The Party

The Party

This is who we have so far, I'll update as more folks lock in:

Odin Borrson



It was two winters past when the young half-elf nearly died on Lake Criss. The ice was still new then—thin, slick, not to be trusted—but they had wandered out anyway. Some say they were chasing after something they saw: a figure on the ice, or perhaps just a shadow cast by the setting sun. Whatever it was, the lake cracked beneath them like glass and swallowed them whole.

No one saw it happen. No one came running. But come morning, they were found sprawled on the icy shore, soaked through and half-frozen, yet somehow still alive. The old ones called it a miracle—or a curse, depending on who you ask. They should have died out there, that much is certain.

Since then, they’ve changed. They’re quiet now. Thoughtful. Folks say they spend more time among the dead than the living, tending the small cemetery behind the town’s modest church alongside Nelie Amberwhistle, the halfling bard. The two of them see to the rites, care for the graves, and help lay the dead to rest when the time comes.

Kish Frostwell



In a village where winter's bite is as familiar as the morning sun, the Frostwell family stands as pillars of strength and resilience. Their white draconic heritage makes them uniquely suited to Ormskirk's harsh climate, and none embody this more than Veyra Frostwell, a respected member of the village council. Her children—strong, proud, and bearing the pristine white scales of their lineage—have all found their place in the community, serving as hunters, guards, and leaders.

All except Kish.

The youngest Frostwell is an enigma. While his siblings tower with the imposing presence expected of their bloodline, Kish is leaner, more agile. Where they move with deliberate strength, he flows like water. His white scales, while not as striking as his siblings', still mark him as one of the Frostwells, and like all of his kin, he finds comfort in the cold that others shun.
As a child, Kish was known for his quick wit and quicker hands. His pranks were legendary—switching the salt and sugar in the tavern, hiding the blacksmith's tools in increasingly creative places, or somehow managing to dye the village elder's beard bright blue during the winter solstice festival. While his siblings trained with weapons or studied the ways of leadership, Kish preferred the company of stories and songs, often found in the tavern when he should have been at his lessons.

It was in the tavern that he first met Nelie Amberwhistle. The halfling bard's stories and songs held a magic of their own, and Kish found himself drawn to them—not just for their entertainment, but for the way they made the long winter nights feel less lonely. He became something of a regular audience member, sometimes even joining in with his own tales (though his were usually more... embellished than Nelie's). The two developed a friendly rivalry of sorts—Kish would try to one-up her stories with increasingly outlandish claims, while Nelie would counter with songs that somehow always seemed to be about a certain white-scaled troublemaker.

These days, Kish drifts between Ormskirk and the surrounding villages, never staying in one place too long. His mother, while disappointed in his lack of direction, still holds hope that he'll find his purpose. The villagers, for their part, have a soft spot for the youngest Frostwell—his charm and humor make him a favorite at gatherings, even as they shake their heads at his antics. When the winter winds howl and the nights grow long, he always seems to find his way back to Ormskirk, if only for a little while. And when he does, you can usually find him in the tavern, listening to Nelie's songs and trying to convince her to let him join in on the next performance.

Nelie Amberwhistle



In Ormskirk, everyone pulls their weight. That doesn’t change just because you’re three feet tall. A fact the Amberwhistle family has always been keenly aware of. Hardworking, humble folk, they’ve long made their living tending to the land and giving back to the village in quiet, steadfast ways.

Nelie Amberwhistle, the last—and, some said, the least—of the Amberwhistle children, struggled to live up to those expectations. Small and frail even by halfling standards, she lacked the strength and stamina needed to join her family in the forests or fields. While the other children grew into their labor, Nelie spent her early years tucked beside the hearth with those too old or too young to work. But where her hands failed her, her mind soared. She listened. She learned. She asked questions others had long since stopped asking.

Over time, Nelie became something of a lorekeeper in the village. She memorized old tales, catalogued the odd sayings of the elders, and sang songs forgotten even by the priests. Her talent for storytelling grew into something uncanny—when she recited legends, villagers felt as though they’d lived them. And when the dead needed tending, it was often Nelie who accompanied Odin Borrson to the churchyard, her soft voice soothing the grieving, her steady hands helping to lay the departed to rest. Some say she knows more about the history of Ormskirk’s families than the council does. And though she spends many evenings playing for coin in the tavern, everyone knows she’s chasing something greater: the truth hidden in old tales, the meaning behind forgotten words, and perhaps the legend she’ll one day carve for herself.

Johan Ravenclaw



The Ravenclaw name carries weight in Ormskirk. For generations, they've been the village's hunters, trackers, and protectors—the ones who venture into the Wilds when others dare not. Johan is the latest in this long line, trained from childhood by his father and uncles in the ways of the hunt. His education wasn't in books or scrolls, but in the language of the forest, the patterns of the snow, and the songs of the wind.

His gear tells its own story. Two sets of equipment, passed down through generations, each piece worn smooth by use but maintained with care. His grandfather Zeddicus's handiwork is evident in every stitch and carving, particularly in Johan's most prized possession—a reed flute, crafted with love and passed down with pride.

These days, Johan splits his time between the Wilds and the village. When he's not tracking game or patrolling the borders, he can often be found in the tavern, listening to Nelie Amberwhistle's songs. There's something about her music that speaks to him—maybe it's the way it reminds him of the wind through the trees, or maybe it's just Nelie herself. Either way, he's been known to join in with his flute on occasion, though he's always careful not to step on her performance.

What started as casual conversations about music has grown into something more. Nelie, frail as she is, is absolutely fascinated by Johan's stories of the Wilds. She hangs on his every word about the creatures he's tracked, the dangers he's faced, and the strange things he's seen in the deep forest. In return, she weaves his tales into her songs, adding a touch of magic to his practical knowledge. It's become something of a tradition—Johan returns from a long hunt, tells Nelie his stories, and a few days later, she performs a new song inspired by his adventures.

Kethra Keladrel



In a village where strength and stoicism are valued above all, Kethra stands as a beacon of hope and justice. Her story began years ago, when a group of traders arrived in Ormskirk during the first snows of winter. They seemed friendly enough, offering goods from distant lands in exchange for furs and food. The villagers welcomed them, as they did all travelers in need of shelter from the cold.

They were wrong.

The traders were bandits in disguise, and when the village was at its most vulnerable—its stores depleted by the trade, its people gathered in the longhouse for warmth—they struck. But they hadn't counted on Kethra. The young half-elf had noticed something off about the traders—the way they watched the village's defenses, the way they asked too many questions about the winter stores. When the attack came, she was ready.

Kethra rallied the hunters, the farmers, even the children. Under her guidance, they turned the village's isolation into a strength, using the snow and the cold as weapons. The bandits never stood a chance.

In the chaos of the bandit attack, while Kethra was rallying the villagers to fight back, several bandits managed to escape into the winter night. Among the missing after the battle was Kethra's father, Aldric, a council member. Some villagers claim to have seen figures dragging a struggling man into the woods, though in the confusion of the fight, no one could be certain.

After the battle, while the village celebrated, Ysolde Greymoss sought Kethra out. The half-orc priestess had watched the young warrior during the fight, seen something in her that others missed. She offered to teach Kethra not just how to fight, but how to protect. How to heal. How to stand as a shield between the innocent and the darkness. Under Ysolde's guidance, Kethra learned about balance—about how true strength comes from understanding both life and death, light and dark. She showed Kethra how to listen to the land, how to read the signs in the snow and the wind. And most importantly, she taught her about duty—not just to the living, but to the dead as well.

These days, Kethra splits her time between patrolling the village borders and helping those in need. Whether it's helping an elderly villager clear snow from their roof or standing guard during the long winter nights, Kethra is always there, always ready to help. Her sword and shield are as much a part of her as her sense of justice, and the villagers know that when Kethra gives her word, she'll keep it, no matter the cost.

Kethra's reputation as the village's protector is somewhat complicated by her growing reputation as a tavern regular. While she's always ready to defend the village, she's increasingly found at the tavern, nursing her grief with ale. The tavern has become her second home, where she's formed unlikely friendships with other regulars.

While some villagers worry about her drinking, others understand it's her way of coping with her father's disappearance. The tavern keeper has learned to cut her off before things get too bad, and her friends there have become her unofficial support system, each in their own way trying to help her through her grief.

Leta