Mar 12, 2020 2:28 pm
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Character Backgrounds
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Mar 12, 2020 3:08 pm
The male Halfling Thief named Griffo Goodelock hails from the city of Niole Dra the capital of the Keoland. As a wee lad of three or four he was traveling with his parents, in their donkey pulled cart. They had left the town of Brede that lay northeast of Lake Atheki. The place they had lived all there lives. But for the last three years a drought had taken place in that area. Of which there seem to be no end in sight. Packing up all their belongs, they had headed north. They planned on going to live just outside the city of Linnoden Where some of relatives that had moved there ahead them. They had written that things were much better there. Getting there had meant that they had to go through the city of Niole Dra. They had nearly passed all the way through the city. When a runaway freight wagon collided with his family's cart. Killing both his parents. Though leaving Griffo relatively unharmed. He was then an orphan with no relatives knowing of his fate. From there on things went pretty 'Oliver Twist like, but without the happy ending! With him moving on from the street urchin gang that he had been in. When he was old enough to join the city's Thieves Guild.
With him, a few years later, finding himself in disfavor of the Guild Master. For holding back on turning in some stolen items for which his cut was only a third of there fenced value. Forcing him to flee for his life, as a contract was put out on him. Griffo's plan was go to a less populated area in hopes of evading any assassins. He stowed away on barge that was traveling down the Great Sheldomar River. Somehow remaining undetected all the way down the river's mouth and the Port City of Gradsul that was located on the Azure Sea. Using the alias of 'Fenix the Fox', he found work in a caravan that was headed south on the Coastal Traderoad. Passing through Sanduchar, Waverock, Anglar, Spitrock, Seaton. Finally stopping in Saltmarsh. Where he figured he had gone far enough, so he wouldn't be found. Thus he looked around for a opportunity to make a new life for himself.
With him, a few years later, finding himself in disfavor of the Guild Master. For holding back on turning in some stolen items for which his cut was only a third of there fenced value. Forcing him to flee for his life, as a contract was put out on him. Griffo's plan was go to a less populated area in hopes of evading any assassins. He stowed away on barge that was traveling down the Great Sheldomar River. Somehow remaining undetected all the way down the river's mouth and the Port City of Gradsul that was located on the Azure Sea. Using the alias of 'Fenix the Fox', he found work in a caravan that was headed south on the Coastal Traderoad. Passing through Sanduchar, Waverock, Anglar, Spitrock, Seaton. Finally stopping in Saltmarsh. Where he figured he had gone far enough, so he wouldn't be found. Thus he looked around for a opportunity to make a new life for himself.
Last edited March 25, 2020 12:10 am
Mar 12, 2020 4:47 pm
Bran Waters was born in the Duchy of Ulek on the edge of the Axewood. His village was called West Bend probably because the forest at that point tended to bend to the west. It was strange to find a forester family with the name of Waters but it was possible that their ancestors were once fisherfolk in the Azure Sea.
When Bran was 14 and just learning the art of felling trees the team of foresters worked their way into a rather deep part of the forest and were set upon by a very large pack of wolves. The were outnumbered more than two to one. He happened to be standing next to the supplies when the attack came. There was a shortbow and quiver sitting on top the pile so Bran grabbed it and started firing at the beasts. After about 4 arrows and 4 dead wolves Bran took up an axe and waded into their midst killing two more. Once the wolves were dispersed and the wounds to the foresters treated they all gathered around Bran and his father and piled on congratulations to both father and son. His father for raising such a brave and talented boy and Bran for his fearlessness.
The next day it was decided among the village elders that Bran be made Warden of the village taking him away from a future of a simple logger. Of course, he must be better trained in the necessary skills for the task so it was also decided that he go to Niole Dra were he would be apprenticed to the head Warden of that town. In that region of Greyhawk in the year 576 such an apprenticeship commonly lasted only 4 years and was often followed by a position in the Duke's guard or a ten year stint in the militia. Although he was familiar with the axe and had some skill with the bow he seemed to be more comfortable with the long sword. He ended up specializing with that weapon. Bran, at the age of 18 returned to West Bend and took up the position of Warden.
Three years later Bran and a small group of deputies were chasing a band of robbers into Keoland when they ran into trouble. On approach to a field of rubble Bran and his team were ambushed by the robbers and Bran was partially thrown from his horse. His foot got caught in a stirrup as he fell. His head hit one of the many large rocks strewn around the area and the horse ran off carrying Bran across the field of rocks. Fortunately for Bran and less so for the horse, it eventually stumbled and fell with a broken leg. Bran suffered a severe concussion and deep lacerations across his entire body and his face, partially tearing off an ear.
The remaining members of the posse, after slaying the robbers, found Bran and carried him to a nearby town where he was nursed back to health after several months. The members of his posse had returned to West Bend with the news that Bran would return on his own when he fully recovered. Bran was left with deep scars on his body and face as well as his psyche and he never did return to West Bend. He stayed in Keoland looking for work as an itinerant warrior.
When Bran was 14 and just learning the art of felling trees the team of foresters worked their way into a rather deep part of the forest and were set upon by a very large pack of wolves. The were outnumbered more than two to one. He happened to be standing next to the supplies when the attack came. There was a shortbow and quiver sitting on top the pile so Bran grabbed it and started firing at the beasts. After about 4 arrows and 4 dead wolves Bran took up an axe and waded into their midst killing two more. Once the wolves were dispersed and the wounds to the foresters treated they all gathered around Bran and his father and piled on congratulations to both father and son. His father for raising such a brave and talented boy and Bran for his fearlessness.
The next day it was decided among the village elders that Bran be made Warden of the village taking him away from a future of a simple logger. Of course, he must be better trained in the necessary skills for the task so it was also decided that he go to Niole Dra were he would be apprenticed to the head Warden of that town. In that region of Greyhawk in the year 576 such an apprenticeship commonly lasted only 4 years and was often followed by a position in the Duke's guard or a ten year stint in the militia. Although he was familiar with the axe and had some skill with the bow he seemed to be more comfortable with the long sword. He ended up specializing with that weapon. Bran, at the age of 18 returned to West Bend and took up the position of Warden.
Three years later Bran and a small group of deputies were chasing a band of robbers into Keoland when they ran into trouble. On approach to a field of rubble Bran and his team were ambushed by the robbers and Bran was partially thrown from his horse. His foot got caught in a stirrup as he fell. His head hit one of the many large rocks strewn around the area and the horse ran off carrying Bran across the field of rocks. Fortunately for Bran and less so for the horse, it eventually stumbled and fell with a broken leg. Bran suffered a severe concussion and deep lacerations across his entire body and his face, partially tearing off an ear.
The remaining members of the posse, after slaying the robbers, found Bran and carried him to a nearby town where he was nursed back to health after several months. The members of his posse had returned to West Bend with the news that Bran would return on his own when he fully recovered. Bran was left with deep scars on his body and face as well as his psyche and he never did return to West Bend. He stayed in Keoland looking for work as an itinerant warrior.
Last edited March 12, 2020 4:50 pm
Mar 18, 2020 1:35 am
A waggon approached the village of Saltmarsh. In the front sat a young man in gleaming chain mail, his surcoat and shield of green emblazoned with the white rampant lion of house Faierling. A man of lineage, but not of power, or wealth. Although skilled in the bow he could not afford one and spent most of his money on the armour and long sword. Although from a noble family, his father, whom he had never known, was a younger son of the head of the family. Under the rules of primogeniture, Venemar would never inherit any lands and he would have to make his own way in the world.
Venemar's parents had died when he was very young and he had been brought up by his grandfather. At the age of 14 he was sent away to be trained as a cleric or a paladin. For seven years he had been trained with other youngsters by Sir Gavin and Master Alcuin in the Church of Heironeous. Throughout his childhood he had absorbed tales of heroes of the Church and of illustrious forebears from his own family and dreamed of emulating these one day. It was noticed that he had a feel for wielding a long sword and Sir Gavin trained him hard to hone this talent, perhaps at the expense of skills with other weapons.
He once heard soldiers joking about the students' fighting skills. One had unkindly made a remark about him: "Sir Gavin and the 'green' knight." While he had worked endlessly in practice bouts he had never wielded a weapon 'in anger' as they say, so the veteran's remark about Venemar's lack of experience was accurate. He pondered anxiously as to how he would measure up when in action the first time.
He remembered how the day of the investiture arrived. The future knights of the Church remained awake in the chapel all night for their vigil. Knighted the next day each knight and cleric would then have an individual discussion with Master Alcuin, where divine guidance would be given, directing them on their path.
When his turn came Master Alcuin explained that he and other Church elders had been discussing how best to deploy Venemar's abilities. He would be encouraged to go to Saltmarsh, where there were rumours that the town council were seeking help with problems of a haunting. This would be the first step and would lead on to other things. However, it was clear that in the plan of the Deity his path would converge with others, some of whom would not be of good alignment. Venemar's face dropped. This did not sit well with his view of himself or the world. He was aware of a stricture in the 'Book of Osric' that paladins could not work with persons not of good alignment.
"Really Venemar, I would have expected more enthusiasm," remarked Master Alcuin, shaking his head in disappointment.
Venemar started to protest.
"Then you know neither your theology nor your Rule. I cannot force you to take this path, but reflect on this. Did not some of the saints associate with sinners? And who are you to judge? Ultimately, you can never write anyone off. And if not agents of the Deity, then they may yet be instruments of the Deity."
Put like that, Venemar was forced to concede.
"I hoped you would come round to this view," Master Alcuin continued, "so I took the liberty of writing to the other leaders of the Church of Heironeous explaining this. This is not only your dispensation but your command." Master Alcuin placed his hand on Venemar's forehead. He was aware of a heat sensation emanating from his hand. "There is honour in this path and joy if you persevere."
The prologue was complete. Chapter one was about to begin.
Venemar's parents had died when he was very young and he had been brought up by his grandfather. At the age of 14 he was sent away to be trained as a cleric or a paladin. For seven years he had been trained with other youngsters by Sir Gavin and Master Alcuin in the Church of Heironeous. Throughout his childhood he had absorbed tales of heroes of the Church and of illustrious forebears from his own family and dreamed of emulating these one day. It was noticed that he had a feel for wielding a long sword and Sir Gavin trained him hard to hone this talent, perhaps at the expense of skills with other weapons.
He once heard soldiers joking about the students' fighting skills. One had unkindly made a remark about him: "Sir Gavin and the 'green' knight." While he had worked endlessly in practice bouts he had never wielded a weapon 'in anger' as they say, so the veteran's remark about Venemar's lack of experience was accurate. He pondered anxiously as to how he would measure up when in action the first time.
He remembered how the day of the investiture arrived. The future knights of the Church remained awake in the chapel all night for their vigil. Knighted the next day each knight and cleric would then have an individual discussion with Master Alcuin, where divine guidance would be given, directing them on their path.
When his turn came Master Alcuin explained that he and other Church elders had been discussing how best to deploy Venemar's abilities. He would be encouraged to go to Saltmarsh, where there were rumours that the town council were seeking help with problems of a haunting. This would be the first step and would lead on to other things. However, it was clear that in the plan of the Deity his path would converge with others, some of whom would not be of good alignment. Venemar's face dropped. This did not sit well with his view of himself or the world. He was aware of a stricture in the 'Book of Osric' that paladins could not work with persons not of good alignment.
"Really Venemar, I would have expected more enthusiasm," remarked Master Alcuin, shaking his head in disappointment.
Venemar started to protest.
"Then you know neither your theology nor your Rule. I cannot force you to take this path, but reflect on this. Did not some of the saints associate with sinners? And who are you to judge? Ultimately, you can never write anyone off. And if not agents of the Deity, then they may yet be instruments of the Deity."
Put like that, Venemar was forced to concede.
"I hoped you would come round to this view," Master Alcuin continued, "so I took the liberty of writing to the other leaders of the Church of Heironeous explaining this. This is not only your dispensation but your command." Master Alcuin placed his hand on Venemar's forehead. He was aware of a heat sensation emanating from his hand. "There is honour in this path and joy if you persevere."
The prologue was complete. Chapter one was about to begin.
Last edited March 18, 2020 1:43 am
Mar 21, 2020 3:27 pm
Awkward might be the most apt phrase used to describe Ulfgar Broom. He was very tall for a dwarf, five feet and was also quite old -for an adventurer making they first foray into the world. He'd always been of pious mind, so a calling to the priesthood wasn't a great surprise - just doing it at over two hundred and seventy years old means he's off when dwarven fighters (should they have survived) are long retired with family and post-adventuring career.
He just seems to be living some of his life in reverse.
He just seems to be living some of his life in reverse.
Mar 22, 2020 5:12 pm
Appearance
Before you is a very large man, in his mid-forties, with a shaggy head of brown hair and a whitening beard. Though he is not overly heavy, he is very tall (6’5") and has strangely long and lanky arms and legs, with elongated fingers that make his hands seem even bigger. Despite his age, he has a jovial demeanor and eyes that sparkle with energy; he seems to have lived a comfortable life, there being little in the way of stress lines on his face. His attire is dull and somewhat faded, suggesting a light coin purse and long days on the road. His only form of weaponry are the many daggers and poignards he has tucked on his belt and boots. He walks about bringing a mule that could be considered the equine version of himself. The animal goes by the powerful-sounding name of Borgotta.
Background
How does the fourth secretary to the learned Mage Ignatius Ramfold, Counselor to Count Evekar III and Quaestor of the Grand Order of Arcana find himself on the road at the eve of his forty-third anniversary, strolling along a tool-laden mule and under the guise of a travelling knife sharpener? Debt, that’s how. Debt to the wrong variety of creditors, the ones who do not like to lose in games of chance, not to a smarty-two pants bookworm. ‘What do they know of probability, the fools!’, Albionus had ample occasion to groan, on his long ‘excursion’ (others would say flight) from his home province to the environs of Saltmarsh. The wrong kind of creditors did not believe that their losses could be explained by the proper use of logic and observation. They were further irked to learn that the old buffoon that had been winning at their table happened to be a spell-weaver, and suspicions began to arise. Master Ramfold had, on many occasions, had the opportunity to rail against the use of one’s intellectual talents in as base a pursuit as gambling and games of chance. But to Albionus, the thrill of the game was a siren call too sweet and powerful to resist; it had yet to dawn on the apprentice magician that ordinary folk would immediately jump to conclusions when losing small fortunes to a mageling. ‘The world is, by all accounts, an unfair place for the talented, cunning and charming’, Albionus bemoaned to his travelling companion, the mule he had recently won (some would say swindled), from an unlucky miner. Borgotta, the mule, and its equipment, had allowed the magician some slight comforts on the road, and it is during this errantry that he heard of trouble brewing in Saltmarsh. He took this as an opportunity to prove himself and to be handsomely rewarded, so as to -- perhaps -- restore his good name in his hometown, and resume the comfortable service to Master Ramfold that he so desperately hoped to return to.
Before you is a very large man, in his mid-forties, with a shaggy head of brown hair and a whitening beard. Though he is not overly heavy, he is very tall (6’5") and has strangely long and lanky arms and legs, with elongated fingers that make his hands seem even bigger. Despite his age, he has a jovial demeanor and eyes that sparkle with energy; he seems to have lived a comfortable life, there being little in the way of stress lines on his face. His attire is dull and somewhat faded, suggesting a light coin purse and long days on the road. His only form of weaponry are the many daggers and poignards he has tucked on his belt and boots. He walks about bringing a mule that could be considered the equine version of himself. The animal goes by the powerful-sounding name of Borgotta.
Background
How does the fourth secretary to the learned Mage Ignatius Ramfold, Counselor to Count Evekar III and Quaestor of the Grand Order of Arcana find himself on the road at the eve of his forty-third anniversary, strolling along a tool-laden mule and under the guise of a travelling knife sharpener? Debt, that’s how. Debt to the wrong variety of creditors, the ones who do not like to lose in games of chance, not to a smarty-two pants bookworm. ‘What do they know of probability, the fools!’, Albionus had ample occasion to groan, on his long ‘excursion’ (others would say flight) from his home province to the environs of Saltmarsh. The wrong kind of creditors did not believe that their losses could be explained by the proper use of logic and observation. They were further irked to learn that the old buffoon that had been winning at their table happened to be a spell-weaver, and suspicions began to arise. Master Ramfold had, on many occasions, had the opportunity to rail against the use of one’s intellectual talents in as base a pursuit as gambling and games of chance. But to Albionus, the thrill of the game was a siren call too sweet and powerful to resist; it had yet to dawn on the apprentice magician that ordinary folk would immediately jump to conclusions when losing small fortunes to a mageling. ‘The world is, by all accounts, an unfair place for the talented, cunning and charming’, Albionus bemoaned to his travelling companion, the mule he had recently won (some would say swindled), from an unlucky miner. Borgotta, the mule, and its equipment, had allowed the magician some slight comforts on the road, and it is during this errantry that he heard of trouble brewing in Saltmarsh. He took this as an opportunity to prove himself and to be handsomely rewarded, so as to -- perhaps -- restore his good name in his hometown, and resume the comfortable service to Master Ramfold that he so desperately hoped to return to.
Mar 24, 2020 8:02 pm
Things had always been tense between the Arapahi and the so-called 'more civilized' men who dwelt south of them. The Arapahi claimed to not own the land, but that made it all the more infuriated to the interlopers south of them that they wouldn't just move away. There were always skirmishes, and always would be. At least, that's what Tezhra remembered hearing when she was small.
When she was ten years old, however, things changed. A band of soldiers marched from the Fellands across the Bluff Hills to try to push Tezhra and her clan out. The fighting was fierce, and it was soon recognized that these soldiers had no discipline, and no honor. Tezhra, along with several other younger children, was sent to Fellreev Forest, where she had kin. Like the Arapahi, the elves of Fellreev understood that the earth was not theirs to own, but that they simply lived on it. She trained with her kin's family in the elven martial arts, waiting for the call to come home, that things were safe.
The call never came. Although the Felland soldiers were pushed back, it came too late for her family. And so, Tezhra stayed, studying under her adoptive family, until she was old enough to venture out on her own. She never returned to the Barrens, but instead, in the three years since her majority, she's wandered south, through Freehold, the Shield Lands, and onward seeking something she doesn't understand yet, something that might fill an emptiness that still plagues her.
When she was ten years old, however, things changed. A band of soldiers marched from the Fellands across the Bluff Hills to try to push Tezhra and her clan out. The fighting was fierce, and it was soon recognized that these soldiers had no discipline, and no honor. Tezhra, along with several other younger children, was sent to Fellreev Forest, where she had kin. Like the Arapahi, the elves of Fellreev understood that the earth was not theirs to own, but that they simply lived on it. She trained with her kin's family in the elven martial arts, waiting for the call to come home, that things were safe.
The call never came. Although the Felland soldiers were pushed back, it came too late for her family. And so, Tezhra stayed, studying under her adoptive family, until she was old enough to venture out on her own. She never returned to the Barrens, but instead, in the three years since her majority, she's wandered south, through Freehold, the Shield Lands, and onward seeking something she doesn't understand yet, something that might fill an emptiness that still plagues her.
Jul 29, 2020 7:00 am
Karzak was born low in Westkeep, in the Hold of the Sea Princes. The son of an "entertainer" and any one of a number of unknown brigands, sailors and others with a few coins passing through the area, he was raised hard in the slums and seedy taverns, raised in a hands off manner and advancing his lot in life primarily through violence and theft in the school of hard knocks. Being physically better than average he did well for himself, at least while young, and learned the skills that keep him in ale and grub today.
Once he was old enough for authorities to hang he departed the city for health reasons, and struck out as an adventurer, joining a larger group of adventurers offering protection to merchants who had thought to bring goods along the rivers through the Hool marches with a low number of guards. Eventually the merchants hired security forces that, in a major misunderstanding, put an end to that lucrative business. Karzak managed to make his way out of the swamps and into Keoland, a journey through the wild swamps marked by all manner of unpleasantness. Moving up the coast from town to town he eventually reached Saltmarsh.
Once he was old enough for authorities to hang he departed the city for health reasons, and struck out as an adventurer, joining a larger group of adventurers offering protection to merchants who had thought to bring goods along the rivers through the Hool marches with a low number of guards. Eventually the merchants hired security forces that, in a major misunderstanding, put an end to that lucrative business. Karzak managed to make his way out of the swamps and into Keoland, a journey through the wild swamps marked by all manner of unpleasantness. Moving up the coast from town to town he eventually reached Saltmarsh.
Nov 6, 2020 6:46 am
Appearance
Brallyn is a female dwarf. She stands an average height for a dwarf, but she’s leaner from her travels. Her skin is a darker brown, her hair black, with wisps of white coming through, betraying her age. She wears trinkets in her ears, around her neck and braided throughout her hair. Trinkets she’s picked up on the road, from place to place. Some brightly colored and beautifully crafted. Some are more mundane and simple. Gathered from city and town, small village and traveling peddler from far off lands.
She travels with Donna, her pony. Donna is cream colored, and is spotted with chocolate brown spots. They travel light, Brallyn not wanting to load Donna down. Brallyn does ride, at times, but prefers to spend her time walking in step with Donna, sharing their travels on the road.
Background
Brallyn Snowcoat, now a Cleric of Fharlanghn, spent most of her life as a mason. Repairs mostly, of work crafted long before her time. Though, some time ago, maybe 12 years or so, her and some of her kin were employed to build a bridge that would allow faster travel between a human village and a larger town for trade purposes. The pay wasn’t remarkable, but neither was the expected workmanship. Function over beauty was what the humans were willing to pay for.
Sure enough, Brallyn and her fellow workers set about building. It was quick work, though she was sure it was good work too. An evening, near the close of the expected build, Brallyn stayed behind to embellish some of her work. Unexpected and unpaid, but Brallyn took pride in her work. As her kin set up in the tavern for the night, a traveler came to the foot of the bridge. He called out to Brallyn, complimenting the work. A thin man, wearing a heavy black cloak. Gaunt, even. He took a step across the bridge, and began to ask questions as to its making. Quizzing Brallyn on it’s workings and crafting. The purpose of this stone, and that. For one hour the gaunt man asked questions, Brallyn answering them. Perhaps she thought him an elder of the village, or a clerk from the town, inspecting her work.
As recompense for her patience, the man gave Brallyn a strange silver piece, marked with a curved horizon across the face of the coin, and an upturned crescent moon above it. He continued on his way, across the new bridge. Turning to Brallyn, he thanked her for her work. Much easier to travel these roads with good workmanship supporting them.
Whatever happened in the intervening years, Brallyn held on to that symbol, and was struck with a wanderlust herself. Now she travels everywhere and anywhere. Setting up small shrines to Fharlanghn along the road. She tries to do right by all those she meets and leave places a little better than how she found them. She tries to inspire others to travel the roads too. To see the whole and not just the little. She happily takes up with adventurers, finding them to be most open to traveling to far off places, or places that few others would dare. Brallyn has set out to travel, and it’s not always to the nicest of places that she feels compelled to go!
Brallyn is a female dwarf. She stands an average height for a dwarf, but she’s leaner from her travels. Her skin is a darker brown, her hair black, with wisps of white coming through, betraying her age. She wears trinkets in her ears, around her neck and braided throughout her hair. Trinkets she’s picked up on the road, from place to place. Some brightly colored and beautifully crafted. Some are more mundane and simple. Gathered from city and town, small village and traveling peddler from far off lands.
She travels with Donna, her pony. Donna is cream colored, and is spotted with chocolate brown spots. They travel light, Brallyn not wanting to load Donna down. Brallyn does ride, at times, but prefers to spend her time walking in step with Donna, sharing their travels on the road.
Background
Brallyn Snowcoat, now a Cleric of Fharlanghn, spent most of her life as a mason. Repairs mostly, of work crafted long before her time. Though, some time ago, maybe 12 years or so, her and some of her kin were employed to build a bridge that would allow faster travel between a human village and a larger town for trade purposes. The pay wasn’t remarkable, but neither was the expected workmanship. Function over beauty was what the humans were willing to pay for.
Sure enough, Brallyn and her fellow workers set about building. It was quick work, though she was sure it was good work too. An evening, near the close of the expected build, Brallyn stayed behind to embellish some of her work. Unexpected and unpaid, but Brallyn took pride in her work. As her kin set up in the tavern for the night, a traveler came to the foot of the bridge. He called out to Brallyn, complimenting the work. A thin man, wearing a heavy black cloak. Gaunt, even. He took a step across the bridge, and began to ask questions as to its making. Quizzing Brallyn on it’s workings and crafting. The purpose of this stone, and that. For one hour the gaunt man asked questions, Brallyn answering them. Perhaps she thought him an elder of the village, or a clerk from the town, inspecting her work.
As recompense for her patience, the man gave Brallyn a strange silver piece, marked with a curved horizon across the face of the coin, and an upturned crescent moon above it. He continued on his way, across the new bridge. Turning to Brallyn, he thanked her for her work. Much easier to travel these roads with good workmanship supporting them.
Whatever happened in the intervening years, Brallyn held on to that symbol, and was struck with a wanderlust herself. Now she travels everywhere and anywhere. Setting up small shrines to Fharlanghn along the road. She tries to do right by all those she meets and leave places a little better than how she found them. She tries to inspire others to travel the roads too. To see the whole and not just the little. She happily takes up with adventurers, finding them to be most open to traveling to far off places, or places that few others would dare. Brallyn has set out to travel, and it’s not always to the nicest of places that she feels compelled to go!
OOC:
Tell me if it’s lame or breaks canon and I’ll change some stuff.Last edited November 6, 2020 6:53 am
Nov 6, 2020 7:10 pm
Background :: Clayde Cobblestones
Growing up a street rat, raised among the Cobblestones gang, Clayde would become a fairly decent thief. Small and nimble, he would often scout for the older gang members, being a natural at blending with the shadows, or he would spy on the marks, picking out good bits of knowledge for the gang to act upon. As he grew older, simple street crime began to lose its lustre, the hopes for riches never quite pouring in, the gangs and guilds always taking their cut. Clayde began to sell his services outside of the street rat circuits, trying to bill himself as a entrepreneurial gatherer of secrets, a market spy for hire, the halfling a merchant would want to go to if they wanted to foil a rival merchants contracts, spoil their wares, lift their accounting books and more.......
Until he tried to hawk his services to the wrong person, a high ranking member of a city thieves guild. He would have to get out of town, and sharpish. Gathering his worn cloak, trusty tool pouch and some few weapons to protect himself, he skipped town in the dead of night, wondering where he might find himself next, and what he might do to survive
Growing up a street rat, raised among the Cobblestones gang, Clayde would become a fairly decent thief. Small and nimble, he would often scout for the older gang members, being a natural at blending with the shadows, or he would spy on the marks, picking out good bits of knowledge for the gang to act upon. As he grew older, simple street crime began to lose its lustre, the hopes for riches never quite pouring in, the gangs and guilds always taking their cut. Clayde began to sell his services outside of the street rat circuits, trying to bill himself as a entrepreneurial gatherer of secrets, a market spy for hire, the halfling a merchant would want to go to if they wanted to foil a rival merchants contracts, spoil their wares, lift their accounting books and more.......
Until he tried to hawk his services to the wrong person, a high ranking member of a city thieves guild. He would have to get out of town, and sharpish. Gathering his worn cloak, trusty tool pouch and some few weapons to protect himself, he skipped town in the dead of night, wondering where he might find himself next, and what he might do to survive
Nov 12, 2020 9:35 pm
Garibold known to all as Gaz or Gazza never knew who his father was. He was brought up in the city of Grayhawk, his mother a seamstress, poor but proud.
From an early age Gazza was large and strong for his age, although unfortunately never one blessed with great intelligence.
Unknown to Gazza his father was an Orc of the Pomarj - his mother never spoke of his father or answered any questions about him.
Gazza discovered he had an aptitude for solidering, joined the Greyhawk guard as a teenager and drifted off after a few years, serving in various armies and most recently as a mercenary, a member of Bonzo's Irregulars.
Paid off well after their last commission ended Gazza has decided that the life of an adventurer would suit - after all what could go wrong?
Despite having a short temper and a fearsome aspect, Gazza has a dislike of injustice and a tendency to stick up for the underdog. He does not know he has Orcish blood and would deny it if suggested.
From an early age Gazza was large and strong for his age, although unfortunately never one blessed with great intelligence.
Unknown to Gazza his father was an Orc of the Pomarj - his mother never spoke of his father or answered any questions about him.
Gazza discovered he had an aptitude for solidering, joined the Greyhawk guard as a teenager and drifted off after a few years, serving in various armies and most recently as a mercenary, a member of Bonzo's Irregulars.
Paid off well after their last commission ended Gazza has decided that the life of an adventurer would suit - after all what could go wrong?
Despite having a short temper and a fearsome aspect, Gazza has a dislike of injustice and a tendency to stick up for the underdog. He does not know he has Orcish blood and would deny it if suggested.
Last edited November 12, 2020 9:36 pm
Apr 22, 2021 3:09 pm
Gylan Alard (GILL-in AY-lard)
Gylan was born and raised near Woodwych, the middle son of seven of a poor woodcutter. To escape poverty (and cutting wood), and to save his soul, Gylan joined the disciples of an itinerant preacher of St. Cuthbert. Taking an oath of poverty (since the poverty of the missionaries was richer than the poverty of woodcutting anyway), Gylan became an acolyte to the wandering cleric at the age of 15.
5 years later, at the age of 20, his mentor, Father Kuyllin the Bald, told him he was ready to take his final vows to the order and become a wandering missionary himself. Gylan heartily made his oaths and donned the rough brown tunic that would be his uniform for the rest of his life, and set out to spread wisdom and preach the virtues of forthrightness and steadfastness, and to heal the sick and bludgeon the stupid.
It has been 4 years of wandering and begging now, and Gylan has still amassed no followers, though he has inspired a few folk to increase their devotions to St. Cuthbert and other deities of goodness. One religiously devoted and wealthy widow gifted him with armor and a lovely flail with which to preach wisdom to the ignorant, to replace his old wooden cudgel. Gylan lacks that certain gravitas that attracts followers naturally. He has more or less given up on the idea of forming a following like his mentor had, and is instead content with wandering about doing good deeds for those he finds while vanquishing what evils he can.
Gylan was born and raised near Woodwych, the middle son of seven of a poor woodcutter. To escape poverty (and cutting wood), and to save his soul, Gylan joined the disciples of an itinerant preacher of St. Cuthbert. Taking an oath of poverty (since the poverty of the missionaries was richer than the poverty of woodcutting anyway), Gylan became an acolyte to the wandering cleric at the age of 15.
5 years later, at the age of 20, his mentor, Father Kuyllin the Bald, told him he was ready to take his final vows to the order and become a wandering missionary himself. Gylan heartily made his oaths and donned the rough brown tunic that would be his uniform for the rest of his life, and set out to spread wisdom and preach the virtues of forthrightness and steadfastness, and to heal the sick and bludgeon the stupid.
It has been 4 years of wandering and begging now, and Gylan has still amassed no followers, though he has inspired a few folk to increase their devotions to St. Cuthbert and other deities of goodness. One religiously devoted and wealthy widow gifted him with armor and a lovely flail with which to preach wisdom to the ignorant, to replace his old wooden cudgel. Gylan lacks that certain gravitas that attracts followers naturally. He has more or less given up on the idea of forming a following like his mentor had, and is instead content with wandering about doing good deeds for those he finds while vanquishing what evils he can.
Jan 14, 2022 12:57 am
With his shoulders slumped under the weight of his armor and other gear, Rendel plodded into Saltmarsh with the last light of day. It had been one heck of a year since his mother, father, and oldest brother, Wenton, sat down with him to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that it was time for him to go. His parents had a small farm roughly a day's journey south of Keoford. Rendel's oldest brother and his wife, Elsie, were expecting their first baby and that meant there wasn't room for him anymore. He had known it was coming. The year before they had arranged for his other brother to join a monastery. They broke the happy news to him on his birthday. Rendel had just celebrated his sixteenth and, frankly, had been surprised that he hadn't received similar news to commemorate the day.
Randel blamed his sister-in-law for what had happened to his family, or to his brother, really. His parents were far too advanced in age to change much. Unfortunately, they were also far too advanced in age to do anything about what was happening and so couldn't be blamed for any of it. Nissa was a selfish woman who constantly complained about Rendel and his brother, Jos, who was now well on his way to being Brother Jos, thanks to her whining. It was a wonder that she didn't make their parents targets, too.
Rendel could understand why Wenton had turned on them as he had. He couldn't imagine laying down and having to listen to that foolishness every night. It had clearly driven his brother mad. It made him wonder if his brother regretted marrying for appearances rather than integrity and character. He had certainly learned from his older brother's mistake.
In the end, it made no difference, though. Regrets or not, Wenton had 'bought the cow' as they said. It wasn't a phrase that Rendel would have normally used; he had more respect for women than the use of a phrase like that suggested. He didn't have to be pushed too hard, though, before he'd admit that in the case of his brother and sister-in-law it seemed apt.
He had gone to Keoland when he left the farm and soon had found a job guarding a merchant's caravan. The merchant had taken a liking to him and seen to it that he was able to outfit himself fairly well. A few weeks ago, though, it had all come crashing down around his head. Some of his fellow guards had been helping themselves to some of the merchandise that they were supposed to be guarding: some rare and valuable whiskeys and wines. When the merchant became aware that the spirits were gone he questioned the guards who had been all too happy, to a man, to point their fingers toward him naming him the thief.
Try as he might, Rendel couldn't convince the merchant that all of the other guards were lying. Rendel could barely believe it himself. He was lucky not to end up in the stocks for the theft, but the merchant had been content to send him packing without involving a magistrate. They had been in Pomari at the time. Rendel had set his sights toward more familiar lands and hadn't looked back. He also hadn't found another job, but each new town brought new hope. Maybe his fortune would change in Saltmarsh.
Randel blamed his sister-in-law for what had happened to his family, or to his brother, really. His parents were far too advanced in age to change much. Unfortunately, they were also far too advanced in age to do anything about what was happening and so couldn't be blamed for any of it. Nissa was a selfish woman who constantly complained about Rendel and his brother, Jos, who was now well on his way to being Brother Jos, thanks to her whining. It was a wonder that she didn't make their parents targets, too.
Rendel could understand why Wenton had turned on them as he had. He couldn't imagine laying down and having to listen to that foolishness every night. It had clearly driven his brother mad. It made him wonder if his brother regretted marrying for appearances rather than integrity and character. He had certainly learned from his older brother's mistake.
In the end, it made no difference, though. Regrets or not, Wenton had 'bought the cow' as they said. It wasn't a phrase that Rendel would have normally used; he had more respect for women than the use of a phrase like that suggested. He didn't have to be pushed too hard, though, before he'd admit that in the case of his brother and sister-in-law it seemed apt.
He had gone to Keoland when he left the farm and soon had found a job guarding a merchant's caravan. The merchant had taken a liking to him and seen to it that he was able to outfit himself fairly well. A few weeks ago, though, it had all come crashing down around his head. Some of his fellow guards had been helping themselves to some of the merchandise that they were supposed to be guarding: some rare and valuable whiskeys and wines. When the merchant became aware that the spirits were gone he questioned the guards who had been all too happy, to a man, to point their fingers toward him naming him the thief.
Try as he might, Rendel couldn't convince the merchant that all of the other guards were lying. Rendel could barely believe it himself. He was lucky not to end up in the stocks for the theft, but the merchant had been content to send him packing without involving a magistrate. They had been in Pomari at the time. Rendel had set his sights toward more familiar lands and hadn't looked back. He also hadn't found another job, but each new town brought new hope. Maybe his fortune would change in Saltmarsh.
OOC:
Rendel's a young guy. So, I decided to keep the background simple. (Or thought I had until I saw the preview. It's a lot more words than I had intended, but I'm not up to the task of editing it into a more concise form right now.) Let me know if there are any problems. 
Jan 14, 2022 1:42 am
Abigail Mythosweaver has never known a life of extravagance. She grew up under a household of chandlers and eventually took up the trade herself when she was of a suitable age to do so. She enjoyed the craft - enjoyed making various types and sizes of candles from beeswax, tallow, etc.
Upon reaching her 20th summer, Abigail felt a strange pull. It came to her one night as she sat outside, gazing up toward the stars and the heavens above. A connection, a thread even, to follow was tugging her. Taking head of the calling and setting affairs in order with her family, Abigail quested to follow this guidance from the stars.
Eventually, she came across a temple dedicated to the gods of good and balance. She made the decision to join the temple and become a cleric, offering her services as a chandler as well.
Through her studies of the celebrated deities revers in the temple, Abigail came to find that one deity was the responsible party in leading her here: Celestian. For it was he who revealed himself through a dream one night that he was her patron and guiding light, and that life at the temple would only be the first step on her life journey.
Cut to now, some four years later, Abigail rides upon her favored steed, Galfrey, into Saltmarsh. The two years abroad had opened her mind a great deal, making her far wiser than she had been originally. The star shining over the town would prove to be enlightening, for sure, in her thoughts.
Upon reaching her 20th summer, Abigail felt a strange pull. It came to her one night as she sat outside, gazing up toward the stars and the heavens above. A connection, a thread even, to follow was tugging her. Taking head of the calling and setting affairs in order with her family, Abigail quested to follow this guidance from the stars.
Eventually, she came across a temple dedicated to the gods of good and balance. She made the decision to join the temple and become a cleric, offering her services as a chandler as well.
Through her studies of the celebrated deities revers in the temple, Abigail came to find that one deity was the responsible party in leading her here: Celestian. For it was he who revealed himself through a dream one night that he was her patron and guiding light, and that life at the temple would only be the first step on her life journey.
Cut to now, some four years later, Abigail rides upon her favored steed, Galfrey, into Saltmarsh. The two years abroad had opened her mind a great deal, making her far wiser than she had been originally. The star shining over the town would prove to be enlightening, for sure, in her thoughts.
Jan 14, 2022 4:52 am
Class/Level: Cleric of Boccob/3
Race/Gender: Human/Male
Profession: EX-Butcher and now Priest of Boccob
Place: Small hovel in the outskirts of Saltmarsh
Description: 6'2", 198#, 24 Years Old, Human/Male, Sightly Tanned Skin with Cheap Beard and Mustache, Short Brown Hair, Dark Blue Eyes
Appearance: Banded & Small Shield, Waterskin, Wooden Boccob Symbol (eye balanced on a pedestal inside a pentagon.), Silver Wedding Ring, Heavy Flail, Backpack, & Large Belt Pouch
History: Hubar used to be an assistant butcher for Salt water a few years ago. He left on a boat with eyes of fame and fortune when he was a younger man.
He left and is now returned. He has a wife, Jean, and no kids. He is priest of Boccob now and much an adventurer. Hubar & Jean are staying with Jean's parent's place in Saltwater. Hubar's parents no longer live in Saltwater. So, he has no relatives in Saltwater currently.
Race/Gender: Human/Male
Profession: EX-Butcher and now Priest of Boccob
Place: Small hovel in the outskirts of Saltmarsh
Description: 6'2", 198#, 24 Years Old, Human/Male, Sightly Tanned Skin with Cheap Beard and Mustache, Short Brown Hair, Dark Blue Eyes
Appearance: Banded & Small Shield, Waterskin, Wooden Boccob Symbol (eye balanced on a pedestal inside a pentagon.), Silver Wedding Ring, Heavy Flail, Backpack, & Large Belt Pouch
History: Hubar used to be an assistant butcher for Salt water a few years ago. He left on a boat with eyes of fame and fortune when he was a younger man.
He left and is now returned. He has a wife, Jean, and no kids. He is priest of Boccob now and much an adventurer. Hubar & Jean are staying with Jean's parent's place in Saltwater. Hubar's parents no longer live in Saltwater. So, he has no relatives in Saltwater currently.
Jan 14, 2022 3:27 pm
I believe we have Albionus (magic User Lvl2), Venemar (Paladin Lvl2), Gazza (Ftr Lvl2), and now two clerics (lvl3) and a thief (lvl3?). We also have an NPC sea-elf and an NPC thief along with us.
Jan 14, 2022 4:18 pm
Does that mean the existing players are going to level up to level 3 when this episode of play is finished?
Jan 15, 2022 6:59 am
Cilo Bez. A whisper in the wind. A blade in the dark.
She is both cutthroat and cutpurse, a consummate thief, the vulture that feeds on the rotten bones of humanity.
In brighter days, she could be seen leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the town of Westkeep. Always appearing as a wraith, without her companions she has become sallow and withdrawn. Hers is the twilight world, balanced on the tip of a knife or the edge of a blade.
She has come to Saltmarsh to sell a recently acquired stash of silk without paying the excise tax.
She is both cutthroat and cutpurse, a consummate thief, the vulture that feeds on the rotten bones of humanity.
In brighter days, she could be seen leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the town of Westkeep. Always appearing as a wraith, without her companions she has become sallow and withdrawn. Hers is the twilight world, balanced on the tip of a knife or the edge of a blade.
She has come to Saltmarsh to sell a recently acquired stash of silk without paying the excise tax.
Last edited January 15, 2022 11:07 am