Character Creation Rules and Applications

*COMPLETE*


Name: Misha Sharman
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 16
Party Role: Healer
Description: Misha wears a dark blue robe with a black shirt and pants underneath, along with black sandals. His black hair is long and tied back in a ponytail with a matching ribbon. Since he wears a black blindfold, his eyes are not seen unless he takes it off. Should he do so, however, it reveals that his eyes have no pupils or irises. Instead, they are completely gray, as if clouds cover them.
Personality: Rather than serving a particular deity, Misha believes that there is a positive force of good that many of the deities embody. He also holds true to the notion that everyone has good within them, even if some people have had theirs buried deeply. As a result, he always prefers trying to speak to people instead of fighting with them, and will not strike back unless another person is at stake. He tries to stay positive and smiles often, knowing that it is a way to make others feel at ease.
Background: Misha was blind from birth. His father left before his mother had him, and his mother died of illness when Misha was six. Ever since, he lived on the streets with a cloth covering his gray eyes, which he had learned many people found disturbing. Due to his handicap, other orphans often stole from him, leaving him hungry and heartsick for a friend. When he was eight, he came across a boy who was two years older and severely wounded in an alleyway. Misha realized, to his amazement, that he could visualize the boy in his mind. When he reached out to touch the wounds, energy emerges from his hands to heal the boy's wounds. He fled when the boy stirred, afraid of what his reaction would be.

A few days later, Misha got cornered by a typical group of orphans that saw him as an easy target. The boy Misha had healed appeared to chase the group away. This boy, Cale, said to Misha that nobody had ever cared about what happened to him. He was grateful for being healed and asked to remain with him to return the favor. They stayed together for the next seven years as close friends. Shortly after turning sixteen, Misha was not feeling well one day, so Cale left to get their next meal on his own. He never returned. Filled with worry, Misha left to search for him. With his limited mental visions, it was proving to be a nearly impossible task, especially since he had no idea what had happened. All Misha knew was that Cale would never willingly abandon him.
Strengths:

• Caring
• Loyal
• Trustworthy
• Strong convictions
• Faith in others

Weaknesses:

• Frail
• Low self confidence
• Too trusting
• Shy
• Rarely can bring self to harm others

Questionnaire:
IC Thread: Roaming the Streets

Name: Misha Sharman
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 16
Class: Oracle (Mystery: Life/Curse: Clouded Vision)
Description: Misha wears a dark blue robe with a black shirt and pants underneath, along with black sandals. His black hair is long and tied back in a ponytail with a matching ribbon. Since he wears a black blindfold, his eyes are not seen unless he takes it off. Should he do so, however, it reveals that his eyes have no pupils or irises. Instead, they are completely gray, as if clouds cover them.
Personality: Rather than serving a particular deity, Misha believes that there is a positive force of good that many of the deities embody. He also holds true to the notion that everyone has good within them, even if some people have had theirs buried deeply. As a result, he always prefers trying to speak to people instead of fighting with them, and will not strike back unless another person is at stake. He tries to stay positive and smiles often, knowing that it is a way to make others feel at ease.
Background: Misha never knew his parent's faces, for he was born blind. His father had left before his mother had him, and she never told him why, or if he was even alive. She raised Misha on her own as best as she could, but she was poor of health and often could not find work. Even though she struggled to survive for her son's sake, illness took her life when Misha was six years old.

Those memories are ones he can barely remember. Mostly, Misha's earliest memories are of his life on the streets. He quickly learned that people found his gray eyes to be disturbing, so he tied a cloth around his head to hide them. Though he could navigate and sometimes find scraps to eat, Misha was an easy target for other orphans to steal from. More than the hunger he suffered, Misha was constantly heartsick, longing for companionship. Occasionally he would be fortunate enough to meet someone who took pity on his blindness to give him a small donation, and while he was grateful to them, it was not the same as having someone constantly nearby.

His wish was granted when he was eight. When searching an alley for food, Misha came across a boy that looked to be about two years older and was severely wounded. He wanted desperately to help but did not know how. As he reached out, as if to close the wounds with his bare hands, Misha realized something amazing. He could see the boy in his mind. Never had he seen anything before, but despite his eyes still being useless and the blindfold being around them, he was able to make out how the boy looked. As he marveled at it, his hands began to feel warm, and energy emerged from them to seal the boy's wounds. Though astonished, when the boy began to stir, Misha fled, afraid of what his reaction would be to his unnatural powers.

A few days later, Misha was cornered by a typical group of orphans who saw him as someone to steal from and enjoy beating up. Though they landed quite a few blows on him, their attack was halted by the boy Misha had helped. His strength was enough to cause the small group to flee. He then managed to carry Misha to the small area he lived in below the streets and looked after him until he recovered from the attack.

The boy introduced himself as Cale. When Misha asked why he had helped him, Cale answered that nobody had ever cared about what happened to him. Since Misha had healed him, Cale had searched to thank him, and to offer his own aid. With the difficulties Misha faced on his own, Cale offered to help him as a constant guide. Misha wanted nothing more than to say yes, but he first removed his blindfold to show him his eyes. Cale's response was that he thought they looked neat and did not understand why he kept them hidden. That sealed their friendship.

The next seven years, the two of them stayed together to support each other. Cale handled fights when necessary while Misha healed him. As he grew, Misha began to be able to see more in his mind, to the point that he could pull up his surroundings as a mental image for a short distance at will. Even with this gift, he focused on enhancing his sense of touch, so he could navigate if his powers were to fail him. He continued to try and help those he could, though he had a special place in his heart for his first and closest friend, if friend was a strong enough word for his feelings.

One day, shortly after turning sixteen, Misha was not feeling well, so Cale left to get their next meal on his own. He never returned. Filled with worry, Misha left to search for him. With his limited mental visions, it was proving to be a nearly impossible task, especially since he had no idea what had happened. All Misha knew was that Cale would never willingly abandon him. It was possible he might even be dead, but Misha did not believe that to be the case. He had a strong feeling that he was alive, at the very least.

Character Sheet: Misha Sharman

Stats:

Stats, One:
Dice Roll: 4d6r1
d6 Results: 4, 3, 4, 4 (Total = 15)

Stats, Two:
Dice Roll: 4d6r1
d6 Results: 6, 5, 3, 2 (Total = 16)

Stats, Three:
Dice Roll: 4d6r1
d6 Results: 2, 5, 3, 3 (Total = 13)

Stats, Four:
Dice Roll: 4d6r1
d6 Results: 6, 3, 3, 3 (Total = 15)

Stats, Five:
Dice Roll: 4d6r1
d6 Results: 6, 3, 2, 3 (Total = 14)

Stats, Six:
Dice Roll: 4d6r1
d6 Results: 4, 4, 6, 5 (Total = 19)

Sorry, I messed that up and this was the only way I could see to continue without getting blue messages of doom.

So, final stats are: 12, 14, 11, 12, 12, 15. That is six points lower than Point Buy 25. Therefore, I am going to disregard these rolls and use Point Buy 25 instead.

Name: Weath Woolun
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Party Role: Front line combat/meatshield
Concept:

Featuring a solid build and height, this human male in his mid twenties does not appear to be very imposing sight. Blond hair caps the man's head, prone to being tossed about in the lightest breeze. The expressive and indeed curious eyes he bears are of a blue shade so pale in the right light one might think them grey. His cloth is average at best, common to many of the lower classes of the city.

Weath is a young man looking to find his own way in the world following some early mistakes. Curiosity about new things often overrides any fear of the unknown which has lead him into good times and bad. Though he is not the most diplomatic speaker, Wellin seeks friendships and rivalries in games and combat be it real or mock. He works hard to keep an open mind about a world he knows he is not a scholar in, nonetheless when his sense of justice is offended Weath can be known to press an issue with. . . intensity.
Theme

A second generation immigrant to Parthacia, Weath hails from a line of Ulfen folk looking for a home. Born not long after his mother and father settled down in the city the youth has known the life of the port city all his days. He knows also times of hardship and plenty with his woodworker father's efforts to provide for the family and see that his wife and only child at least had a roof over their heads even if at times it was little more than thin shelter.

Following in his father's footsteps Weath learned two trades reasonably well. How to work wood to make a proper and peaceful living; how to cut down anyone threatening that living. The young man did learn more of the world than just what his parents showed of course, apprenticing with a carpenter in repairing, replacing or in some cases building entirely new structures about town. This also lead the young man into trouble as a fellow apprentice introduced him to the drug known as 'shiver' which seemed to fulfill Weath's dreams. The addiction cast him into an underworld of need and despair until a near fatal experience that mixed the drug and muggers forced the man to finally break free of it. A hard road to walk to be certain and only partially successful as Weath has taken up pipe smoking in an effort to fight one addiction with another. While he attempts to get his feet back under him and remain distant from his family till he can make them proud again by his own reckoning, Weath has taken an Ulfen grudge to heart. Wanting to make the supplier of shiver pay, but finding his target has proven so far quite difficult. So far.

Courageous
Ambidextrous
Understanding
Cheerful

In his prowess

Overconfident
Curious

More important to know and spread truth than to hide it, even when it might do harm

Truthfulness
Wine

A pretty face is nice to look at. A pretty face with a smile for you is irresistible

Women
Gambling

Questionnaire:
IC Thread: Roaming the Streets

Stats (9,14,16,15,13,10)
Weath Woolun
Male NG Human Fighter(Unbreakable), Level 1, Init +1, HP 13/13, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 12, Flat-footed 17, Fort +5, Ref +2, Will +2, Base Attack Bonus 1
Battleaxe 5 (1d8+4, x3)
Unarmed Strike +5 (1d3+4, x2)
Dagger +5 (1d4+4, 19x2)
Scale Mail, Heavy Wood (+5 Armor, +2 Shield, +1 Dex)
Abilities Str 18, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 9
Condition None

Tcheperak is average for a tengu, with blue-black feathers and a powerful, black beak and talons. She stands about 4'5" and weighs in at 76 lbs, thanks in large part to her hollow bone structure. She tends to avoid the robes that many tengus wear, as she feels they restrict her movement; instead she wears tight bands of cloth, allowing her to use them as bandages in a pinch. She varies her armament based on the task at hand.

Tcheperak recognizes that gods exist, but has never been into worship. Instead, she relies on intense meditation and introspection, as well as reading a variety of philosophical texts. Her conclusions have led her to the belief that living things are made to live, so long as they have the ability to continue living, and that this ability should be tested. She is happy to provide that test for any who cross her. In addition, she despises the undead and non-living constructs, viewing them as perversions of the natural order.

Raised in a sprawling aerie just up the coast, Tcheperak knew from a very young age that there was cruelty in the world. Her brother was slain before her eyes by raiding band of goblins, there to steal food and set fires. When she tried to fight back, she was struck down and nearly died. For a long time, she was left with a fear of death from this encounter, and sought solace in books. She did not leave the aerie for years, and her parents grew worried.
After a while, however, she began to put together the pieces of what she had been reading, and cobbled together the beginnings of her personal philosophy. She resumed training with blades, and began venturing out on small forays to observe nature. Eventually she was able to replace her fear with determination. Taking only what she needed, she left her parents in the dark of night to begin adventuring, to discover more about the world and her place in it.

Born a blacksmith's son in a small village about two weeks' ride away from Parthacia, Skeeve lived in relative happiness with his parents and half-sister. That is, until a horde of goblins raided the village and ended up razing it to the ground. Heavily wounded, and not knowing if his family lived, a twelve year-old Skeeve escaped with nothing but the clothes on his back and his father's sword. He would have died there had he not been found by a small clan of pixies who decided to nurse him back to health. The pixie's shaman, on a whim, decided to start teaching Skeeve the basics of magic, and to both of their great surprises, he seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly.

But even still, it was two years later when Skeeve, barely adequate at the basics, finally felt the need to return to civilization. He was found by a minor noble out on a hunting trip with his retinue, and the noble's wizard recognized Skeeve's potential well enough to take him in as another apprentice, learning alongside her younger student. He returned to Parthacia with them, and the noble, a magnanimous man, insisted on giving Skeeve the opportunities his own children had. Within the past year, however, Skeeve's fellow apprentice has gone missing, and although the Parthacian guard has pledged to help, they haven't actually come up with much other than rumours about a man named Gaedren Lamm and his gang of children, and so Skeeve has taken up the search on his own.

These are pretty good, but I think I'm going to take the 25 point buy anyway. Mostly because I want a lower wisdom than a 12.
Actually, I think I will take the dice rolls; I'm going to assume there are no issues with me just dropping the 12 to an 8.

"And if you ever say anything like that about my mother again, you'll get it twice as worse!" The bruised and battered youth, sprawled on the ground, scrambled backwards before running away, and Skeeve sighed, rubbing his bruised knuckles. He was startled, though, by the soft voice behind him.

"Brother, why do people keep saying things like that about Mama?"

Turning to look at his little sister, Skeeve knelt down next to Sarah, and put a hand on her shoulder. She wasn't fully human, although it was easy to forget that at a glance, at least until she spoke. Although she was six and a half, thanks to her elven blood most humans would guess she was a girl of four or five. At least until she opened her mouth, anyway; to say she was precocious for her age didn't begin to cover it, and there were times that Skeeve thought he was the only person that realized that.

"Well, Sarah, sometimes people can't really deal with things they don't understand. You know that Dad isn't your real father, right?" At her nod of assent, Skeeve continued, "Well, so does the village, and they can't understand why Dad and Mom are still together." Truth be told, Skeeve didn't quite understand it himself. As near as he could tell, Sarah's father was an elven adventurer, one whose group had passed through when Skeeve was five, and had managed to seduce Ilena, his mother. When he got older, he started to understand the ramifications of that, but his father had forgiven Mom, for whatever reason, and that was good enough for Skeeve.

Continuing his explanation, Skeeve said, not without some amount of bitterness, "Since they don't understand, they seem to have decided that making us miserable is easier than the effort involved in thinking about the situation."

Sarah frowned. "But, that's not fair!"

Ruffling his sister's hair, he stood up. "I know it's not. But we persevere. Besides, what they do says more about them than it does about us, right?" He walked over to the fallen sack of coal, and hefted it up. "I have to go, Dad's waiting on this coal. I'll see you at home, okay?"

Waving, his sister dashed off, and Skeeve sighed, turning back on the path towards the smithy. He was going to get an earful about this latest fight when he got home, and he wasn't looking forwards to it.

*****

Skeeve had just become old enough to listen in on Village Council meetings when the goblin tribes started taking an interest in Charin's Rest, just after his twelfth birthday. Three attempts to raid the small village had fortunately been stopped by the militia, but they were close, each time, and the summer had only just barely begun. The raids would only get worse as the season went on, and Parthacia was over two weeks away, much too far away for reinforcements to be a possibility.

Skeeve's father, Edwin, was the village blacksmith, and was fairly well respected by the townsfolk, even if they didn't approve of his wife, and so sat on the Village Council; with his help, the council passed a motion to organize wilderness patrols, to give the village an early warning if they should come back. At the end of the meeting, when Skeeve came forward with the others to add his name to the list of volunteers for the patrols, Edwin smiled with grim approval. "Meet me at the shop before you go home, son. I have something for you."

Skeeve only had a few minutes to wait in the dim light inside the blacksmith's shop when his father arrived. Wasting little time, Edwin went to a tarp in the back, under from which he pulled the long, heavy length of a sword. "This is for you, son. I'd wondered about when the best time to give it to you, and I can't think of a better one than now."

Skeeve took the sword, holding the blade up and watching it gleam in the filtered light. "I... wow. I don't know what to say. Thank you, father. I'll treasure it."

Edwin clapped Skeeve on the shoulder. "Don't thank me, son. I have a feeling you'll have need of it before too long."

*****

Ilena looked worried as she set the table for breakfast. "So you're both going on this patrol? What happens if you find something?"

Skeeve, who already had his pack full and stowed by the front door, stayed silent despite his youthful exuberance as his father answered. "Then we'll stop them, and warn the village, just like the last time. Don't worry, dear, there will be twelve of us. We'll be fine, honestly. It's just a circuit around the village and then back. We'll be home in time for dinner tomorrow. I'll make sure that Skeeve will be okay."

Ilena was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entirety of the meal, which left Sarah to fill the void with questions about what happened the last time. Finally, though, the meal was finished, and Edwin and Skeeve made their last preparations to leave. As his parents embraced, Skeeve ruffled his little sister's hair. "Well, see you tomorrow, I guess, kid."

Sarah scowled, and moved to fix her hair. "You know I hate it when you do that."

Skeeve grinned unashamedly. "I do. Tell you what; I'll tell you a story about what happened when we get back."

Solemnly, Sarah replied, "Alright, then, I forgive you."

Grinning wider, Skeeve moved to give his mother a hug, and then, along with his father, went to meet the rest of the patrol in the village square.

*****

They had just finished packing up the camp for the morning, when Patrin spotted movement over one of the hills. They crawled up the side to get a better look, and although he only noticed when it was pointed out to him, there was no mistaking what they were looking at. Goblins. Hundreds of them.

They'd made the decision to get back to the village and start the evacuation when the scout patrol found them.

Twenty goblins strong, it was a furious battle, and not one that the militia, used to outnumbering its foes, had much chance of winning. Drawing his sword, and with a loud and, truth be told, terrified yell, Skeeve swung it clumsily at a goblin rushing at him. It was sheer luck as much as anything that his blade bit into the neck of a goblin, taking it down.

He turned just in time to watch a spear sink into his father's ribs.

Filled with a sudden rage, Skeeve raised his sword and yelled, fully intent on defeating his father's killer, but a slung rock crashed into the side of his head, and ended that plan. Staggering, Skeeve tumbled down the side of the ridge into a gully, sliding to a halt beneath some underbrush. Struggling, he tried to get back to his feet, but collapsed into unconsciousness.

*****

Waking up was not so much an event for Skeeve, as it was a process. For about twenty minutes he was aware of lying in the muck underneath the scrub, but he didn't understand why he couldn't see or move. Finally, he summoned up the energy to crawl out from underneath the brush, and he realized why that was so. It was night, the moon was high in the sky, and his head was throbbing painfully.

Gathering up his sword, and his packs out from underneath the bushes, he started the trek back towards the village. He paused, looking down at the corpses of his father and his companions, considering giving them a proper burial before setting out, but he ultimately discarded the idea; he was too weak, in too much pain, and the village's need was too great.

He set out on the trek back to Charin's Rest. The head wound made it difficult to walk quickly, or straight, or to catch his breath, so it was a long trip. He saw the flames long before the village, however; about an hour's walk away he could see the tongues of flames reaching up into the sky; the entire village had been set ablaze. Filled with despair, wanting to go and help his home, knowing he couldn't, Skeeve let out a strangled sob and turned north, fleeing into the nearby Cairnwood.

All that Skeeve could think about was the pain.

He didn't know how long ago he'd last had anything to drink. He didn't even know where he was going. Scenery passed; he barely noted it but to keep from walking into it. Eventually, he stopped doing even that. Finally, he collapsed. The soft, damp earth was surprisingly comfortable. So this is where I'm going to die... There was no sorrow or anger to the thought.

Time drifted on, but Skeeve didn't really notice. He was just waiting for the end. With a slight little smile, he thought he heard little wings, like hummingbirds, and high voices tinkling like the chiming of tiny bells. The sounds of little angels, he thought, and would have laughed if he could remember how. Then he felt a dozen tiny hands pressing and prodding his side, trying to get him to roll over, and with the last burst of his strength, he pushed himself and rolled onto his back. Onto a nice soft fur. Skeeve furrowed his brow a little, even as a lithe, winged female form hovered over him, speaking in that chiming language yet again. Why are these tiny little angels carrying me to the heavens on a fur?

It was the last thing he remembered for some time.

*****

Skeeve awoke in dim light.

From the sounds and the smells, he seemed to be lying on his bedroll, in a small cavern lit only by a candle. He tried to sit up, but his head swam, and he sank back to a lying position. A small humanoid figure, perhaps only two feet tall, came into his section of the cavern, and said something in that musical, chiming language.

Weakly, Skeeve shook his head. "I.. I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

His visitor touched him on the arm briefly, and there was a flash of magic. In a high voice, she replied, "There, is that better? Can you understand me, now?" When Skeeve nodded his assent, the figure continued. "My name is Mirina. Some of my friends and I found you in the forest. You looked cute, but hurt, so we decided we'd nurse you back to health and make friends." She grinned impishly at that. "You'd be okay with that, wouldn't you?"

Skeeve nodded weakly, and then added quietly, "I'm very thirsty.. is there anything to drink?"

The pixie - no, Mirina - picked up a waterskin that Skeeve vaguely recognized as his own, and put it to his lips. Brushing a tiny hand over his forehead, she murmured, "Drink, now, and get some rest. You'll need it."

*****

Sitting with his back to the cave wall, Skeeve flipped to the next page in his spellbook, and tugged his cloak further around him, to keep the winter chill out; a rather nice purple garment given to him by Mirina. There was a matching hat, but it was waiting for Summerwing, the pixie's seamstress, to put the finishing touches on it. He was going over some memorization exercises that Mirina had given him when another one of the faeries, Elleyn, fluttered up to him.

"Hi, Skeeve... I know it's early, but I was wondering if you could help me out?" When he set down his book and nodded, she continued before he could speak, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "There's a big snowdrift in front of the cave entrance. I was wondering if you'd help me dig it out?"

Skeeve smiled slightly to himself, picking up his lantern. "Of course, Elleyn, anything for you." Although all the female pixies, once Mirina had decided to start giving Skeeve magic lessons, had decided they had something to teach him, whenever they actually wanted him to do something, they asked in this playful, teasing manner of theirs. I guess there is some truth to the phrase 'faerie flirt' after all, he thought, crouching his head under a low cavern archway. He had to pause and lean against the wall due to a dizzy spell, though; he was mostly recovered from his wounds, but not completely.

Presently, though, he came to the entrance of the complex the pixies called home, just behind Elleyn. There was a small, half-foot gap at the top of the cavern, but other than that, there was a big snowdrift blocking off the eight-foot cave exit. Elleyn pouted. "See? It'd take me hours to clear this out, and nobody wants to help me because nobody wants to go with me to find juniper berries."

Skeeve chuckled. "Not to worry, Elleyn, I'll take care of you." She trilled happily at that, even as Skeeve set to work. There were some advantages to his relative size, he reflected, and in only about twenty minutes he'd brushed out a gap, about three and a half feet across, during the whole time which she quizzed him about various herbs and woods-lore.

Elleyn fluttered up and kissed him on the cheek when he was finished. "Thanks! It sure is useful having a big, strong guy like you around." And with that, she zipped out into the forest. Skeeve rubbed his cheek lightly. Compliments like that would really go to a guy's head. A somewhat goofy smile on his face, he headed back to his book.

*****

Skeeve pulled his purple cloak onto his shoulders, and checked to make sure his bag was completely packed. Considering his burden, he tucked in a small package of faerie cakes on top. Looks like I've got everything I need, he mused, and buckling up his bags, slung them over his shoulder. Settling his plumed hat on his head, he turned around to go find Mirina, to tell her that he was leaving, and was surprised to find her fluttering in the doorway.

She smiled, a little sadly. "You're finally leaving, huh? I don't suppose there's any way we could persuade you to stay?"

Skeeve chuckled lightly, but it was quickly replaced with a solemn expression. "I don't want to leave, Mirina. Really, you've all been great to me these past few years, and I owe you more than just my life. But I need to find out what happened to my family. And they deserve to know I'm still alive."

Mirina sighed wistfully, and shrugged. "Well, I can't really argue with that. We'll miss you." She grinned impishly, all of a sudden. "Okay, put those bags down. You're leaving tomorrow." A little surprised, Skeeve set his bag down as Mirina turned around, cupped her hands, and shouted out into the cavern, "Okay girls! It's time for Skeeve's going-away party!"

Somewhat surprised, Skeeve let the little faerie leader take him by the finger, and lead him out into the main cavern, where pixies were stringing up lines of paper lanterns, pulling out jars of alcohol, and there was already a few of the girls setting up their instruments in the corner. He grinned a little. "All of this for me? You've been planning this for a while, haven't you?"

Mirina fluttered up to sit on his shoulder, ducking under the brim of his hat, and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh, you know us, Skeevie. Any excuse for a party, but some excuses are better than others."

Skeeve did start the multi-week journey for Charin's Rest the next morning, happy, very satisfied, and extremely hung over.

*****

The spring morning was rather cheerful and warm, and Skeeve decided he'd take a little extra time in the morning to relax, and study the book of spells that Mirina had given him, leaning back against a tree at the edge of the Cairnwood. So it was perhaps not a big surprise, completely absorbed as he was, that he failed to notice the armed hunting party approach him.

It was not a large party, all things considered; one finely dressed nobleman, a woman in a slightly less-fine riding dress, and about a half-score of armsmen, all with bows and large quivers, but clearly they were more surprised to find him, a youth out in the middle of nowhere, than he was to see them. Hastily, Skeeve got to his feet and bowed clumsily, tipping his hat. "Aaah, M'Lord, M'Lady.. I'm not tresspassing, am I? I meant no offense..."

The nobleman held up a hand, to placate him. Although he didn't smile, he had a kindly air about him that Skeeve couldn't help but trust, at least a little. "At ease, young man, you're not in trouble. But I will admit to being curious... how did a boy such as yourself come to be out here, a week from the nearest town?"

A small seed of worry wormed its way into the pit of Skeeve's stomach as he replied, "Is... is the village of Charin's Rest not a day and a half to the southwest?"

The nobleman shook his head lightly. "I'm afraid, young man, that Charin's Rest was razed to the ground two years ago. No one lives there now."

The news hit Skeeve like a sack of bricks, and although he opened his mouth to reply, no words came out. He stood, staring in shock, not sure what to say, or even do next, until the finely dressed woman spoke up. "Young man, is that a book of spells in your hands?"

Startled out of his shock by the incongruity of the question, Skeeve didn't think to hesitate before answering, "Y-yes, it is."

The woman - she was a half-elf, Skeeve could see - smiled faintly. "My name is Serena Lighthaven, wizard to Lord Adelmund of Parthacia's House Zinfandel. I think we might have a lot in common..."

Serena Lighthaven was not really sure what to make of the young man they had found by the Cairnwood.

Although he was tall, the gangly cast to his features suggested he was barely into his teenage years. Despite that, he seemed to comport himself with a surprising amount of maturity, as though he'd had to grow up very quickly in a short amount of time.

The ruins of the village that they were currently standing in may have had something to do with that.

It took a surprisingly brief amount of conversation for Serena to convince Skeeve to come back to Parthacia with her and Lord Adelmund; she wasn't entirely certain why she'd extended the invitation to become her apprentice to the young man, but the more she spoke with him, the more she became convinced it was the right thing to do.

When Lord Adelmund announced that he was satisfied with how the hunting trip had gone, and wished to return to the city, the most direct route there took the hunting party through the ruins of a small farming village, and on the way through Skeeve had requested to stop for a few hours, apparently intent on searching through the ruins, a request Lord Adelmund granted.

She watched him dig through the burnt out shell of a home, pulling free a small stuffed toy, surprisingly undamaged despite the condition of the ruins. Although Skeeve had been reluctant to speak of details about what happened to him, Serena could make a few educated guesses. A young student of magic, tutored in the village until it was razed by goblins, who escaped into the Cairnwood without his family... in surprisingly healthy condition for having lived in the forest for years on his own, though. Maybe cared for by elves? It would certainly explain the hat. Either way, it was no surprise he didn't want to talk about it.

Finally, after a short while of staring at the doll, Skeeve finally slipped it away into his pack, and made his way over to Serena, expression downcast and remote. "I... I think I'm ready to leave. There's nothing here for me now."

Serena simply nodded quietly, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder in sympathy.

*****

There were times that Skeeve could hardly believe the turn his life had taken. The city of Parthacia was a wonder, unmatched like anything that Skeeve had ever seen, or could even dream of; even the idle daydreams he'd had as a young child of seeing the city one day were nothing compared to the reality.

Not that he had too much time for sightseeing. Mistress Serena, as she preferred to be called, was a rather strict taskmistress; firm, but fair. And a much better instructor than Mirina could ever have hoped to be. In the weeks since he'd come to the city, Skeeve had learned much, not the least of which was how to summon a familiar.

Stopping by the door of his room (He had his own room! In the servants' quarters of Lord Adelmund's manor, but still!) to pat the owl perched on its stand on his head, Skeeve made his way into the hall, lost in thoughts of spell formulae, intent on heading for Mistress Serena's private library. On his way there, however, the sounds of other footsteps in the hall broke him from his reverie.

He looked up just in time to watch Gareth, Lord Adelmund's son, come around the corner. As he had been taught, Skeeve stepped to one side, bowed politely, and greeted him, "Good morning, my lord."

All it earned him was an acid glare from Gareth, who muttered, "...grungy little peasant..." under his breath, barely audible, before sweeping around another corner. Straightening up, Skeeve sighed. What a jerk. Lord Adelmund had introduced Skeeve to Gareth, the two boys being around the same age, in the hopes that they'd become friends, but Gareth was far too disdainful of Skeeve for that to ever happen.

Putting the incident out of his mind, Skeeve continued on for the library, pushing open the doors to the book-filled room. Mistress Serena wasn't there, which wasn't unusual, but the room wasn't empty. A young girl, maybe seven or eight, was sitting at a table, small glasses perched on her nose, which was firmly ensconced in a large tome.

Plunking himself down in the seat across the table from her, Skeeve smiled, trying hard to keep his expression steady. "Morning, Erelle. Whatcha working on?"

Erelle looked up from her book, and replied solemnly, "Good morning, Skeeve. I'm still trying to work out that abjuration problem that Mistress Serena gave us yesterday." Skeeve hid his grin at the girl's serious tone. When she started talking in that overly serious fashion, she reminded Skeeve more and more of Sarah; sometimes good memories, sometimes painful ones, but on the whole, Skeeve found he rather liked his fellow apprentice.

Skeeve picked up another one of the books stacked on the table, and cracked it open. "Well, now, let's see if I can't help a little with that."

*****

Focus on your opponent. Do not focus on the sword; the sword is merely an extension of your arm. Be one with the sword. The litany ran through Skeeve's mind as he shifted his grip on the wooden training sword in his hands, circling slowly in the practice yard, not taking his eyes off of Gareth.

The nobleman lunged with his own wooden blade, and Skeeve's rose to meet it with a loud clack that filled the courtyard. For a while, that and the clomp of their booted feet as they inexpertly lunged and slashed across the courtyard were the only sounds that could be heard.

Amidst the whirl of slash, parry, and flat miss, Skeeve saw his opportunity; a botched parry that left Gareth a little off-balance. Winding up, he slashed with all of his speed, laying the bundle of lathes across Gareth's stomach - at almost exactly the same time that the tip of Gareth's sword crashed into Skeeve's shoulder. Both boys tumbled to the ground, Skeeve's weapon landing with a clatter.

Even as the training master made his way over to the boys, Gareth, clutching his stomach with one hand, stood up shakily and hurled his wooden blade to the ground with a crash. Eyes filled with rage, he stared down at Skeeve and practically spat, "We are done for the day!" Whirling, he stalked off back into the manor house.

The swordmaster offered a hand down to help Skeeve to his feet, which the boy gratefully took. "You did rather well there, Skeeve. I daresay you'll be ready to handle a real sword in a few years."

Ruefully rubbing his shoulder, Skeeve remarked wryly, "Not good enough, apparently." When Gareth had complained about not having an opponent of his own skill level to practice against, Lord Adelmund offered Skeeve the opportunity to learn the sword if he would act as Gareth's sparring partner. It was not precisely what Gareth wanted, but he knew better than to try and spurn an offer of his father's like that. In reflection, Skeeve realized that Gareth's dislike for him meant that their training sessions were likely to be as close to real combat as could be allowed.

The swordmaster chuckled, in his deep, booming way, and slapped Skeeve on the shoulder. "You'll get there, lad. I'm sure you have something to be about, so I'll let you to it." It was clearly a dismissal.

Skeeve crouched to scoop up his own practice blade, and was halfway to the doors to the manor house when he realized there was someone in the doorway watching him. Hastily, and with a bit of a flush across his cheeks, Skeeve bowed deeply. "L-Lady Karyn, good afternoon."

A shy smile on her face, Lord Adelmund's daughter left the doorway and slowly walked towards Skeeve, with gliding steps. At sixteen, she was only a year younger than her brother, and in Skeeve's opinion, already blossoming into the beautiful woman she was. "Good afternoon, Master Skeeve. I was watching your duel with my brother... I thought you did very well." Reaching out, she gently rested a hand against Skeeve's shoulder, the injured one, for just a moment. "Would you walk with me?"

Even flustered as he was, Skeeve knew there was only one way he could answer. Straightening up, and with a hesitant smile on his face, he replied, "It... it would be my pleasure, my Lady."

It was dark and stormy the night that Erelle disappeared.

Skeeve had spent most of it in the library, surrounded by books and a few lit lanterns, ostensibly finishing a spell into his spellbook but in reality just listening to the rain against the glass, and the crack of thunderclaps. It took him a little by surprise when the door opened to admit Serena, and not Erelle.

A slightly concerned look on her face, Serena didn't waste much time with preamble, simply asking, "Skeeve, have you seen Erelle today?"

Skeeve sat up abruptly, shaking his head. "No, Mistress. Last I saw her was before noon, and she said you had an errand for her to run. I haven't seen her since; I guess I just assumed she was with you."

Looking much more agitated, Serena ran a hand through her hair. "I asked her to place an order for me in the marketplace, but let her have the rest of the day free. I assumed she'd be here, reading."

Eyes widening in alarm, Skeeve pushed himself up from the chair and swung his cloak around him in one smooth motion. Erelle had yet to reliably master any spells, even a cantrip, and was small for a girl of twelve; if something had happened to her, there wasn't much she could have done about it. "I'll go out and look for her - I'll be back when I find her."

As Skeeve strode out of the library, Serena's voice floated after him. "Be careful, Skeeve!"

*****

Skeeve sat in the courtyard, staring at his hat in his hands. It had been two months since Erelle had vanished into thin air, and in that time the closest that anyone had come to finding her had been reports of a girl matching her rough description snatching someone's purse in the marketplace, and that found three weeks ago, the lead already cold.

Although he registered the soft footfalls, Skeeve didn't look up as Karyn sat down on the stone bench next to him. "Skeeve, how are you...?"

Woodenly, Skeeve shrugged a little, side-stepping the question. "The Guards haven't found out much yet. They recognized some of the description of the kids with her as belonging to some gang, the 'Little Lamms', I guess they're called. I did a little asking around, and it's supposedly run by a man named Gaedren Lamm, but no one knows where to find him. I'm not going to stop looking, but..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Oh, Skeeve..." Sadly, Karyn slipped an arm around Skeeve's shoulders. "Erelle's a smart girl... she knows what to do to survive... I'm sure she's alright. If anyone can find her, you can..."

His voice starting to tremble, Skeeve managed to say, "I just... If she... I can't... not again..." Silently, hanging his head, he shook in Karyn's embrace. They sat there, together, silent, for some time.

*****

The most infurating thing, a tiny, calm portion of Skeeve's mind thought, is the way he just seems bored. Droning on, the guardsman continued, "...we understand that you're still looking for this..." And here he paused - actually paused - to check his notes! "...Erelle Emberdream, but it's been almost a year without any leads. We simply can't continue to assign guards to this case any more. I'm sorry."

Fists clenched, Skeeve marched out of the office before he said or did something that he would regret, and, eyes shut, focused on his breathing, trying to calm down. He didn't know how long he stood there, but by the time Serena came out of the office, he had composed himself enough to speak calmly. "You know I'm not going to give up."

Serena nodded dully, not willing to meet her pupil's eyes. "I know. It's just... there's no more hope to keep clinging to. I have to let go." There was a hint of pleading in her voice at the end, and she started to walk past Skeeve and out of the guardpost, but paused for just a moment. Not looking back, she finished, "If you find Erelle, please let me know."

Skeeve didn't watch her leave. Someone out there knew how to find Gaedren Lamm. And one way or another, no matter the cost... they would lead him to Erelle. He would need to get his hands a little dirty, get acquainted with the world of criminals and adventurers, but he wouldn't stop until he found her. There was no one else left.

Ikari had spent a few weeks in Parthacia, seeing the various sights and locations. Finding some other adventurers to join with had been difficult, thought find some she did. Joining together proved to be a challenging as finding them. Of course conversations about the Chelish colony of Sargava have surfaced, partly due to a few trading ships coming from the South. There was talk of the citizens of Sargava being on the threshold of a new future free from colonial rule.

And the conversations also turned to the dangers of the Mwangi Expanse and existence of many crumbled ruins of vanished empires. To the young elf, ancient civilizations and lost treasures sounds appealing could provide incredible wealth and power to those who rediscover them.

Being with Andrew at the time, probably helped keep the idea planted in her head.

Following up on the idea she also started asking about ships heading in that direction. After talking to another sailor, she learned of trading ship Jenivere, heading South to Eleder by way of Cheliax and the Shackles en route. The voyage sounded exciting in itself, she had not met any pirates before either. However, while Andrew pursued his own way of getting aboard, she could not afford to book passage for such a long journey.

However, after some inquiries, she signed on to be part of the crew of the Jenivere. She had spent enough time traveling aboard cargo vessels lately, she practically thought of herself as a sailor. The ship needed hands and she applied for a position as an assistant cook. Even if her cooking was mediocre, it was still better than the swill the previous sailor stuck with duty would produce. There were more than a few crew still complaining of having the runs on week before arriving at the seaport city of Parthacia.

Mostly her time during the long voyage was spent above decks, chatting with her fellow crew and the passengers. Initially a few crewmen developed some rather bad streaks of luck after mistakenly thinking the free-spirited and scantily clad elf was a bit more promiscuous than she actually is. No one was seriously hurt, but after awhile things became more civil and she was able to get along okay. Those offending sailors on the receiving end of her evil eye, left her alone and eventually accepted that she was not to be trifled with and stopped approaching her with unwanted advances.

Ikari enjoyed nature and swimming. It was only natural to want to swim in the ocean occasionally, and that had to be done without clothing. She made friends with one of the passengers on board to arrange for clean water for bathing to rinse off the ocean's salt water afterwards.

One of the later comer passengers had intrigued her and they traded more than a few flirtatious conversations on a daily basis. The elven witch was happy to play, but underneath was that vindictive streak that if someone crossed that line with her uninvited, bad things would happen. It soon became apparent that the young elven woman was easily friendly, but not really aware of the effects her playfulness has on the male libido being somewhat naive and innocent in that regards.

Opting for 25pt buy instead

Character Name: Avarim Tur-gul
Gender/Race: Male Elf
Concept: A poor student of magic who kites off at every opportunity to jump from high places.
Party Role: Epicure/Fire Support
Strengths: Open minded, cheerful, eye for quality
Weaknesses: Dislikes authority, overfond of taking risks, expensive tastes

Description: Avarim is tall and wiry, with dark hair and grey eyes, and always seems to be suppressing a smile. Around town, he generally dresses richly to avoid flak from his parents, but prefers to wear more practical and comfortable clothes when hunting.

Personality: Avarim is a generally easy going bon vivant. His parents would say "lazy" and perhaps "good for nothing", but he's at least passing his courses at university ("D" is for "diploma"). It isn't that he's unintelligent, but he's never been particularly interested in study. In addition to good food and drink, he enjoys thrill seeking, and one of the bright spots of his otherwise dismal education was learning the spell Feather Fall, a never ending source of amusement. Even though near graduation, Avarim hasn't given much thought to what he'll do afterward, and isn't too concerned.

Background:
Avarim is the son of two elven mages who make a lucrative living in Parthacia. Despite (or perhaps due to) growing up in their shadow, he's never shared their love of the arcane. In particular, constantly being under the watchful eye of his father's raven as a child has given him a strong dislike of familiars, and the panic his mother was in when her amulet was stolen taught him not to rely too much on any thing. He always prefered going hunting with his uncle Beleg to studying, but ultimately had to give in to his parents demands that he train as a mage. He's made the most of his college years, finding many amusements to divert him from study. Despite that, he couldn't help but pick up some magic, though the little he has learned has been focused on his own desires. Now that he's finally graduating, his father has made it clear he'll be cut off and have to make his own living. Avarim isn't concerned. Though he's grown to love many of the comforts of the city, he knows he's picked up enough woodcraft to make his way in the world beyond. Paying for mistavan (a clear elvish liquor) might be a bit harder, but money will find its way into (and back out of) his pockets eventually.

While a bit of a fop in town, Avarim has taken his uncle's teachings to heart in the wild, and is a decent shot with a bow. That's not to say he doesn't continue to seek thrills, just that the ones outside the walls require a bit more effort. Jumping from a mountain precipice is far more fun than from the roof of the coliseum, but the walk back to the baths is a bit longer. It's been a few years since his uncle Beleg has visited, but Avarim is sure he'll be able to leave town with him when he returns. Unless, of course, some other way presents itself sooner.

Cantion followed his father into the temple of Sarenrae. It was, of course, noon. Whatever it was the priests wanted to ship, it clearly had religious significance. Cantion could appreciate that. He absently patted his hidden holy symbol. Lady Fortune was no enemy of Sarenrae, but it would have been impolite to display a symbol other than the Sign of the Dawnflower here in the temple. The well armed retinue his father had brought was pushing the limits of courtesy as it was. But that was a stratagem. His father had made it clear he wanted to demonstrate House Mancano's ability to secure the cargo. Being the fourth son, Cantion had virtually no say in the matter, though he doubted the priests would be impressed by men-at-arms. He supposed that's why his father had brought him.

While his father and the High Priest exchanged pleasantries, Cantion surveyed the assembled clergy standing in a semi-circle on the other side of the wide open space. Most were clad in typical vestments, but there was one particularly striking woman wearing a chain shirt. Her brassy hair was bound in a tight braid, and she had a scimitar at her belt. He tried not to stare, but it was difficult to tear his eyes away from her.