History: I feel uncomfortable when I stay in one place.
The Knoquu are a nomadic people of the desert of Ishtara, and are as close to family as I ever came. I don’t remember much of my youth, though I know I was not born with these people. It was not uncommon for the Knoquu to adopt the lost children and wandering souls to their ways. Many of us simply have no other choice. Adopted by the tribe, I became accustomed to the way of the nomad and survival in the desert. To most a desert is a wasteland; a mountain of sand covered by a blanket of heat. To the Knoquu, it is home.
The desert druids to Tezcatlipoca led the tribe through the harsh sands. They would look after me, and show me how the druids of the desert draw their power. They were capable of finding life where many struggle to see it. The desert druids guide the tribes from oasis to oasis, dictating that we not stay in place for too long. We would raid other tribes, and small settlements but did not shed blood if blood was not needed. We are masters of survival, not cruel.
Well at least for most of my life that was true.
Something changed. Slowly at first, but more and more I noticed. The raids seemed less about survival and more about violence. We had never taken prisoners before, but soon would become common place. I questioned the desert druids but I was told it was not my place to question.
On the night of the summer solstice, a night of celebration, the desert druids began their sacrifices. This was for Tezcatlipoca? This was for the same god? This was for survival? There was an obvious frenzy about the tribe. Does no one else notice this is insane?
When the festival died down and the tribe found rest, I fled.
Now I am far far away from those I called family. I take jobs with adventure inc, usually as a scout. I have nowhere else to go, but I never did. I’ve always wandered, but now I wander in solitude.
History: The Urdrad family hails from Bradmont, where it is well-respected for its large, branching family of devout Clerics, Monks, and Paladins. However, it is most revered for the members of its highly skilled line of Peacekeepers. Umrus Urdrad boasts an enduring lineage of Peacekeepers, with the trade being passed on from parent to the first-born offspring. Umrus's eldest son, Torrik, would be no exception to this long-standing tradition, and was groomed from birth to succeed his father. Training for a Peacekeeper includes education in the ways of both combat and the Divine Court. Torrik approached his lessons tirelessly and devotedly.
Gillik, being nearly 10 years Torrik's junior, grew up admiring his mighty brother, listening to his tales of adventure, and dreaming of the day that he might follow in his footsteps. Gillik requested of his father that, the moment he was old enough, he might begin training like Torrik. Umrus observed his children in their training and concluded that Torrik was to be the sword of the family, while Gillick's stronger devotion to the Divine Court and extreme pride in the family name made him ideal to carry on the more religious traditions. In fact, Umrus saw great potential in Gillick as a Cleric, but knew that his youngest son was set in his passion to become a Peacekeeper, just like his older brother.
The day had finally come when Torrik was to be appointed Peacekeeper and sent to Emberfall to fill a vacant post. Gillik stayed behind and kept to his training, diligently awaiting his own time in which he could proudly join his brother. Several years passed, but the brothers remained in touch by exchanging letters. During this time, Torrik's words became more and more bleak, hinting at corruption within the kingdom and perhaps even a curse over the throne.
The political turmoil finally came to a head with the assassination Markus Mordhein. Torrik was accused of the murder and found guilty of regicide and treason to the kingdom. This was a heavy blow to the proud Peacekeepers, who kept the news of Torrik secret from the public. As punishment for breaking his duty to the royal family, his oath to the Peacekeepers, and the reputation of the Urdrad family, Torrik was sentenced to execution. His own father, Umrus, carried out the sentence, for who better to purge this dishonor from the family name than the patriarch himself.
Shortly before the events that led to his execution, Torrik sent Gillik a strange message. It began like any other of his letters, with news of the town, Torrik's daily duties, and other bits of commonplace blather. But Torrik closed with a strange line: "And so, dearest brother, I must end this letter. I leave you with a request, Please Seek Percie."
Ever since the shameful demise of his eldest, Umrus's health has begun to wane terribly. Gillik is his last hope of continuing on the line of noble Peacekeepers and upholding the family name. It is customary for Peacekeepers to seek experience through travel and adventure, for only the heartiest of Paladins are fit to be called Peacekeeper. In the midst of his depression and failing health, Umrus secures a position for Gillik with Adventure Inc. in order to continue his education.
Gillik, now setting out independent from his clan, continues on his path for the title of Peacekeeper. He also patiently seeks any information that could help him uncover the truth behind the actions of his brother that led to the dire events of Emberfall.
Current Level: 0
Damage: 1d8 Bludgeoning
Special Abilities: None
Jebeddo Fonkin Oneshoe Stumble Nackle-Timbershivers
History: Jebeddo was born to traditional gnomish parents in a forest burrow on the edge of Perrinth in Bradmont, just north of the big bend in the Starlight River. He was raised reading in massive gnomish libraries and learning from the village elders, playing pranks and setting silly traps that ended in a spray of confetti, dust, or flour stolen from store rooms. Equally appreciative of the abilities and teachings of Oliander and Vorilian, Jebeddo embodies the true spirit of forest gnomes.
As he grew older, his curiosity took him further and further from his forest community, building rafts with friends and floating the Starlight during the spring and summer. On his 30th birthday, he floated a raft all the way through the heart of Varina to King's District. This was the trip that hooked Jebeddo on the life of the traveler. He saw so very many things from so very many far away places he'd only previously read about, and realized the stories were only the beginning. There were legends to pursue.
While in Varina, Jebeddo found himself in with the often misunderstood alchemist guild. Here, he apprenticed with a select few outsiders who would appreciate, or at least tolerate, his penchant for jokes and tricks. They taught him a great deal about dyes, chemical reactions, and, his favorite, explosions.
By his 55th year, Jebeddo had grown in importance in the guild to the point where he realized there was terrible corruption in the city of Varina. All guilds in town seemed to pay tribute to different members of the Cardoza Family, an old, powerful family of great wealth.
Jebeddo couldn't figure out quite what these payments were going toward. He was instructed by the head of his guild to stop asking such dangerous questions, but it's not in ol' Fonky's capability to drop it when he's stumbled onto something interesting. Nackle had worked out most of the situation when, one night, the Cardozas reacted with vengance toward his guild. One night while he and his guildmates worked late (as they often did), the Cardoza clan set fire to their hall, barring the door from the outside. Thanks to his size, Jebeddo was able to escape through a small hole in the woodworks, disappearing into the canals of Varina.
He originally planned to travel to Carapath on a tip - mystery, history, and magic intermingled in the capital city of Morevia, but he met up with a team to adventure with along the way, who've started to grow on ol' Oneshoe. Their size and abilities may also come in handy if he can return to Varina and seek revenge.
Current Level: 0
Damage: 1d8 Piercing
Special Abilities: None
Jennuvera Daardendrion Woariir
History: My father was exiled from the Daardendrion clan shortly after I was born so my mother dutifully went with him to the tunnels of Ishtarra and stayed until I was three years old. At that time, when their wedlock was considered broken, she returned to the clan and left me with my father with the full belief that a product of his could not possibly be good. My memories of my mother are faded and few, she seemed almost afraid of me, counting down the days until her duty let her return to her clan.
My father was addressed by the family name he gave adopted—Woariir, the lost one—and tried to build some sort of stability for me. He worked in a library in Ishtarra and brought me with him, using the books as babysitters. He kept my sorcery a secret from me, not allowing me contact with others hoping to delay the development of my powers. He would lock himself in his study for hours on end; sometimes I would listen at the door and could hear the slow, thick bubbling of boiling metal and the sudden pops of incorrect mixtures. As a child, I didn’t mind being alone in the library. I soaked up every volume, especially gravitating towards the arcana and made up games to entertain myself: I would test how quickly I could memorize a page of text, I would build worlds in my imagination based on what I was reading about and would have conversations with invisible characters. As I got older, I began to feel trapped and could sense the power burning inside of me, trying to escape. I began to fight with my father, to beg him to let me leave and return to our clan. I tried to convince him, using every technique I had learned from books that they would accept me and be proud of the knowledge I had attained. The day I turned 15, finally an adult, I told my father I was leaving with or without his permission. He forbade it; he wouldn’t listen, and I got angry. Without knowing what was happening, my sorcerer instinct took over and I hurled an acid splash at my father, severely injuring him and disintegrating many of the books around us. As he lay dying, he pulled himself to his desk and unlocked a secret compartment. He pulled out a small journal and told me it contained all of his research in alchemy; he had unlocked secrets many would kill for. I had read about alchemy briefly, but the greed and obsession it seemed to create in its practicers had never appealed to me or urged me to explore further.
With his dying breaths, my father told me I needed to travel to Morevia and find Adonan Gellantara of the Notatia Collective. I needed to give him this journal and in turn he promised Adonan could explain the origins and extent of my sorcery and possibly how to reunite with my clan.
I had never known why my father was exiled from the clan, but after his final request to me, I began to suspect it has something to do with the way he attained my sorcery.
I made it to Morevia, moving blindly with guilt and determination through the desert terrain and across the Ishtarra Wastes. I found the city loud and overwhelming; too many people with too few answers. I went to the conservatory my father had pointed me towards, and through several channels of poor communication found out that Adonan had moved on long ago.
I had nothing to return to in Ishtarra and a burning desire to exist in a world in a way I had never been able to, so I decided to adventure and along the way, try to discover more about my past and my powers. I joined with a band of fellow adventurers, hoping they would be able to help guide me and ease me into the intense socialness of the world outside a library. It’s difficult for me to make friends, as I never have had any and I tend to (usually fairly) underestimate the intellectual capabilities of others, but I believe that the universe has finally opened itself up to me and I am going to seize every opportunity to soak up knowledge, to find opportunities to build my skills. I intend to find my clan eventually and when I do, I want to be sure they will be absolutely thrilled with what I have done; they will have no choice but to welcome me with open arms.
Current Level: 0
Damage: 1d8 Piercing
Special Abilities: None
History: My name is Keth. No last name. I'm a Half orc, black hair, blue eyes, scar in the shape of an "X" on the back of my left hand. My father attacked my mother's village on a raid. He gave my mother the same scar on the back of her hand as he did all the humans he had taken, so he would never take the same one twice. My mother became pregnant with me, and after I was born she was disgusted with what I was. She cut my hand with the "X". She could not bear raising a half orc so she ventured far from her home to an orc village one night before I was a year old. She burst into a hut on the outskirts of the village and found a bloody scene. A male orc was holding a female on a bed who was unmistakably dead. An infant was lying still in her lap covered in its mother's blood. I was never told what words were exchanged that night, but the orc father took the half orc infant from the human woman who then fled and never returned. That night, Dirk named his new son Keth. Grew up training to fight and kill. Dirk was gamekeeper and houndsmaster. Keth grew to love all animals and to fiercely protect them, and would only begrudgingly slaughter one for food when commanded by Dirk.
Keth began participating in raids at the age of 12. He was as brutal and as ruthless as any. That is what he was raised to to be. At 16 he was pillaging a village he killed two humans as he was entering a building. A third, a woman, fled before Keth could finish her. He walked in and found dozens of children, none older than 10. He had always avoided killing children when on these raids. He knew what was expected of him. But he couldn't. What came after his refusal was a beating that was expected to leave him dead while he watched the slaughter of the children. Somehow he lived and stumbled back to his father's hut. Keth was disgraced and exiled. His father told him he must leave, but before he Keth left, Dirk explained how he came to be at the orc village, and the story of his scar on his left hand.
After he left his home he began mercenary work and finally stumbled into becoming a bounty hunter, traveling the lands. He has mixed feelings about both his mother and father. He knows he would recognize them because of their matching scars. He vowed to never participate in senseless killing, protect those weaker than him, and especially children. He has created a quilted fur cloak of each animal he has killed since he left his village. He keeps a small piece of their fur or skin and sews it on.
Keth is from the forest in between Carapath and Varina. Carapath is the verdure region, so it's rich and the Orcs would enjoy raiding them. Also scribes and scholars go there, so they're less fighty and easier pickings for the orcs. King Elletrix is rumored to have put a price on the head of any orc seen within a short distance of Morena that can be collected from the Morena City Watch. Half orcs are frequently feared and attacked almost as often as full orcs. This has made bounty hunting within Carapath difficult and dangerous. Keth frequently disguises himself to collect his bounties. He has refused to take the life of any Orc for pay from the Watch.
Keth has done most of his bounty hunting in Emberfall, which has a ton of theives, organized crime, and shitty people with prices on their head. People are suspicious of half orcs there too because they have always been plagued by dark creatures emerging from the forest and caverns.
In the northern kingdom of Perrinth they are wary of outsiders until they prove their trust. Keth has done a favor by finding a Duke Jette’s daughter and killing the kidnapper by posing as the payer of a ransom. He is welcomed Duke Jette’s circles and mostly throughout Perrinth.
He is wanted for murder in Bradmont. His bounty was in a tavern drinking with others. A man attacked Keth in defense of the wanted man, and Keth killed the man and took his bounty out of the tavern. The next day he was chased by the City Watch and only barely escaped. It turns out the man was a Liutenant of the City Watch. The people of Bradmont would not believe that the Lieutenant was associating with the wanted man and attacked Keth first, so it was said Keth drunkenly killed the Captain out of cold blood while the Captain must have been trying to keep the peace.
Keth has worked closely with Brolly's at Brawlers at times when he knew he could pay them after he captured a particularly lucrative bounty. They have provided useful information and muscle in Keth's work.
Current Level: 0
Damage: 1d6 Slashing
Special Abilities: None