done and yet these passages still remained nothing more than a legend was close to miraculous.
We went for several hours, occasionally passing small chambers clearly designed for camping out. There were also some traps. Well, perhaps not traps. They were so unsubtle that only the most careless intruder could set them off. They appeared to be deadfalls, but occasionally I saw wires leading off into the walls and I wondered whether there was more to it.
I almost ran into them. They’d stopped in a passage and I guessed they were close to the exit they wanted. As I listened I heard their plan, that my father would make sure the way was clear, and then withdraw into the passage to watch while the Vicar read the scroll and the Hammers made sure he got to complete it. While the number one priority was to complete the spell from the scroll, the second priority was to return to the Church and let them know what whether the spell had worked.
My father crept out of the Ways and was gone for a few minutes. When he came back he said it looked like they should be good for several minutes, but of course standing at a portal he couldn’t provide any guarantee.
The Hammers moved out to take up defensive positions and then the Vicar moved out and I heard him chanting. Then there were sounds of fighting. I heard the chanting continue through the fighting, but then the battle grew more intense and I could hear the chanting no more. Because he was closer I could hear my father curse and then I guess he had reopened the concealed door because the sounds of battle became clearer.
I moved up to the door and sure enough he was gone. I checked the back of the door and found a peephole. I could see that the Vicar and one of the Hammers were down, and my father was scrambling to get the scroll while the remaining Hammer fought back some nasty looking Abyssals.
Then one of the Abyssals snuck under the guard of the Hammer and leapt on my father’s back. It ripped into his flesh as he tried to crush it against the wall. Without thinking I ran through and cut the Abyssal from his back, but the damage was done. My father spat curses at me and told me to get back to the city and pretend I’d never been there, but I couldn’t leave it that way.
I picked up the scroll and blindly read the words written upon it. The Abyssals must have suspected what we were doing because they began howling in fury and throwing themselves against the Hammer that had them bottled up in the passage. As I continued to read the portal began to shimmer and distort. I have no idea how long I read that scroll but it seemed like so long, so long. As I neared the end claws started to reach through from the other side but it was as if I was bricking closed a doorway and there wasn’t enough room for them to get through to me. I finished the scroll and the portal winked out, leaving a clawed arm twitching on the floor.
I called for the Hammer to follow me and he just laughed, saying that none of us would make it if he moved from where he was. I grabbed my father and began to drag him into the passage, closing the door behind me. I continued to drag and we moved so slowly. He was no longer conscious and I wasn’t sure if he was alive, but I dragged nonetheless.
After a short while I heard thumping from the area of the portal. I would never make it back to the city with my father, and if the Abyssals got this far they would eventually find a way straight into the middle of the city.
So I left him lying there, and retreated back to the deadfall trigger. And I set it off. At first nothing happened, and then I heard a dull rumbling. A thick section of the roof immediately in front of me slid down like a door and behind it I heard the sound of falling stone—a lot of falling stone. My guess is that it might have gone all the way back to the exit.
I made my way back to the Path of Fools, and from there to the Church of Kor. I told them I was looking for my father, because I wasn’t sure who knew what was really going on. For several hours I sat there, occasionally speaking to another official who assured me my father wasn’t there, and yet none of them actually told me to leave.
Eventually one of them showed me into a small room and after another few minutes I was joined by the High Vicar himself. He apologised for the long wait, and said that my father had been sent on a mission of great importance. They had hoped he would be back by now, but as he wasn’t they could only assume the mission had failed.
He told me what a great loss it was for our people, and how my father would have a plaque in the Hall of Heroes—what irony. He talked for several minutes and I let him talk, still numb with my loss. Eventually he mentioned the cost to our people of the failed mission and I remembered my real purpose in coming here.
I told him that I had followed the expedition, and seen them die, but not before the scroll had been read and the portal closed. The High Vicar heard me story with some surprise, and obvious relief. I think he suspected something when I sidestepped mentioned who had read the scroll, but I think he decided I had been through enough.
“You have done a great thing today, and your people are grateful. I am leading a great expedition to the surface to gather aid against the Abyssals. Apart from anything else, there are several rare components needed for the spell that was on the scroll and we don’t have them. I would like you to join us and help me to track them down. Not many people know about this spell, so I can’t ask too many people to look without explaining why. If we can’t find the components, there’s no point raising hopes.”
Oh crap.
And so we set off some days later, but on the way to the surface there was a cave-in and a small group of us was cut off from the rest of the expedition. We made our way to the surface after several months and now we’re heading to Ghostwood where the expedition was headed. With Kor’s blessing the rest of the expedition will make it also.
Malakar Korvinn
Background
An unassuming young man with a penetrating stare, Malakar has been serving as an Inquisitor in the church of Albrecht for some time. Generally calm and even-tempered, Malakar rarely if ever appears angry or unnerved. Suspicious by nature, only a few people have gained Malakar's confidence. To him, most humanoids are self-centered, close-minded individuals--too quick to judge and too quick to blame others for their own failings. Of course, few trust Malakar as well. Questioning one's own colleagues does not make one popular.
Having already uncovered a small conspiracy within the church itself, the leaders of the church knew that Malakar's talent for noticing the smallest details that were out of place would come in handy in the Ghostwood. Unsavory characters of all sort would no doubt be teeming in the Ghostwood, looking for opportunities ply their trade all whist hiding amongst the bustle. It wouldn't be too surprising either, if at least a few of the officials sent Malakar far away lest Malakar turn his scrutinizing glare toward them.
Malakar's task in the Ghostwood is simple: protect the diplomats from the Free Kingdoms while the talks with the Elves take place. Of course, it's never as simple as it sounds. The elves cannot be trusted, and certainly the Cult of Bascaron would try to disrupt the meeting, hoping to plunge the nations into bloody war. However, Malakar is optimistic about the mission. He is well trained in warfare, and combines swordplay, divine magic and a smattering of arcane magic into a devastating whole.
Secret Background
Only a few people know that Malakar is actually not a human at all. He is actually a Lycanthrope who has been living amongst humans all his life. At a young age, he witnessed the Cult of Bascaron attack his village, killing his entire family as far as he knew. He now spends his days rooting out the cult where ever they may be hidden, not resting until he destroys them all. The irony of hunting shapeshifters while being one himself is not lost upon Malakar, but he hopes that through his efforts, he can demonstrate to others that not all Lycanthropes are evil, and that the true threat to humans is the Cult of Bascaron.
Appearance
Malakar certainly wouldn't stand out in a crowd of people, and that's how he likes it. He appears to be about six feet tall with matted dark hair. He is currently wearing a beat-up suit of Splint Mail, hoping to look like the rest of mercenaries hired to guard the meeting. He is however, carrying a greatsword of exceptional quality, though most of the time it remains sheathed in a plain scabbard strapped to his back. A light mace dangles from his waist as a backup weapon, and he seems to be wearing a pair of fairly menacing spiked gauntlets. His holy symbol--that of a golden dragon usually remains hidden tucked behind his armor.
Mechanics
Race is Lycanthrope with Bear as the chosen animal
Alignment is Lawful Good
Cleric of Albrecht 3/Church Inquisitor 1
Domains are War, Inquisition and Divine Magician (from CM)
Using the alternate class feature in UA to get Smite Evil/Aura of Courage instead of turning
An unassuming young man with a penetrating stare, Malakar has been serving as an Inquisitor in the church of Albrecht for some time. Generally calm and even-tempered, Malakar rarely if ever appears angry or unnerved. Suspicious by nature, only a few people have gained Malakar's confidence. To him, most humanoids are self-centered, close-minded individuals--too quick to judge and too quick to blame others for their own failings. Of course, few trust Malakar as well. Questioning one's own colleagues does not make one popular.
Having already uncovered a small conspiracy within the church itself, the leaders of the church knew that Malakar's talent for noticing the smallest details that were out of place would come in handy in the Ghostwood. Unsavory characters of all sort would no doubt be teeming in the Ghostwood, looking for opportunities ply their trade all whist hiding amongst the bustle. It wouldn't be too surprising either, if at least a few of the officials sent Malakar far away lest Malakar turn his scrutinizing glare toward them.
Malakar's task in the Ghostwood is simple: protect the diplomats from the Free Kingdoms while the talks with the Elves take place. Of course, it's never as simple as it sounds. The elves cannot be trusted, and certainly the Cult of Bascaron would try to disrupt the meeting, hoping to plunge the nations into bloody war. However, Malakar is optimistic about the mission. He is well trained in warfare, and combines swordplay, divine magic and a smattering of arcane magic into a devastating whole.
Secret Background
Only a few people know that Malakar is actually not a human at all. He is actually a Lycanthrope who has been living amongst humans all his life. At a young age, he witnessed the Cult of Bascaron attack his village, killing his entire family as far as he knew. He now spends his days rooting out the cult where ever they may be hidden, not resting until he destroys them all. The irony of hunting shapeshifters while being one himself is not lost upon Malakar, but he hopes that through his efforts, he can demonstrate to others that not all Lycanthropes are evil, and that the true threat to humans is the Cult of Bascaron.
Appearance
Malakar certainly wouldn't stand out in a crowd of people, and that's how he likes it. He appears to be about six feet tall with matted dark hair. He is currently wearing a beat-up suit of Splint Mail, hoping to look like the rest of mercenaries hired to guard the meeting. He is however, carrying a greatsword of exceptional quality, though most of the time it remains sheathed in a plain scabbard strapped to his back. A light mace dangles from his waist as a backup weapon, and he seems to be wearing a pair of fairly menacing spiked gauntlets. His holy symbol--that of a golden dragon usually remains hidden tucked behind his armor.
Mechanics
Race is Lycanthrope with Bear as the chosen animal
Alignment is Lawful Good
Cleric of Albrecht 3/Church Inquisitor 1
Domains are War, Inquisition and Divine Magician (from CM)
Using the alternate class feature in UA to get Smite Evil/Aura of Courage instead of turning
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Obegard's Mission
Somewhere between the too-fresh ghosts of Corinth and the ancient ghosts of the Ghostwood, Obegard rides quietly, following the rest of the delegation from the Arak Spire. Despite the unseasonably gentle weather, it's a somber procession. Even the most phlegmatic of his fellow wizards were shaken by the sight of the ruined city beyond the barrier. Sometimes a wizard understands too much too easily: counting the heaped bodies without conscious effort, tallying the signs of unnatural death, and worst of all knowing how far that total falls short. Those who died in Corinth, and stayed dead in Corinth, were the lucky ones.
Obeg's practiced calm (his classmates style him "the Mild", respectfully for the most part) serves him well now. It doesn't hurt that none of his family were in Corinth, at least as far as he knows. His older sister Galea, trained as a healer, has been travelling with a group of clerics of Neus. Obeg hadn't heard from her since the last time she was in Corinth, about six months ago. His mother Tollys is back in Estrough-by-the-river, book-keeping and scribing for the great trading houses. He lost friends in Corinth, but the Arak Spire -- his home, his affiliation -- yet stands, with most of his graduating cohort riding ahead of him in the delegation. Beyond the Spire, the Free Kingdoms have somehow found a reprieve, a chance for peace. With doom apparently averted, the return to the familiar politics of uncertainty and threat seems almost hopeful.
Ostensibly a junior member of the delegation, without responsibility or power to treat at the coming Agreement, Obeg conceals a separate and potentially more important mission. Tucked away in an inner pocket, he bears a list from his Masters: names and watchwords, people and places to observe and record and report back. A minor agent of the Spire, little enough glory in it, but a welcomed opportunity to serve. The respect and trust of his Masters of the Spire might just accelerate his own deeply-desired acclamation to Mastery.
Beneath these surface thoughts and recollections, Obeg's subconscious seeks ever to find the pattern, to make connections, to assemble fragments of time and place into law and understanding. Trained in Divination and the other highest Arts for the majority of his conscious life, his attention on the here and now is colored by a constant awareness of the elsewhere and elsewhen. This is his center: the sure knowledge that order and truth are never irrevocably lost. Chaos and destruction tear the world apart, but the whole can be recovered and known, at least to the enlightened mind. The peace of other times and other places exists even on the battlefield; the company of friends and family exist even when alone. Like old Furst used to say, "Diviners seek the Whole."*
As the horses plod onward, Obeg meditates to gather his calm and his will, reluctantly suspecting that the Ghostwood gathering may rather test his discretion... and his luck.
Description: Obegard's appearance is unremarkable; he wouldn't stand out much in a crowd of city-dwellers. His hair is light brown and swept back, neatly trimmed just short of his shoulders. Obeg's skin is lightly tanned but only faintly weather-worn. At 5'7" and 150 lbs., a light horse carries him and his modest belongings comfortably. Eschewing robes, staff, or familiar, on this trip he looks like any other traveler of average means. A small crossbow hangs from his saddle, and a utilitarian dagger from his belt. Like his colleagues of the delegation, he wears a pendant identifying him as a representative of the Spire (the Master of Glyphs and Symbols spent a hurried night crafting variants of the usual tokens to give the delegation appropriate status, exceeding lowly Studenthood but without the impious implication of Mastery).
Game Information: Obeg is a male human Wizard (Diviner) 4. His banned school is Necromancy. Alignment: Lawful Neutral. Feats: Scribe Scroll, Able Learner (RD 150), Inspired Divination (CM 44), Extend Spell. Alternative Class Feature: Glimpse Peril (PHBII p70), in exchange for losing Summon Familiar.
Footnote: *Obeg remembers, too, the muffled snickers at Furst's edict -- Mage humor spans the gamut from the most arcane polyglot poems, with readings in Common and Abyssal and Celestial, down to the sophomoric "Detect Naughty Bits".
Obeg's practiced calm (his classmates style him "the Mild", respectfully for the most part) serves him well now. It doesn't hurt that none of his family were in Corinth, at least as far as he knows. His older sister Galea, trained as a healer, has been travelling with a group of clerics of Neus. Obeg hadn't heard from her since the last time she was in Corinth, about six months ago. His mother Tollys is back in Estrough-by-the-river, book-keeping and scribing for the great trading houses. He lost friends in Corinth, but the Arak Spire -- his home, his affiliation -- yet stands, with most of his graduating cohort riding ahead of him in the delegation. Beyond the Spire, the Free Kingdoms have somehow found a reprieve, a chance for peace. With doom apparently averted, the return to the familiar politics of uncertainty and threat seems almost hopeful.
Ostensibly a junior member of the delegation, without responsibility or power to treat at the coming Agreement, Obeg conceals a separate and potentially more important mission. Tucked away in an inner pocket, he bears a list from his Masters: names and watchwords, people and places to observe and record and report back. A minor agent of the Spire, little enough glory in it, but a welcomed opportunity to serve. The respect and trust of his Masters of the Spire might just accelerate his own deeply-desired acclamation to Mastery.
Beneath these surface thoughts and recollections, Obeg's subconscious seeks ever to find the pattern, to make connections, to assemble fragments of time and place into law and understanding. Trained in Divination and the other highest Arts for the majority of his conscious life, his attention on the here and now is colored by a constant awareness of the elsewhere and elsewhen. This is his center: the sure knowledge that order and truth are never irrevocably lost. Chaos and destruction tear the world apart, but the whole can be recovered and known, at least to the enlightened mind. The peace of other times and other places exists even on the battlefield; the company of friends and family exist even when alone. Like old Furst used to say, "Diviners seek the Whole."*
As the horses plod onward, Obeg meditates to gather his calm and his will, reluctantly suspecting that the Ghostwood gathering may rather test his discretion... and his luck.
Description: Obegard's appearance is unremarkable; he wouldn't stand out much in a crowd of city-dwellers. His hair is light brown and swept back, neatly trimmed just short of his shoulders. Obeg's skin is lightly tanned but only faintly weather-worn. At 5'7" and 150 lbs., a light horse carries him and his modest belongings comfortably. Eschewing robes, staff, or familiar, on this trip he looks like any other traveler of average means. A small crossbow hangs from his saddle, and a utilitarian dagger from his belt. Like his colleagues of the delegation, he wears a pendant identifying him as a representative of the Spire (the Master of Glyphs and Symbols spent a hurried night crafting variants of the usual tokens to give the delegation appropriate status, exceeding lowly Studenthood but without the impious implication of Mastery).
Game Information: Obeg is a male human Wizard (Diviner) 4. His banned school is Necromancy. Alignment: Lawful Neutral. Feats: Scribe Scroll, Able Learner (RD 150), Inspired Divination (CM 44), Extend Spell. Alternative Class Feature: Glimpse Peril (PHBII p70), in exchange for losing Summon Familiar.
Footnote: *Obeg remembers, too, the muffled snickers at Furst's edict -- Mage humor spans the gamut from the most arcane polyglot poems, with readings in Common and Abyssal and Celestial, down to the sophomoric "Detect Naughty Bits".
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