PLAYER CHARACTERS

Arkhen Ironwheel of the Ironwheel Clan

9th Level Rogue - Half-Elf 

Young & eager for adventure, Arkhen is our man when delving into dungeons or the mysteries of the past. He is the dungeon expert in the party, focusing his skills less towards picking pockets and more towards disarming traps and exploration. He's gained a reputation of not being the luckiest of adventurers after buying a cursed artifact on his first official day of adventuring and letting slip his rapier during battle into the forest, which struck the jaw of a snoring gold dragon, shattering one his of teeth and bring his rage down on the party.

HISTORY: He is the ward of the wealthy trading clan of Ironwheel of Sembia, and he doesn't know his real family. His only link to them is a barren ring, the jewels and settings ripped free. He grew up a privileged but lonely life with distant guardians, ostracized from his adopted siblings and put to work in the family trading company as soon as he reached adolescence. He spent the free time of his youth in folio shops where adventurers come to study old maps and learn the legends of ancient dungeons, where he developed an obsession with the lost elven city of Myth Drannor--the once magical metropolis of the elven empire of Cormanthyr, now a great ruin after a demon invasion.

During the early summer of 1371 DR, Arkhen's guardians assigned him to guard a caravan carrying textiles and spices to the Western Heartlands. The caravan's route traveled north from the rich coastal country of Sembia and into the frontier Dalelands, the closest he'd ever journeyed to Myth Drannor. On an evening stop over in the village of Essembra, capital of Battledale--the wealthiest of the Dalelands--Arkhen resigned his position and went searching for the first folio & artifact shop he could find.

APPEARANCE: A young half-elf of 17, some of Arkhen’s body still has growing to do, and other parts like his long limbs are growing to much like wild cucumbers. The sleight point of his ears give away his mixed human & elven heritage. His wide eyes watch the world all curious, and he wears a tan duster jacket over his dark leather armor. He adorns a bandoleer of throwing darts, and an ancient rapier—a nicked and scratched sword that’s seen much action and fallen through different hands—hangs ready at his waist. He wears a signet ring on his finger, pried of its jewels and settings, worn not for fashion but as a reminder. He smells a bit musty and dusty, of old books and maps, though he wears a gentle cologne that sweetly mixes the scent, and black charcoal streaks stains his sleeves from making map engravings.

PERSONALITY: Arkhen is affable and civil, well-mannered and scholarly by nature. He's polite and possesses social breeding, through he's a bit of an outcast and would prefer to be paging through a dusty tome in an old map shop than dancing and sipping Wyvern Wine at one of Sembia's opulent balls. He often raves about demons, convinced of the plots of lower plane devils to rule Toril in secret. He might be considered paranoid, but then again, demons have plotted such.

PARTY ROLE: Arkhen is our point-man in dungeons, our trap-smith. All locks eventually open under duress of his picks. He's a standup fellow, dependable, and he serves the party well in combat, skilled with the rapier.

Moth - Wandering Monk of Shaundakul
6th Level Monk - 2nd Level Ghost Monk (ECL 8) Half-Elf 

"Moth? Now where did that monk go? Moth. Come down from that tree please. We have drow to slay. Yes. The stars are pretty. This way please. Now where's he got to? How in Hades did you catch a trout in that closed fountain in the middle of that tomb?"

Moth is a wandering soul, a free spirit in service of the God of Travelers and Free Spirits. Moth flies on the back of the capricious wind, yet he's always focused and dependable when it comes to fighting evil or taking care of his fellow party mates.

HISTORY: The renowned sages of the philomath community Candlekeep on the Sword Coast once gathered to research the history of Moth the Monk. Even those renowned scholars could find not one iota of information about his past. Wild theories were put forward: The deity Shaundakul sneezed him out during a bout of divine allergies, or Moth was born of a simple family in the Dalelands and trained as a Monk. He's basically spent his life going about fighting evil and serving his god.

APPEARANCE: Moth rattles when he walks, wearing at his belt two pouches, a knife, a saigham and a beggar’s bowl that all hang and sway and tap like drums to a Zen percussion that soothes the party as we trek from crawly monster to undead encounter. He accompanies the sound with the clap of his quarterstaff on the ground as he wanders and ponders through the world. He uses the bedroll on his back for the rest of his meager possessions, and he always travels light, having little care for material goods. His sleight angular visage of nose and forehead reveal his half-elven heritage, standing average height with a gaunt but muscular build. He shaves his head every few dawns, maintaining a pragmatic look of peace and platitude, and his eyes dart about, seeking every sparrow call, each note strummed by gales as his attention wanders and seeks to witness every mote of meaning in the very groovy cosmos.

PERSONALITY: Moth is flighty and easily distracted, yet he is a disciplined monk and always dependable. His carefree spirit is a source of joy for the party, and he wields a childlike innocence that lifts our morale. He is generous and beyond worldly goods, and he lives moment to moment, letting go of the past and not worrying over the future.

PARTY ROLE: Moth is a skilled Monk, so he serves the party well in dilemmas that call upon dexterity and balance. He's the party member the goes first when climbing, anchoring the rope for the rest to use. He's a solid fighter in combat, able to take a blow, and he employs unique fighting styles that complement.

Ruvian of the Shieldheart Clan
9th Level Barbarian - Dwarf

"With the first strike of your battle axe, you cleave the Grick in twain, killing it."

Most of the party stays behind this fierce dwarven berserker when combat begins. He cuts down enemies like he's chopping down saplings. He crusades against evil and injustice, guarding us and willing to sacrifice himself for the good of the group.

HISTORY: Born in a dwarven settlement in the Dalelands, Ruvian's father commanded his only son to train as a paladin and serve Moradin; however, the righteous life of the holy warrior was not for Ruvian, though he still serves his god and the principles of the faith. He's just not one for all that prayer and ritual. Seeking to prove himself to his clan, he left his village and sought out orc bands roaming the woods of Cormanthor. He raged and battled until no more ogre crossed his path, and he made it the town of Essembra where he collapsed at a local inn. We bound his wounds and healed him, and he signed on with us.

APPEARANCE: Ruvian’s storm-blown crimson hair and beard ignite the dungeon dark and blows wild when he enters his berserk state. The nostrils of his bulbous nose flare, and his eyes peel open like oranges, searching for the next orc band to hack into bits with his heavy battle axe. He’s standard height for dwarf, and though shortest among our group, he walks the tallest with confidence and pride. When not in combat, he leans on his axe and drinks from his beer stein, always filled tall with the local beer, or he puffs on pipes, scenting himself with rich burning tobacco vapors that remind of us warm nights of comfort around the hearth. His bulky plate armor fits his stumpy yet powerful figure with precision, and like a snail’s shell, he was born to wear it, managing agility that comes only from eons of dwarves wearing their armor like second skins.

PERSONALITY: Ruvian is a classic Rock-Kin. He's impatient to the point of impulsiveness. For example, when locked in a cell, he began to hack at the stone wall. He enjoys battle, a large stein of bitter dwarf beer and a good party with his mates. He's quiet--common to his race--and speaks when it's important. He doesn't indulge in a lot of needless yakking, not when his axe can speak well enough for him.

"Elves! Always standing around flapping their gums when heads need bashing! Hand me that ale. Thanks mate. Charge!"

PARTY ROLE: Ruvian serves the party in both melee and in his expertise in dwarven craftsmanship. He has a keen instinct for underground constructions such as dungeons and stone creations that has provided invaluable intuition. He brings to the party an erudition in dwarven culture and history. Beyond his intellectual contribution, Ruvian is the cause of death for many of our enemies. He is a skilled warrior, often defeating his opponents with a single axe swing. 

Therella Carter - Adorned of Ilmater, God of endurance, suffering, martyrdom, perseverance
8th Level Cleric of Ilmater  & 1st Level Divine Oracle- Human

Few parties survive sans the support of a cleric to heal and aid, and our group was blessed with an Adorned of Ilmater, a priestess devoted to healing the wounded and sick and fighting the evil that plagues good and humble people. She pulls us back from the brink of death and asks for nothing in return--all in the service of Ilmater, the Weeping God.

HISTORY: Born to a loving family in Thornvale, a small hamlet in Featherdale, Therella lost her parents when she was very young to a mysterious illness that spread over the hamlet one night. Her father secured her in the cellar and erected a magical barrier, protecting her from the plague, then he perished with the rest of the settlement. Therella was found a few days later by Paladins in Ilmater's service who came to investigate reports of the sickness. Several of the villagers reanimated as undead, and the Adorned of Ilmater cleansed the undead and buried the remaining bodies. They took Therella to a small compound of the faithful south of Battledale, where she was raised by sisters who trained her to be a priestess. She is eager to go out into the suffering world to cure the sick and bind their wounds.

APPEARANCE: Therella dresses in storm clouds and gray miasma, wearing the ubiquitous robes of the Adorned, her religious order that worships Ilmater. She wraps knotted and tied and frayed red cording around her fists and through her fingers—the holy symbol of the suffering god symbolized as martyr blood—and she raises this icon to cast out unclean spirits and the walking dead, reciting the plain and holy liturgy in clarion voice. She’s half over five foot tall, and she keeps her red hair cropped. She hangs a pair of wire rim glasses low on her nose, and her hazel eyes remind me of a pond after a storm: muddy brown and a mix of green fronds in hazel. When adventuring, she protects herself by wearing gray scale mail armor and a wooden shield on her arm. She smells of sweet or spicy herbs, fresh from her healer’s bag where she keeps the tools and medicines to mend wounds and restore health. Though a serious priestess who has suffered and witnesses much pain, she still smiles and wears a bright aspect. 

PERSONALITY: Tyrith has granted Therella the moniker, Rainy-Day Priestess or Stormy-Cloud eyes, mostly based on her appearance. She is sullen, devoted and driven in the service of The Suffering God as an Adorned of Ilmater, eager to prove herself and validate the time and trust that was placed in her by the sisterhood. In contrary to the standard gray uniform of her priesthood, she is affable and easily amused, softly laughing at jokes and enjoying the songs of a good bard. 

PARTY ROLE: We couldn't function without our healer. Often, she has pulled us back from the brink of death. When not healing, she supports the party with enhancement magic such as Bless or Protection from Evil. She has also proven herself invaluable in battles with the undead with Turn Undead. As she grows into a powerful Adorned of Ilmater, she will be the heart and main support of the party.

Tyrith'illion of Visch - Young Noble-elf of Evermeet.
6th Level Wizard & 3rd Level Wild Mage - (9 ECL) Sun Elf

I came out of reverie and found myself on the other side of the world, living on the frontier. The closest arcane library is seven day's ride in Kingdom Cormyr. I'm lucky to have just been exiled. True. Would I commit treason again? Aye. I live by my heart.

HISTORY: Tyrith was born the third son of Admiral Garaith, and he's the last heir of the House of the Visch. It's an ancient elven house that's mentioned through the history of the elven people. His great-grandfather is Trisosian Visch, though many scholars say he was just a legend. Tyrith's exile from the elven kingdom of Evermeet, for undisclosed reasons, brought him to the Dalelands as the official representative between the elven nation and the Dale natives. He brought the party together as a group when he arrested them for tomb robbing.

PERSONALITY: He was standoffish at first, as if he's trying to keep a distance from the party, of course he did arrest the party. He sneers at the local wine, constantly brushing the dust off his violet cloak and lapels. He keeps his nose in a book and doesn't say much. As he's adventured with the party, we've seen a warm side that he tries to hide. The more the party comes to know Tyrith, the more they see the impulsive nature of a gambler. He takes great risks, often committing wild acts. At times, he's bereft of common sense, and it's so much fun.

APPEARANCE: For a young elf of 120 years, Tyrith wears an austere face—green eyes sharp and careful, forehead long and furrowed, angular features and pointed ears of his race. Fathomed flaxen hair flows down his neck, golden and detailed with violet streaks, braided into a tail with black ribbon. Slender and agile, he moves with winged grace. The air about him smells of sweet sap and a hint of chemical from his arcane work, and ink stains his fingers from studying his tomes. Dressed in regal refinery most of the time, Tyrith stands out, not dressed for the back roads and trails of the Dalelands. The silvery lapels of his dark violet coat flash in the sunlight, and the style, color matches his breeches and knee-length leather boots. His gray felt pack holds his varied arcane books and bits of important gear, and he reaches for his belt pouch for his spell components. He sizes up others through a pair of spectacles with violet-shaded lenses. An ornate butterfly necklace dangles from his neck, and sometimes you swear its flapped its crystal wings.

PARTY ROLE: So far, Tyrith has used his magic to enchant our weapons, when needed against enemies that require a +1 to hit. He's also used his offensive magic well in battle, getting through defenses when weapons can't. Early in combat, he casts party enhancing spells, then he focuses on stunning his opponents, often employing color spray. He's a skilled diplomat, and his role in the party as a protean wizard will grow with his spell list. 

RETIRED PARTY MEMBERS:

Totherka - Mental Warrior, Outsider
4th Level Hex-Blade - Psionic Githyanki of the Abyss

Little is known about this strange new companion who hails from distant shores--farther than the Sword Coast or even the exotic lands of Maztica. This amber silent warrior crossed the planes to raise his sword with our party, for motivations we yet don't understand, nor do we know if we should trust.

HISTORY: He's chosen not to reveal his past. The party has the impression his egress from his fiery plane wasn't his choice, and we ignore his sighs of contempt, especially at Tyrith, our wizard, or when Therella prays to Ilmater. Of course, he claims to come from the worlds where our gods trample sans care where they step. Over time, more will unfold about the past of this alien traveler, and we shall be on our guard until his motivations are clear.

PERSONALITY: Old Tothy, as Tyrith calls him, speaks in monosyllables, unless he's pulling you to the side and whispering some shadowy deal. He keeps to himself, often watching from afar. He's distant, distrusting, but he's not unpleasant. We've found him dependable, when he's not behind the curtains manipulating the cosmos.

APPEARANCE: Humanoid and alien in appearance, Totherka has yellow skin and pale yellow eyes. He smells a bit of sulfur and brimstone, coming from his home plane of the Abyss.

PARTY ROLE: The Gith, as we've called him, is an able and agile member of the party. On several occasions, he's saved party members with quick thinking and a sharp tumble. His unique working of magic and applying it to his sword makes him a powerful opponent in combat. He's also a sharp investigator and a good man to have in a confrontation.

Dan Jur - Free Woodsman of Cormanthor

5th Level Ranger - Grey Elf

Dan Jur contemplates in silence, watching the world from his wild wood. Patience serves him well, and he dwells among the forest of Cormanthor, blending in with the white oaks and silvery birch, a lone elf, only venturing into civilization when he has need. Dan Jur lives a pragmatic existence, a life of peace until recently when his wolf companion was killed by an unknown assailant. He seeks to defend the innocent, protect the forest and find the fiend who killed his companion.

HISTORY: Not much is known about his origins, as he speaks little about his past. He was born in one of the residual elven settlements in Cormanthor Forest. He spent his youth learning the way of the wood, and he became friend to the Dale folk, often serving as a guide and acting on missions of mercy, helping families when a child would go missing or a dark creature devoured their livestock.

APPEARANCE: Dan Jur keeps an elegant and refined look for a ranger dwelling in rugged conditions. Classic to the Grey Elf aspect, his long silver hair flows down his neck and over his twin violet moon eyes. His milky skin almost gives him a glowing effect. He’s five foot and seven inches tall, and he adorns studded leather, covered by a moss green cloak that hangs long from his shoulders down to his tall boots.

PERSONALITY: We have found Dan Jur to be patient and precise, quiet at first until you become familiar to him. Then, he is gregarious and enjoys a sense of humor, which he gladly shares. For a lone character, he's a born leader and often speaks for the party and even plots to prosper, by example of his plans to start trading in StarBeard's cheese, until we discovered the source of the milk. He often hunts for food and trophies, and we've come to know him as reckless, adventurous and at times, short tempered.

PARTY ROLE: Dan Jur is our tracker, our hunter, our guide in the wilderness. He hunts fresh meat for the day's rations, and he knows the best camping sites. He deals with the folk of the Dalelands, negotiating or investigating. In combat, he uses his bow, striking the enemy at range.


Bob  - Dan Jur's Ass - The Butt of Party Jokes
2 HD Sarcasm Mule

"Quick. Stick this dagger in Dan Jur's ass."

HISTORY: I think Dan Jur bought him at a market in Battledale. Before that, the mule was born. Then he stood around in a field eating grass, probably pondering on his existence as a mule. Wait. Probably not. He's a bloody mule.

PERSONALITY: Sweetest damn mule you'll ever meet. He has this smile that melts your heart. I know he had some problems with wacky-fern for awhile, but we've helped him through it. He never complains when we're making him carry all our stuff, or we use him for our jokes about Dan Jur's Ass or we're lowering him into dungeons.

APPEARANCE: Four legs. Big face. Standard mule. His nose is pierced with a diamond stud. He smells of lilacs. I've never smelled lilacs before. They must smell awful.

PARTY ROLE: Bob has served well as a packing mule, since yes, I do encumbrance. He carries much of our treasure and Dan Jur's gear. For a ranger, Dan Jur is a bit of a pack rat. Bob is a good sport, being the source of much of our sarcasm, and he's become sort of the group mascot, which doesn't bode well for us.