Pen Calder
HALF-ELF Inheritor Battle Master Fighter
AC: 17 (Splint) | HP: 26/26 (1d10+3+2) | Speed: 30 ft. Prof Bonus: +2
Senses: Darkvision 60ft; passive Perception 13, Insight 11, Investigation 11
Str: 19 (+4) | Dex: 15 (+2) | Con: 17 (+3) | Int: 13 (+1) | Wis: 12 (+1) | Cha: 13 (+1)
Languages: Speak, read, and write Common, Elvish, Sylvan, and Halfling
“My words,” Pen says. | ‘My thoughts,’ Pen thinks. | My actions . . .
Sulking Scarecrows
Rani's mission for the Enclave had the gang patrolling the farmland on the outskirts of town looking for some kind of demon possessed scarecrow. As the nights went by, Pen started looking forward to the nightly walks in the farmland. It was very different from Daggerford, but the relative quiet and fresh farmland air still stirred within him both a nostalgic comfort and a homesickness. He could often be spotted filling the time with old exercise routines, twirling his glaive around him up and down the planted rows of crops, or one might catch a glimpse of him fishing a small glass bottle nearly completely filled with a large fluffy white feather in it out from some hidden pocket, staring at it for a moment, and tucking it back in its hiding place.
His nostalgic reverie was suddenly and rudely broken on the sixth day when not one but three evil-looking scarecrow monstrosities came charging at them from across a field. As Badmaw and Amberlyn launch attacks at one, he takes a vicious twirling slash at another as soon as it enters his range, but the inorganic, constructed nature of the creature seemed to be less vulnerable to such a physical attack as a creature of flesh and blood would have been. Suddenly Pen felt very much like a one-trick pony.
A Horse of Course
Searching for a talking horse was good fun for Pen. Talking animals were not anything new to him. When he spent time with his mother's kin in the Misty Forest, communing with the plants and animals around them was a necessary daily function of life for the elves. But the ingenious thought of having a horse pulling a cart be your spy, and then Badmaw's antics tracking it down, were constant sources of amusement. He was more than happy to follow Rurik's lead, sit back and observe the comedy unfold.
Dirty Work
Pen had enjoyed following the dungsweepers around every morning almost as much as he had the nightly patrols in the fields. Playing cards with the gang and 'Maw's endless supply of (usually) delicious original bites to eat were endless sources of entertainment, not to mention that the fun had done tremendous amounts for cementing the real growing bonds of friendship among the group. Unfortunately, the revelry had perhaps allowed them to let their guard down, and they had completely missed the giant worm monster coming at them from the sewers. Badmaw got hit and went straight down, and Pen started having flashbacks from their trouble with the scarecrows only a few nights prior. Fortunately, there only seemed to be one enemy this time, and an enemy of flesh and blood at that, so Pen let loose with a flurry of slashing attacks, finding some relief that the creature at least seemed to be just as vulnerable to a blade as any other animal or man, even if it was a true horror to look at.
Knocking Heads
When Pen first arrived at the Halls of Justice, he was awestruck by the grandeur of the building. It was a grand cathedral, bigger than anything he could have possibly imagined before coming to Waterdeep. That human hands had built such a place seemed impossible. Inside, a small number of new recruits gather, each taking their turn to swear their oaths. With that finished, Pen finally gets properly introduced to Savra Belabranta. Pen had of course heard the name Belabranta before, they were heavily involved with the Griffon Cavalry. Perhaps he had stumbled on a way to get his dream back on track? First things first, he would of course have to prove his worth. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Belabranta," was as much fanboying as he allowed himself.
In the Field Ward, it wasn't hard to find the gangs squaring off with each other, although Pen hadn't expected for there to be quite so many of them. Both Badmaw and Amberlyn, despite her... unorthodox approach, appeared to have rattled the thugs' nerves, so Pen was eager to join in, perhaps a bit too eager. He brandished his glaive with a flourish--it was an impressive spin and twirl he had done a thousand times--only he failed to account for the cramped quarters of the slums. One end of his twirling glaive bounced off a guy rope for canopy with a twang, sending his glaive in an awkward direction. He recovered without causing any physical damage to himself or his companions, but his face flushed as his attempt at intimidating the gangs backfired. "That's what you get for showing off," his mother's words rang in his head.