Characters

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see Appearance for instructions if needed

see Appearance for instructions if needed

Hugo is a black haired man nearing his late twenties. The last few years have worn heavy on him and he seems to be showing an expanding scalp and lines that crease his brow and stretch from the corners of his eyes. His eyes are watery and milky blue circled in crackling red. His skin is light but rough and his lips are thick and cracked.
He wears heavy plate that is tarnished and ill-maintained. It has a mighty breast and a spiked shoulder with a thick leather strap that stretches to a wide black belt above boxy greves and tall metal boots. The only properly maintained piece is the shining buckler cleanly polished and strapped to his arm. The bow on his back is a shining example of true elven make. A sturdy, strong green bow with black wrappings that has been used to launch many arrows.

Hugo is bitter, solomn, and callice, but he is still a lover at his heart. His words may not always say it, but he has fond respect for those who deserve it and will do his best to ensure that they protected. He will fight to defend the innocent and preserve beauty. The fires in his heart burn hot with anger when faced with injustice, malice, greed, selfishness, and the defacing, destruction, or tarnishing of true beauty.

Trained by the Waterdeep City Guard to man the city wall and was due to be wed to the daughter of a miller.
While on guard the mill was raided by marauders who killed the miller as stole up his lovely daughter.
He traveled south through Cormyr is search of his beloved with the help of a harper agent who was in search of the band for a another reason that was not revealed to Hugo.
The pair followed them into the The Sea of Fallen Stars and caught up with thier small ship.
Once aboard, there was a great battle, but the briggands were too much for the pair to handle. The Harper agent was stabbed and tossed overboard and Hugo was tied down while the crazed leader of the briggands poured acid in Hugo's eyes as it was confessed to him that they'd killed the young girl months ago.

Enraged, Hugo broke free, and with his eyes still burning let loose a single arrow that pierced the briggand leader through the neck. The archer then stumbled back and jumped ship as the life bled from the marauder's neck.

He washed up in Westgate where he spent time resting and healing.
Once his vision was enough to allow him some symbolance of sight, he was contacted by the Harpers. They had heard that Hugo had slain the briggand leader that had caused the Harpers much trouble and were pleased. Hugo refused membership, but said that he would be available and an independant in case they needed.

In Westgate Hugo worked as a mercinary helping defend the city from occasional troubles. During this time, he became friends with a local militia man named Talon Bro'den. Hugo found his knowledge to be insightful and his flaring emotions oddly motivational, enough to remind Hugo every once and a while that there is something beyond being an emotionless shell.

When the Harpers requested Hugo's aid, he was quick to mention Talon's name. Talon had always talking about getting back out of Westgate to see more of the world. The request came in the humble call for assistance from an aged man named Henry looking for his wayward son. It had somehow reminded Hugo of his own persuit to find his abducted love years ago. The Archer could not refuse.

The trek north was very uneventful until the three arrived at Gnoll Pass. There they were ambushed and assaulted by a band of goliath bandits. Withdrawing from the pass, the three sat at the edge for a day pondering thier next move. By some divine provence, that is when Gorak made himself known to the camp.

Gorak had watched the group's attempt to cross the pass, and knew of a better route to take. He offered to escort the group without even thought of pay. Though Hugo was reluctant to trust an orc, he knew of no other way. With the orcs help, the trek across the path was quite easy.

Once through the path, Hugo assumed that Gorak would take his leave...but oddly he did not. The archer did not question it though, because Gorak had proven himself in his eyes and it was good to have another brother in arms.

That is when the group arrived at Tilverton's Scar and began thier real adventure.

Talon is tall for an human, and very fit. He has brown eyes and long dark black hair, which he lets flow naturally. His face is angular and clean, though there is a scar that runs down the left side of his face that has mostly healed, leaving only a white line, he always has a different story of how he got it.

Talon is a proud and noble person. Willing to stand up for himself and others. Is also quick to temper, something that has gotten him into many a troubles in his life. He has a knack for always being around when things go from bad to worst, which has led him to pessimistic about life. He desires to learn and study and expand his knowledge of the world, not just enhance himself physically with the skills of a blade, but mentally as well.

Talon grew up in Iriaebor, under the tutelage of his father, a Duskblade by the name of Kelnar Bro’den. His father was decently well known in those parts for being skilled in both the blade and magic. He had learned his skills from an Elvan Duskblade by the name of Filarer when he was a lad, and had become an adventure when he came of age. Assisting others when needed, he went on quite a few adventures, even assisting the Harpers when required, before finally settling down from the hectic lifestyle and marrying, his wife giving birth to Talon shortly after, though that didn’t prevent him from still adventuring during his sons earlier years, but when Talon turned 5, Kelnar stayed home and instructed him in the teachings he had received from Filarer.

Kelnar quickly discovered that Talon was adept at both blade and arcane, which caused him great delight. He also showed tremendous promise, so Kelnar did train him hard, and had him study as well. Kelnar’s belief was one must be strong in mind and body to be truly great as a user of Sword and Arcane power. Talon enjoyed the training, even if it was tiring at times for him. He enjoyed both aspects of his tutelage, learning how to master the blade, and devouring knowledge from the books he read. By 19 Talon was a fairly skilled adept at both, and would occasionally head out with his father to assist him in dealing with things when he could, he enjoyed those little adventures, though they didn’t do much other then clear out a few goblin dens, but it was valuable experience for him.

Through the next 3 years of his life, they didn’t adventure together too much, as Talon was put into more training and studying so he could become more skilled and more knowledgeable about the world around him. The days were spent practicing the blade in the morning, and studying in the afternoon, an exercised mind is a sharper mind Kelnar would say. Talon spent most of his studying time on the subjects that interested him the most, being the planes and arcane knowledge, with religion and nature as well. During the night time, he would either spare with his father or they would have debates with each other on the subjects Talon was learning.

When he turned 22, Talon decided it was time to head off on his own and learn that way. His father was sad to see him leave, but understood his son must find his own way and was impressed with his skills and knowledge that he wasn’t overly worried about him. Talon moved to Westgate, getting a little place with books to read and an area to practice. He took up a job as part of the Militia and doing tasks for the Harpers when required. He enjoyed his time there, though he did miss the nightly sparing leason’s and debates with his father, he found just as much fun going to a tavern and drinking with those he worked with. He was unable to continue devoting as much time as he used to practicing and studying, what with actually needing to earn money now to continue to be able to do those things, but he did get valuable experience with the militia and harper work, on the job training is one of the best.

During his time with working in the Militia he met a mercenary, Hugo. The man had a sad past, one Talon couldn’t truly relate to, but understood why he was the way he was. Losing a loved one was tough on everyone. He befriended him during the times they spent together, enjoying the talks he had with him, as Hugo actually listened to him instead of the normal reaction others have of zoning him out. They talked often when they had time and would even head for drinks, Talon enjoyed the comradeship they had.

It was Hugo who got him a job with the Harpers that actually involved traveling farther than he was usually sent. Talon was extremely grateful for that, and even enjoyed the company of the man who they were assisting. A crazy old Cleric by the name of Henry, they were sent to track down a certain individual. The Cleric was a hoot to be around for Talon, he reminded him somewhat of his Father, though a bit more religious then him. They headed off for a location near Tilverton’s Scar. A place Talon had desperately wanted to venture to before, he had heard what happened there but had never gone near it, but now he was going to. Filled with excitement that further fueled his lust for knowledge, Talon was even more grateful to Hugo for bringing him alone.

It was when they got to Gnoll’s pass things got hairy, ambushed by Goliath Bandits, they put up a quick and valiant fight. Though they were outmatched and had to flee, they had accounted for themselves well enough that the Bandits did not chase after them. They set up camp in the pass and were planning and discussing on what next to do, the strangest thing happened. An Orc by the name of Gorak appeared and talked to them, didn’t fight them didn’t insult them and didn’t try to steal from them. He actually came to talk to them and offer assistance. Talon had rarely read or even heard of such a thing happening, usually they would want something in return but Gorak just seemed to want to help. Talon was intrigued with this. Though a bit wary, he felt he could learn a lot from talking to this Orc and was willing to follow his advice and guidance.

When they got through, Gorak didn’t leave but stayed with them. Talon couldn’t find much fault in this, the Orc was an interesting companion after all, and had been most helpful. The four of them also made a fairly formidable team in the few encounters they ran into, it was quiet refreshing to work with them.

Henry stands, leaning on a slender carved wood staff. His skin is a deep chocolate, with eyes reduced to myopic slits. There is a deep furrow to his brow, but his mouth is smiling. A curly white beard juts out from his cheeks, and an unruly fringe of white curly hair seems in full retreat from the back of his head.

He is dressed in a threadbare cloak, leggings and dark leather boots. An old-fashioned chainmail shirt covers his torso, or at least the portion of it that fits inside - a little belly shows through beneath.

Henry is very aware of the road not taken (that he is not a wealthy, powerful and revered hierophant), and while there may be some regrets there, he also has found considerable joy in the life he's lived. He's a wry, funny man who takes great pleasure in everyday things like a good sandwich, a well-crafted fence, or the voice of a young woman.

Henry has tremendous empathy for others, and finds the impatience and passion of young people especially endearing.

The man now known as Henry Aldis, or Father Henry, was born Tianni Valkenbridge, second son of Yannis Valkenbridge, one of the most powerful priests of Mystra ever seen in Waterdeep. Tianni followed his father into the priesthood, where he had the best tutors and showed tremendous potential to be a priest of great learning and power. He took great pride in his heritage, in his growing power, and in the trust that was being placed on him.

As is the tradition with younger sons, Tianni went out into the world carrying only a mace, a suit of armour and a holy symbol that was his mother's parting gift. And, as is the tradition with younger sons, Tianni got his ass handed to him several times, by a variety of goblins, orcs and - most memorably - a "savage boar" who turned out to be a runaway pig.

Back at home to recuperate, Tianni was matched up by church connections with a cell of harper agents investigating rumours of increased Zhentarim activity in the north. For five years, Tianni Valkenbridge became a mainstay of the Harper organization in the region, healing and bolstering the spirits of hundreds of injured Harpers, researching old texts and sometimes joining in battles against the Zhents and their allies.

Then Tianni fell in love with a young candlemaker named Glauna. After something of a whirlwind courtship, and to the extreme consternation of her family, Tianni and Glauna married. For several months after, Tianni maintained his work with the Harpers as usual. Then a nearly-successful assassination attempt forced them to reconsider. After much negotiation, and without the knowledge of either family, the Harpers helped put forth the lie that the assassination had been a success, while Tianni and Glauna slipped away to buid a new life in Cormyr, in Suzail, under the names Henry and Gayle Aldis.

Gayle opened a candle-making shop, and Tianni joined the local priesthood - always being careful never to show TOO much promise. Once in a while, Tianni helped out Harper agents in need, but mostly, they settled in to raise six children and build a life together in Suzail.

Much against Henry's wishes, their second-oldest child, a headstrong redhead named Kilith, took to the adventuring trade. She had been an archer of some skill as a youth, and trained and served with the rangers of the King's Forest for three years.

Four months ago, Kilith joined a group of adventurers who had set out to learn what had become of Tilverton in the aftermath of the assault by the City of Shade. Again, she shouted down her parents' concerns, and slipped away in the night.

Now, nothing has been heard from them in months, and the strongest divinations open to Henry or the other priests in Cormyr have come up empty. He has resolved to put back on his Harper gear and go out in search of her. Gayle and the remaining children are, of course, less than thrilled, but Henry is adamant. Calling on contacts from the Harpers, he has been sent the mage-swordsman Talon Bro'den and the veteran archer Hugo Ironsides, to assist in tracking down Kilith. Recently, he has learned that [PLOT HOOK PROVIDED BY DM], and having purchased a stout riding horse, has hit the road.

Studious, brave, rude sometimes to those he see's as doing or being stupid, charming, intelligent.

Noh "Noah" Tresser Race: Human Class: Wizard3 (Focused Conjurer, C. Mage)/Master Specialist2 Expected Class Build: Wizard3 (Focused Conjurer)/Master Specialist2/Malconvoker9/????????6 Age: 19 If the youth was dressed in slightly less ostentatious clothes, instead of the Cimbar College robe he pointedly wears, he'd be quite nondescript; his face long and gaunt, eyes slightly sunken, and hair a roughly piled mop. A perpetually inattentive expression lives on his face, only shifting into one of complete focus when he opens a book, most often chock full of spells. Sticklike limbs poke out of sleeves seemingly far too large for him, his fingers spindly to the point of seeming fragile. While not particularly quiet or withdrawn, one always gets the impression that Noah is thinking about two or maybe even three other topics at any given time, from the way he'll drag completely unrelated subjects into a conversation. How he manages to stay sane is beyond anyone's guess. A strange mix of social and anti-social, he prefers to remain alone - even close companions can feel unwanted at times. Given the option to stay in his quarters studying or mingling with the crowd in the common room below, he'd take the former ten times out of ten. Should he be thrust into a social situation though, he pulls out all the stops, gladly committing himself to the scene, buying rounds of drinks and telling stories, bringing every inch of his wit to bear to make the event a more pleasant one for all involved. It's only fair, after all. Between the two extremes, he averages what most would call a normal social life. After what one Shadow Weave artifact did to him, his late classmates and professors, and his school, Noah cannot not fight against the forces of the Shadow Weave any harder than if he were geased. After realizing the epic conflict that is going on far above his level, of Shar's growing machinations against Mystra and Azuth, he has no greater wish than to join the forces of the Weave in blocking Shar whenever the Dark Goddess makes her push. This is his ultimate goal - to preserve the magic of the Weave with every resource he can muster. Obtaining power along the way is merely a perk.

"The Weave may be ours now, but that could change tomorrow. These artifacts must be sealed away. No one person should ever have that much power..."

Born into a family of magic users of all types, Noh was so named at his mother's exhaled exclamation at the news that he was yet another son in a family already filled with eight of them - the number would rise to fifteen in the end. Even as roughly half of his brothers found mundane outlets for their talents, the other half inherited magical talents, whether natural, divine, or arcane in nature. Quickly renaming himself "Noah" to avoid massive confusion in everyday conversation, he began wreaking havoc in the house with his newfound "friends" summoned from the Celestial plane. Soon, his parents quickly found themselves without sufficient time to teach him personally (the other sons might have had something to do with that) and shipped him off to Cimbor in Chessenta.

There his energies were far more taxed, but he had the keen mind of his grandfather. No textbook problem, whether arcane or architectural, from conjuring or calculus, could befuddle him. Even his occasional escapades with the rambunctious Taladric were unable to dampen his academic record, escaping expulsion himself only due to his exemplary exam scores and his tendency to become meek in the face of inquisition, stymieing further punishment. It was commented that only a building collapsing on him would stop his meteoric rise up the college grades.

Unfortunately, one would, when a ritual to unlock the power of a Shadow Weave artifact literally wiped the mage's college off the map, the rest of Chessentan saved only by the wards of the college.

It didn't stop him in the intended way, though. Surviving the blast with all the tenacity of a bisected earthworm, the only reason he failed to graduate from college was the lack thereof. On his sickbed, his gaping wounds cared for by the motherly Glynelde whom he came to know as "Nurse", he begged for and received the ear of the bereaved headmaster. He told him of things he had seen in the waves of the blast before the walls collapsed around him. Shar, machinating to overthrow the Weave. Azuth and Mystra aware of the threat, yet doing little to stop it, believing themselves secure. Most frightening of all, demons from a lower plane, waiting for their chance to enter the Material plane, and yet the seductive voice of power telling him he could harness them for power unimaginable.

And that alongside the artifact that the college had possessed, there had been a second artifact, one that had been lost in the escape from the dungeon. It would be recovered, and the incident would repeat itself once more in Cimbar - except without the wards of a college to protect the surrounding land, the blast would be magnified a hundredfold, able to blow away entire nations.

Bowing his head in realization of the boy's noble goal, the headmaster taught Noh his final lessons, and presented him with his degree personally.

Glynelde refused to let him leave her sight, pointing out his fragility. Letting her in on his visions as well, he was unable to convince her to join his cause, even as the new acolyte of Azuth that she was. (Her past history of coddling him while he had recovered might also have had something to do with it.) It was just as well, for divinations and hired investigations alike failed, and even if he could get out of his bed he wouldn't have known where to go.

And then Taladric, of all people, returned to them, stone-faced with his discovery of some Shar cabal's possession of that second artifact.

Soon enough, perhaps through the grace of Azuth, he found his walking legs again, practically carried into battle by Glynelde, who still refused to let him escape her care. Between Azuth's blessings, Noah's planar allies, and Taladric's swordplay, they delayed the ritual long enough for the Cimbar guardsmen and a small army of other offended adventurers to intervene and ultimately seal the cursed object safely away.

They've heard news now of a third such artifact, hidden in the sands of Raurin. The remnants of the Cimbar college claim that it's "not their problem". But knowing the destructive potential of Shar's tools, Noah and Taladric set out to find it, Glynelde trailing with them to "ensure his recovery". How they'll seal it is beyond them, but they know that no one can be trusted with such a weapon - not even the wisest of kings.

Standing at six foot seven, Gorak is not the largest breature in the world, but none the less intimidating. He has long, rough black braided hair and a thick beard. Gorak has covered his body in ceremonial scars. However, to the trained eyes, the scars aren't wuite right. It's as if they were done by a man or dwarf, and they just don't look right. His skin is a light grey, with thick muscled limbs. Like many orcs, Goraks two lower tusks jut out from his mouth. The tusk on his left is fractured, missing the tip. His eyes are brown and face is stern to almost all he takes the time to notice. Gorak wears hide armor, looking like a mix of multiple beasts, primarily bear fur. His arms are left uncovered to show off his odd scars.

Gorak is headstrong and sometimes foolhardy. However, he is prone to moments of wisdom from time to time. He tries to act as a free spirit, rebelling against the laws set by humans. He gives off the appearance that he is a tough bastard who doesn't care about the world, but in secret he is extremely loyal to those who earn his trust, which is a lot easier than you think. The best way to describe Gorak is that he is not the stereotypical orc you'd expect, but is trying to become that stereotypical orc. Although most laws mean nothing to him, Gorak lives by a strong moral code of respect. If you respect Gorak, he will respect you. If you disrespect someone Gorak believes should not be treated that way, he'll more than happy to express his opinion of the situation in the most blunt way possible. Gorak feels a strong need to connect himself with his orcish roots. He will do almost anything to attain any knowledge or heirloom of orcish societies. Because of this, he tends to alienate himself from other races. But since he has lived with other races for so long, he has become accustomed to working with other races and will do so without complaint, he simply would rather not.

Gorak was born into a moderately sized orc tribe. His family was not of high importance, no cheiftan rights or anything like that. Just a warrior father and a mother. Gorak's father spent much of his time teaching his son the ways of an orc, trying to make Gorak a greater warrior when he comes of age. Unfortunately, Gorak's father would not live to see his son become a true warrior. One day, when Gorak was only five years of age, a neighboring goblin tribe attacked the orc tribe with overwhelming numbers. And though the Orcs fought with great strength, it was not enough to push back the Goblins. While Gorak remained in his home, it collapsed upon him, causing him head trauma. Gorak lay in his destroyed home for over a day, not knowing of anything happening outside. His only contact with the outside world was his hand sticking out from the rubble. But he then heard something. It sounded like to creatures speaking with each other. Then, he felt something pointy poke his hand. His hand flinched, followed by a quick gasp by one of the creatures. Then, the rubble of his destroyed home was lifted from him, and he soon saw that a human couple had found him. They spoke to each other in a tongue he could not understand, just watching him, and then apparently arguing. And then finally, the man tried to pick him up. Gorak tried to fight back, biting and flailing his arms, but he was just too weak from his injuries. The man and woman took him away from his destroyed tribe, into the woods. After tending to Gorak's wounds, the humans then seemingly proceeded to raise Gorak as their own. However, this would be more difficult then they'd ever expected. Gorak was a terror. He did not want to live with humans, he wanted to go home. He would throw tantrums and break furniture any chance he gained. But within the first year, it eventually settled in to Gorak's mind that his parents were dead. His tribe was dead. There was no going home. Gorak then learned to somewhat accepted his adoptive parents. They taught him common, and how to read and write, and Gorak attempted to live the lifestyle of a human. But he never truly lost his wild side. When Gorak reached adolescence, he reignited his want to become a full orc again. He would commonly skip his chores to go off alone into the woods, to try and reconnect to his orcish roots. He searched for many days, but eventually found the original site of his tribe. By now it was hard to tell anything had been there, and as he traveled through the remains, he found a small flail. He then decided that if he was to become an orc, he would have to learn how to be a warrior first. He began practicing daily. It was not easy, he even smacked himself in the face with the flail and broke his tusk. One day he came home to find his adoptive parents waiting for him. They were angry that he has been skipping his chores so often. His father forbid him from using the flail again. Gorak became furious. He was an orc from a warrior family, not some cheap form of labor. He now could see that humans were soft, and his time with them had made him soft too. He took his flail and left that night, not caring where,just anywhere he could be an orc. Gorak spent the rest of his years in the woods alone, learning to live on his own. He even managed to make light living off of excorting merchants through the woods as a short cut. But this life would soon become boring, and Gorak decided that the only way to become a true warrior is to go where the other warriors gather now... In a human city. Gorak now heads to the nearest human civilization, however he has never really gotten to know any humans for more than a day other than his adoptive parents, and is soon about to learn that human society might not be as soft as he thinks.

Gorak had come to decide that he would need a better, larger weapon before he could travel on his own. He made one last trip to the ruins of his tribe, but this time he went to the one place that, as a child, he was forbidden to go too. The shaman's tent. Surprisingly enough, it was one of the few homes still standing, though badly burned. It had been looted over the years, probably not just by goblins, and just as Gorak was about to leave believing nothing was left, he tripped. Gorak caught himself before falling over completely, and looked behind him to find what looked like a small latch buried in the ground. Gorak began digging in the dirt with his hands to find what looked to be a crude casket buried in a shallow grave. But how did it get there? Orcs do not build wooden caskets for the dead. And how could all the looters prior to Gorak have missed a latch sticking right out of the ground? It must have been recent. Regardless though, Gorak's curiosity got the better of him. He had to know what would be buried in a casket in an Orc Shaman's destroyed hut. Upon opening it, Gorak discovered.... an Orc body? What? Who would bury an Orc body in a casket? And on top of that, the body did not seem to be that old. There was no way the body had been decomposing for twenty years. Gorak looked the body over, but noticed there was an inner pocket in the casket. There was an inscription on the outside of the pocket stating in common"He lived as an Orc but died as a man. May one of his brothers find the remains of this hero and use the strength he imbued into his equipment to continue his honor" Gorak opened the pocket to find a large flail, clearly orcish, but of superior quality to his small flail. He also found an outfit made of fine furs, dark to instill fear probably. Gorak read over the inscription one more time, bowed his head to the corpse, and then removed the flail and hide armor. He reburied the casket, this time burying the latch, and moved on.

Gorak was fairly familiar with the wilds. Unfortunately, he soon came to realize that still did not compare to actually knowing where a human civilization was. He had never been to an actual city, and soon realized he was wandering in one direction not knowing if there was any city in that direction.

One day, Gorak came to a pass he had come by many times in his younger years. After watching groups of different bandits living in the pass, he had learned many secret routes and hiding places in the pass, and Gorak had decided as an adolescent that this was where he would prove his right to be a warrior, but had never gotten the chance to. Gorak decided that now was the time to test himself.

But even before he could draw his flail, he heard voices. Though the sun hurt his eyes, Gorak could just barely make out three human men on their way to the pass. Gorak quickly moved behind some rocks, keeping his distance from the humans. Gorak was large and easily noticeable, and these were men he did not want to notice them. He watched as they entered the pass, slowly grinning to himself. "These foolish soft humans don't stand a chance. The bandits will crush them easily. And sure enough, a group of goliath bandits leapt from all around, surrounding the humans. But then something happened that Gorak did not expect. The humans fought the bandits. They fought well. They did not stand down, or scream and flee, they fought. And one did something Gorak had never seen before. He made bright energies surround himself and his allies, giving the humans some sort of magical protection from the bandits. Gorak had heard of magic before, but had never seen it before, of heard of it used like this. Gorak's curiosity was peaked.

The humans were overrun and eventually had to flee, as Gorak expected. But, he wasn't thrilled with it as much as he thought he would have been. A part of him wanted these humans to triumph. Gorak decided he wanted to know why these humans are so different. He had to speak with them, learn about them, maybe even travel with them. Afterall, they seemed to know where they were going and Gorak had no idea where the nearest city was. Gorak approached the party as they tended to their wounds. Upon seeing him, one of them placed his hand on his longbow. He didn't draw it, he simply watched Gorak closely. Gorak put up his hands, stating he is coming as a friend. He told them his name, and the humans introduced themselves as Hugo, Talon, and Henry. He told them of one of the secret ways through the pass that the bandits do not know about. The man with the bow seemed skeptical, while the other two were difficult to read. But nonetheless, the group decided to believe Gorak and followed his lead through the pass.

Upon exiting the pass, Gorak then stood by as the humans walked pass them, but then began to follow them a few feet behind them. The humans seemed surprised that he was following, but didn't bother to question it. Gorak assumed they just realized that having the strength of an orc on their side would prove useful, and Gorak couldn't help but smile and agree with himself on that decision. Gorak has no idea what lies ahead at the human civilization, but is looking forward to proving his strength as a warrior. However, he has no idea what he is getting himself into.

Dissiam is a well groomed catfolk. He has a sleekly muscled humanoid body and the head and mane of a feline. He has silky grey and black fur that covers his entire body. His eye's are a peircing green, and even more radiant in the shadows that often taunt his enemies. his features are actually fairly stunning amoungst his peoples standards, however, what sets him apart is his superior height. Dissiam is over 8' tall, which is practically unheard of for his race. He is purportionate for his height, and thus his height provides him with a much longer reach than most other humanoids ooc. Though his nails are thicker than most humanoids he does not possess the strong claws of his feline counterparts, and makes unarmed strikes the same as any other common humanoid.

Dissiam does not burden himself with heavy armor. He wears simple leather with very little battle-damage to show, which means he either has not seen many battles, or rarely allows himself to be hit. Though the latter is true, most people would speculate the former given his well groomed appearance.

Like most catfolk, Dissiam is a very emotional creature. he is quick to anger and just as quick to forgive. Most people he has encountered enjoy his company despite his mercurial temperment, finding his free-flowing emotion and enjoyment for life refreshing. However, being an emotional creature the seperation from his people has weighed heavy on him, a burden he constantly endures. In his heart Dissiam feels alone, though, through the years he has learned to mask those feelings from the people around him with his playful demenour. His emotions make him fairly unpredictable, and when others call him down or discriminate against him he is as likely to draw arms as he is to turn a cold shoulder, pass it off as ignorance, or respond with a jest.

He is as proud as any of his race to be a catfolk. Although he is a very proud individual, he sometimes suffers from a low self-esteem caused not by other races or creatures who try to belittle him, but from his own people. His struggle with his self-esteem and feelings of loneliness all stem from his peoples rejection of his deformity. His borderline obsession for good hygein is the result of his desire to be liked and accepted.

As time moves on Dissiam longs to be with others of his race, mabey even a mate, though this is a secret wish he has never told anyone about. He hopes to one day earn the respect of his people and once again be welcomed and respected in their community, as it was in his memories of his childhood before his condition was noticed.

Dissiams tribe originates from the Dalelands within the Cormanthyr forest. When Dissiam came of age he had grown freakishly taller than others of his race. None in his tribe had ever seen anything like him from within their own race, and didn't know what to make of it. As it is with most people who are different than the rest, he was teased and mocked, and some actually thought he was cursed. After his father died in battle and mother to disease he soon found it hard to fit in, and eventually decided to leave his community.

Dissiam had always been very agile and stealthy and retained these skills despite his height. He learned how to survive on his own in the wild, and one day he happen to save a travelling cleric of Shaundakul named Phelos Mistarn. The cleric was very thankful for the rescue and they began to chat while he healed his wounds. Dissiam was so swept up by the clerics tales of all the marvelous places he had been and things he had seen that Dissiam accepted the clerics offer to return to his home city.

Dissiam was glad to have found a place where he was not judged by all for his deformity. Instead, he was welcomed and trained as a cleric of Shaundakul with Phelos Mistarn. Though, it didn't take long for Dissiams potential in combat to be recognized. During his pilgrimage south his combat skills were trained and honed. Phelos recognized his height offered him great advantages and so, helped him train to properly combine his agile nature with his natural advantages with what knowledge he had to offer.

The emotional stress of his parents death resulted in his overreaction to what he believed his peoples perspective of him was. Though the younger ones teased him, and rumors made him a primary target of conversation amoungst his tribe, the reality was his people did still consider him one of their own. When he left the tribe most simply believed his decision came from wanderlust and want of adventure. Dissiam has yet to gain the proper perspective of his peoples true feelings of him that run deeper than the surface teasings and rumors he was subjected to. A perspective that could one day free him of his burden of loneliness.

Swashbuckler/Fighter Levels
Changed the build to only 1 Level of Wizard, took the first roll that was here

Though he fails to be impressively muscular, Taladric's tall, lean frame is athletic and sturdy. His delicate features, high cheek bones and angular brow, combined with his aristocratic air, make him seem refined. His handsome visage is topped with fine, shoulder length brown hair that hangs freely. His taste in fashion borders on the flamboyant, though he has made clear compromises in his couture required by his newly found life as an adventurer. He comports himself with no small measure of confidence and grace, his movements deft and sure. Ever the charmer, the barmaids that could resist the twinkle in his bright blue eyes and the disarming power of his dimpled smile have been few and far between.

Raised amongst the nobility of Cimbar, Taladric shares much in common with other Chessentan aristocrats. He has a deep and unrelenting commitment to the finer things in life, taking a great joy in fine spirits, good theater, and a rousing tune. Prone to over indulgence in food, wine, and women, he also posses an unhealthy passion for the excitement of battle, a frequent duelist before circumstance put his martial prowess to more practical uses. His sharp mind him accepted to the wizarding academy in Cimbar, but his lack of discipline and focus saw him expelled. Scorning deep study in musty libraries, Taladric prefers to apply his intellect to wit and clever swordplay.

His privileged background has left him with a glaring blind spot to his surrounding. He goes through life relatively unaware, failing to take situations seriously until things become dire. He generally treats life as a light-hearted joke, delighting in poetic irony nearly as much as a good ale. His obliviousness and dismissive attitude toward danger can make him a frustrating traveling companion. His ceaseless sense of humor, and bright disposition can, however, be a salve in the dark places of Faerun.

Borne to the nobility of Cimbar, Taladric was raised in luxury and decadence characteristic of Chessenta aristocracy. The younger of his parent's two sons he never felt the pressure of learning to handle the family's affairs. Instead he grew up pampered and undisciplined, a constant embarrassment to both his father and his elder brother. If he wasn't getting drunk and instigating a lethal duel, he was scandalously seducing married women. In attempt to instill discipline, or at least hide away the black sheep, his family pulled strings to have young Taladric accepted into the Wizard College.

His study of the arcane arts was an unmitigated disaster. Though he possessed a naturally gifted mind he never took wizardy seriously. Rarely attending class, preferring to hold riotous 'study groups' in the taverns near the campus. While he only managed to master the simplest spells, his charm and zeal for life did win him many friends both among Professors and his fellow students. He was fond of drawing the bookish apprentices out of the library and exposing them to the finest Cimbar has to offer.

His tenure at the school was brief, and shortly following his summary expulsion his old habits landed him in even more trouble than usual. While celebrating his release from what he termed "that arcane prison," Taladric turned his charms on a visiting noblewomen he met at the theater. It wasn't until after he was caught in her bed by her husband that he realized she was the wife of an ambassador of a rival Chessenta city-state. The scandal rocked local politics and ended the revocation of Taladric's title and his banishment from Cimbar.

Never pausing on regret, Taladric adapted well to life in exile. He traveled across Chessenta, living off the charity of rich lonely women until his reputation caught up with him and he was forced to move on to the next city-state. Though banished, he remained a patriot of Cimbar, and the news of the Shadow Weave disaster left him crushed. Inspired to vengeance over the what he perceived as an attack on his hometown, Taladric began to investigate the Shadow Weave and it's acolytes. When he stumbled upon a cabal of Shar worshipers preparing to activate another artifact, he knew he had to act.

Returning in secret to Cimbar, he recruited the aide of his old friends Noah and Glynelde. Together they foiled the Sharrites plans, possibly preventing another disaster.

Cassandra is a human woman with a slim figure, white hair, and dark brown eyes. She would be very beautiful by human standards if she weren't always looking a bit tired and more than a bit haunted.

Cassandra wishes for peace above all things and time for lore and learning. Her passion for books and written materials borders on a mania. Instead she is driven by prophetic visions toward goals she can only guess at.

Cassandra was born in Shadowdale to Sir Vandamar Blackthorn, a retired knight turned farmer, and Eloria of Mistdale, a famous sage of religious lore. The two had settled in a remote section of Shadowdale that was covered with old-growth forest. Sir Vandamar cleared the forested lands, first of monstrous infestations, then of trees. He left a small section of woods between his farm and the nearby swamp. Used to fighting in the heaviest armor, Sir Vandamar had always distained swamp and marshlands, and so he left it alone, renaming the band of trees that blocked the view of the swamp the Barrier Woods.

After clearing the trees out, at a substantial profit, Sir Vandamar found that his new farmlands were very productive due to the combination of an easily tapped aquifer and excessive sunshine. Added to the substantial monies from years of soldiering and adventuring, he became quite wealthy. Naturally, much of his gold went to building a mansion and acquiring a substantial library for his wife.

When Cassandra was born, she was greatly loved and doted on. Early on, she showed great promise and an extremely high intelligence. Her favorite place in the world was her mother’s library, and her favorite thing to do was sit in her mother’s lap and listen to Eloria reading to her.

Eloria was dedicated to the worship of Oghma and Vandamar to Tyr, but each kept their beliefs separate from their marriage and their devotion to their daughter. Neither parent pushed their god on Cassandra, though they both encouraged their daughter to find a god or goddess to worship. Eloria knew that the godless could become easy pawns for certain powers - particularly old, forgotten deities who had little reason to act godly anymore. Cassandra’s choices in this area, however, remained uncertain - particularly because the books she read from her mother’s library would often describe how the gods manipulated mortals, their worshippers most of all.

Little did anyone suspect that at the center of the old swamp was the remnant of an ancient fane dedicated to the sun god, Amaunator. It was the presence of a remnant of Amaunator's power that lent the region such a sunny climate. Furthermore, this particular fane was dedicated to the arguable notion that Amaunator was also the lord of time, and therefore a god of prophetic nature.

Cassandra was in her teens, learning lore at her mother’s knee and the practical wisdom of a farmer from her father, when the greed of others annexed her life. A Zhentarim raiding party attacked Sir Vandamar’s lands, and her father was caught in the fields during harvest, hard-pressed to defend himself or others. Cassandra saved her father’s life when she flanked the raider that was pressing him hard, attacking him with her scythe. As anyone who has been on the wrong end of a peasant revolt can attest, a scythe can be a terrifying weapon; a weapon for which nobody, not even its wielder, can precisely predict where the blade will be at any particular moment. The raider learned this lesson in his last moments of his life as the teenage girl was blooded in her first mortal combat.

While Cassandra and some of the field hands held the raiding party back, her father was able to break away long enough to don his armor and return to the fray. Sir Vandamar, armed and armored, was an unstoppable juggernaut that destroyed the attackers quickly. All seemed well, until it was noticed that smoke was rising from the manse. The survivors rushed to put out the fires and assess the damage… they realized belatedly that a second party had approached from a different direction and after Sir Vandamar returned to defend the fields, they had attacked the mansion. Eloria had been hiding, until the raiders fired the library. When she ran out, trying to save her books, the Zhentarim cut her down and fled, taking what portable loot they could manage.

Clearing up the damage and healing the wounded took priority over vengeance. Unfortunately, the priests that were contacted to raise Eloria proved unwilling to the task. Priests of Oghma proclaimed that since Eloria had died defending knowledge, Oghma had taken her directly to his bosom. Similarly, the priests of Tyr refused to raise someone who fought and died in honorable battle against overwhelming odds. The only other priests available in the area were druids who held a longtime grudge against Sir Vandamar for clearing the forest. This refusal to bring back her mother cemented Cassandra’s certainty to distain the worship of any of the gods. That decision, and her grief, left Cassandra open to Amaunator's influence the next time she wandered too close to the barrier woods. Cassandra thought it was her own choice when she decided to leave her home the next month to join the Arcanum in Cormyr - instead it was the remnant of the forgotten god, eroding her willpower and making it easy to control his new vessel.

The Arcanum was a collection of scholars: wizards, bards, cloistered priests, and archivists. Their primary function was to preserve knowledge and train the next generation of lore seekers. Some of the professors and students held reverence for Oghma, but the Arcanum made no distinction between worshippers of any faith. Arriving with the remains of her mother’s library (Eloria’s final bequest) and a hefty endowment from her father in Eloria’s name, Cassandra was welcomed into that august institution as the youngest candidate ever accepted. Exposed to the massive and highly disorganized collection of books in The Stacks, Cassandra’s bibliophilic inclinations seemed to turn into a full-scale mania.

Cassandra had take up wizard’s training, but studied any lore if there was even the flimsiest connection to whatever her latest interest was. Twice, she picked up an entirely new language to understand some particular nuances of a research topic. Many of the students took to calling her “The Walking Grimoire,” while most of the professors wondered if she planned to read the entire collection in the stacks before she graduated. Needless to say, in the face of her excellence, her rise was as meteoric as her later fall.

As she studied, Cassandra began to focus on divination - distaining the unsubtle art of evocation. However, as she learned and practiced spells, she found her stomach turning whenever she tried to handle enchantments, so she eventually eschewed that school of magic as well, becoming an extremely focused diviner. She also collected stories from every source she could: every book, every professor, and every student; to better understand what she might eventually face in an adventuring career.

Cassandra’s rapid progress didn’t consistently win her friends. One student who didn’t appreciate being shown up in classes was Perryn DaFoe. His father, Pater DaFoe, was an aristocrat, and as the son of a high-ranking noble, Perryn was used to others deferring their excellence in his presence. Feeling slighted by a mere girl, Perryn decided his best tactic would be to woo her, and make her his plaything. Unfortunately, Perryn had never before had to deal with cold indifference from the fairer sex. Not only did Cassandra fail to respond to his advances… she didn’t even seem to get that he was extending himself on her behalf. This eventually led to greater misunderstanding and an attempted rape.

Cassandra, faced with Perryn’s greater strength, realized that she was outclassed in hand-to-hand combat. To protect herself, and intimidate him, she cast a spell she had memorized in Transmutation class, one which increased her strength and turned her fist to stone. Perryn continued trying to grapple her, and she easily broke his hold and slammed him to the ground. At the Arcanum, it was a strict rule that no magic could be used to harm a professor or another student, so even as Perryn was brought up on attempted rape, Cassandra was brought up on charges of arcane malfeasance.

Eventually, the governing committee decided that although Perryn’s actions instigated the events - enough doubt was cast that he wasn’t sentenced for attempted rape, only battery; and Cassandra was charged with the same since she was defending herself. Both were sentenced to three lashes at a public flogging, and although Cassandra faced the whipping with aplomb, Perryn did not - not only collapsing, but weeping and raging at his mistreatment. Naturally, he swore vengeance, however, Sir Vandamar had contacted Pater DaFoe, warning him that if his son as much as touched Cassandra again, they would meet on the field of honor. Pater told his son to leave the girl alone, which infuriated Perryn.

Blocked from seeking direct harm against Cassandra, Perryn planned a revenge that would hurt her far more than any physical damage, and which could not be traced back to him. When students entered the highly flammable stacks, they would check out everburning torches, which shed only light. When she next visited the stacks, Perryn saw to it that an accomplice handed the distracted girl a real torch, something she did not notice right away. When a spark from the torch she was carrying set fire to a folio she was perusing, the sextons set upon her and her Stack privileges were revoked indefinitely by the chief archivist. Banned from studying books save under closely supervised conditions in the classroom, it was left to Cassandra to figure out a way to sneak into The Stacks: searching out architectural plans, sneaking through dark, forgotten passages, while avoiding or circumventing various traps, both mechanical and magical. These she tried, and eventually succeeded. Perryn was waiting for this, however, watching her… when he saw her unable to follow her passion for books, she was moody and grouchy. When she suddenly brightened, Perryn knew she’d found her secret way in, and called down the sextons again to trap her. When she was discovered breaking the ban that had been placed on her, the governing committee decided to expel her from the Arcanum permanently. She was also the youngest person ever to achieve that distinction, one which, as of yet, has not been broken.

In her adventuring career that followed, Cassandra’s acquaintances have noticed that the diviner is almost always twitchy, but also invaluable in spotting and detecting threats. She slowly gained something of a reputation: that parties she accompanied were almost never taken by surprise. Having gathered enough gold, she suddenly decided to fund her own expedition to some ruins that she had read about, which were located in the swamp near her home. She visited her father, and then set out into the heart of the swamp, only to find the ancient fane of the sun god. Locating its central chamber and deciphering the ancient pictograms, Cassandra unfolded the lost history of the people of Amaunator. An epiphany about the nature of gods and religion struck her then, and that night, as she slept in the ruins, Amaunator clamed his first divine oracle in over a millennium.

Wakening from a horrific vision of the future which she has never been able to recall, Cassandra found her hair had turned white. She has come to realize that her hatred for enchantment magic was because of the constant subtle mind control of Amaunator that guided her to the point that she could become his oracle. He no longer influences her actions directly, but since that time, Cassandra suffers visions: some as quick sporadic insights, others as elaborate dreams. Amaunator occasionally lets her feel she has a measure of self-guidance, cajoling her with the prospect of her freedom, but just as often he drives her with blindingly painful visions toward a goal she can only guess at. She is god-ridden by a being that is forgotten, but seeks to bring its power back into the world.