Okaris looks up from his letter startled from his reminiscing. He recognizes the Outladnder called Lark catching the end of his offer. Okaris gives a faint smile and asks, "Do Chelaxians have the power to find the desire of a persons hart, even if they have let it slip through there fingers?"
"Is everything okay?" Lark asks taking a seat next to him, waving the bartender away. "Is there anything I can do that might help? You only have to ask." He offers, placing a hand on Okaris shoulder in concern.
"I'm afraid not, but I hear some of us make good company on the road to find it." He says, withdrawing his arm. "What has you so down?"
Touched by the mans offer Okaris responds while putting his letter away, "Have you ever tried to catch the wind or drink a moonbeam?" He reaches down and takes another large gulp of his drink and shaking his head in frustration continues, "I swear those would be easier tasks then trying to hear a whisper or even a rumor of a whisper about my missing friend Haleen." Okaras raises the glass to his lips one last time and drains it.
Touched by the mans offer Okaris responds while putting his letter away, "Have you ever tried to catch the wind or drink a moonbeam?" He reaches down and takes another large gulp of his drink and shaking his head in frustration continues, "I swear those would be easier tasks then trying to hear a whisper or even a rumor of a whisper about my missing friend Haleen." Okaras raises the glass to his lips one last time and drains it.
"I take it you are out of leads?" He says, watching as Okaris drains his glass. He signals to the bartender to fill in and fetch him one as well. "I may not be one for tracking but perhaps someone around here had heard something, when was the last you herd from her? What does she look like?"
Riceak looked at Okaris and said, "I take it you've tried your hand at poetry before."
Smiling for a bit, the Varisian swordsman then asked, "You must be close with this Haleen. What can you tell me about her?"
Isadriewen sets up her easel, canvas and paints. As the others continue their conversations, she carefully positions the easel to allow her to capture everyone sitting around the table. Once she is happy with the setup, she begins to apply her palette of oil paints. In broad strokes, the scene begins to come to life on the canvas.
First to appear is the dark stained wood of the tavern backdrop. Next she paints in the carousing ogre over the bar. She smiles as she emphasizes the comely ogre’s over sized features.
The first of the group to be painted is Okaris. Isadriewen depicts the bard reciting poetry to the group. Blue pigments capture the bard’s robe and jet black paint colors his hair and mustache.
Next comes Arian and Naatme. Arian soulfully plays the seran while Naatme claps to keep the beat.
Isadriewen continues to layer on paints and now the forms of Riceak and Faffnyr come to life. The two men appear to be animated in a passionate argument.
At the head of the table sits Lark Baker. The paladin holds up his finger as if making a point to the group. His silver holy symbol of Iomedae gleams in the fire light.
Lastly comes Rorx. The veteran’s battle scars can be seen crisscrossing his face. The half orc’s brooding visage has a quizzical look as he holds up what appears to be a picture of purple and green cactii.
Isadriewen smiles as she turns the painting around for the others to see. ”A heroic party indeed. I believe that fate has gathered us to this tavern for a reason. Drink well tonight my friends because I fear that tomorrow fate will test our mettle."
!!
Isadriewen sets up her easel, canvas and paints. As the others continue their conversations, she carefully positions the easel to allow her to capture everyone sitting around the table. Once she is happy with the setup, she begins to apply her palette of oil paints. In broad strokes, the scene begins to come to life on the canvas.
First to appear is the dark stained wood of the tavern backdrop. Next she paints in the carousing ogre over the bar. She smiles as she emphasizes the comely ogre’s over sized features.
The first of the group to be painted is Okaris. Isadriewen depicts the bard reciting poetry to the group. Blue pigments capture the bard’s robe and jet black paint colors his hair and mustache.
Next comes Arian and Naatme. Arian soulfully plays the seran while Naatme claps to keep the beat.
Isadriewen continues to layer on paints and now the forms of Riceak and Faffnyr come to life. The two men appear to be animated in a passionate argument.
At the head of the table sits Lark Baker. The paladin holds up his finger as if making a point to the group. His silver holy symbol of Iomedae gleams in the fire light.
Lastly comes Rorx. The veteran’s battle scars can be seen crisscrossing his face. The half orc’s brooding visage has a quizzical look as he holds up what appears to be a picture of purple and green cactii.
Isadriewen smiles as she turns the painting around for the others to see. ”A heroic party indeed. I believe that fate has gathered us to this tavern for a reason. Drink well tonight my friends because I fear that tomorrow fate will test our mettle.”
Lark smiles, his eyes darting over the piece. "Magnificent, as beautiful as the one who painted it. But I can't help but notice that you have left yourself out?"
Riceak looked at the painting and smiled before saying, "Well done Isadriewen. A superb painting."
He then rubs his unshaven chin and adds, "Although you could have painted me with a shaven face."
He smirks and quickly adds, "Or I could have remembered to shave today."
"The only sort art I know is tattooing myself."
"Even then it only seems to come on a whim."
"I hope my newfound magics will help so more interesting things, though."
Nurûrsh continues eating fruit and drinking tea as if he hasn't eaten for days.
"Can you paint fire, Isadriewen?"
"Since my illness, I never tire of looking at flame."
"Probably something I ate. Or drank …"
he concludes with a self-satisfied chuckle.
"You are lucky to have made it through, the haboob is nothing to trifle with."
Heh. Heh. Heh. She said Boob! Heh. Heh. Heh.
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With the gms blessing I swap faffnir from paladin to cleric. The tale is the same, it is about finding faith as former slave
It's not so much that I blessed this, it's just that other than the criteria laid out I refuse to let myself have a say about your characters at this point. If you want to swap classes and change stories that is fine! I'll start reading them on(LATE) Tuesday and deliberate on putting pieces together Wednesday.
That said, is it just me or are there a good portion of half-orcs? Anyway, just as a reminder I am picking two humans at least and 2 of the PCs will be of one gender while 3 will be of the other. Lastly, my goal is to build a party with varying skills.
I've said this more than once, so please don't get too offended if you're not chosen.
Looking at the picture Faffnyr seems to be lost in thoughts for a moment before speaking up."I once met a halfelf. I never learned his name, some just called him crooknose Ali. The gods had not been kind to him, a past beating had devestated his face. This had changed him and he eas very hard to approach. But the gods are not cruel. He was so very talented with chalk. His drawings were beautiful. And he had a keen eye, able to see in our souls. Whenever I see a great painting, well I remember him and that beauty can be found in unlikely places."
Reluctant to share his burdens with the outlanders and beging to feel the effects of the drink, Okaris shrugs his shoulders as he replies morosely, "How can one describe a whirlwind, perhaps we will talk more about this later."
He rubs his face and announces, "Excuse me, I feel the need to cleans and refresh my self"
Okaris gets the bartenders attention and secures a private bath in one of the back rooms, to perform his ablutions.
--------------------------------------------------
It is a little before midnight, and inside the bathhouse of the inn, Okaris soaks in a stout wooden tub, relaxing, the warm water soothing the knots in his back. Another fruitless night of searching for Haleen, he reflects as he begins to nod off, his mind wandering drifting back on his life.
Okaris was born and raised amongst the tightly packed streets of the great desert metropolis of Katapesh. His parents, Abbu and Jaheria, were weavers of rugs and carpets, enjoying a deal of notoriety for the tightness, vivid colors, and intricate designs of their weaves. His parents enjoyed a reputation as shrewd bargainers, competent craftsmen, and honest business owners. As successful merchants they owned a small sized, blue and white striped tent, in the great bazaar of the lower city. While they were a family of modest income they enjoyed the cosmopolitan lifestyle offered by living within the walls of the city of coin.
Okaris was an energetic and curious child, although he didn’t show much aptitude or interest in weaving. Okaris was raised to take up his father’s trade and the goal was that he would eventually have his own small stall to make and sell carpets from. His lessons began at a young age and his father was a hard task master in showing him the weaver’s art. Suffice to say that after a short while it became clear to Okaris that he was not meant to be a weaver. He was too much of a free spirit and time at the weavers loom chaffed at him. It seemed that he was always dying, shearing, knotting, or tying. When he would rather play on a borrowed rug, imaging he was a great Sultan, vanquishing his enemies as he rode his magic carpet through the air.
Inspite of his parent’s skill they slowly lost business to Ahkmed's Carpets another thriving business in the bazaar. Slowly their debts mounted until they lost their place in the bazaar. Close to being destitute and sold into slavery to pay their creditors Okaris looked for a way to quickly earn some money. As fortune would have it Okaris and his family was rescued from their fate when he won a poetry contest held during the Sunwrought Festival. He was able to use the prize money to pay off the families debts. As a result of his victory Okaris came to the attention of a local bard named Haleen. Haleen was several hears older then Okaris but offered to take him on as an apprentice as she was impressed with his natural talent. His parents were happy to let him go reducing their expenses as they prepared to relocate their business to Solku, a city to the west.
Thus, Okaris’s training began, his earliest memories of his training are of words, the tone, pitch, and melody of Haleen’s rich and vibrant voice lifted words from the pages of books as she read to him or related stories. But for him words were much more than a well written verse, words was alive, thick sensual, and intoxicating. Words were a mystical force that touched his soul to its very core, a thing of beauty. He quickly realized most people did not understand words in this way. It was true that most people enjoyed music or a good debate, but they got the same enjoyment from watching a horse race or partaking of a fine meal. No for him words, their sounds and intonations were pure joy and it was like a language that communicated with his very essence. Fortunately, Haleen had the same feeling, and wound up being Okaris’s mentor in developing his gift.
Okaris’s classroom was the various inns, taverns, and street corners of the great city Of Katapesh. His primary instructor was Haleen who was… well she was hard headed, sharp tongued and uncompromising. She had a fiery temperament that didn’t win her many friends but she always had a smile and a kind word for Okaris. She was also magical, she possessed a gifted ear for music, writing her own songs as well as playing several different instruments.
It seemed that they were always on the move, either running from something or running to something. Along the way Okaris learned how to use music to change reality. He flourished under Haleen’s tutelage and he grew in ability and skill. Not only were there lessons about music and magic but there were lessons on oration, body language, diplomacy, etiquette, audiences, and numerous other subjects. He learned the stories of the heroes of the land as well as tales of the Zephyr Guard, Osiriani Epics, and Taldorian Ballads as well as treatise on human behavior. He learned to recite entire poems, discourses, and plays from memory. However, the lessons he enjoyed the most were the daily sparring sessions. It was here where he learned to mix his magic with the martial. Under Haleen’s watchful instruction he learned the forms of the dervish.
In spite of their skill the pair struggled to survive in the mercurial city where coin was king. Life was hard for the two and, thanks to Haleen’s temperament as well as Okaris’s prefectionism, steady jobs were hard to come by. As a result they supported themselves by whatever means necessary often forced to take odd jobs after odd job to pay their debts.
It was after they had a string of such losses that Jaboo, a mercenary in the Sword and Shield guild of Katapesh appeared in Haleen’s life. The handsome warrior tried to worm his way into Haleen hart. Haleen and Jaboo began spending more and more time together, leaving Okaris to his own devices. Okaris felt abandoned but found solace in the arms different women. Okaris actively atagonized the mercenary on at every opportunity he had. It all game to a head and Joboo challenged Okaris to a game of knivesies. This was exactly what Okaris had wanted, the warrior had fallen into his trap. Although Okaris was smaller than his opponent he came away victorious as he cheated by greasing the knife handle. While Jaboo in his anger kept trying to pick up the knife Okaris was safely able to pick up the coins and get the victory. Haleen was furious with Jaboo and ended their relationship but things were never the same between Haleen and Okaris and they started spending more and more time apart. While Okaris regreted the strain on his relationship with Haleen he felt that the pompous and overbearing Jaboo got the humiliation he deserved.
After this event is when Okaris heard Vashi a Seer of Sarenrae utter the words from The Birth of Light and Truth, from the top of a box on street corner in a crowded squar. The words of this book, Sarenrae’s main religious text, literally changed the direction of Okaris’s life, moving him toward the light of the Dawnflower. After hearing the words of hope and inspiration he found less joy in entertaining and slowly he and Haleen drew more and more apart. Where once Okaris spent every day with Haleen he now found more and more of his time was spent in the company of the Seer learning about Sarenrae and her ways. More importantly Vashi fortold that Okaris would enter the service of the Dawnflower and be pivotal in expanding her influence. This foretelling cause great concern for Okaris and the already meticulous man tried to everything right to ensure he fulfilled his destiny.
Haleen’s was supportive of Okais’s choice and he soon began preach the word of the Dawnflower, to heal the sick and tired, to show mercy to the weak, and to bring justice by the sword if necessary to the citizens of Katapesh. That is until Haleen disappeared with no warning but a suspicious note. Okaris became convinced that something happened to Haleen and could not forget her and get on with his life has her note suggested. Now he spends most days looking for a trace of his friend.
Roused from his reminiscing by the cooling water Okaris begins scrubbing his weary feet as he thinks, that would have been a great ending to your story; drowned in a bathtub. Over the next several minutes Okaris quietly finishes his ablutions and gets out of the cooling tub. He stands their naked for a few seconds and lets the water run off his well-muscled body onto the cold stone floor before he grabs a towel to dry himself off with.
-----------------------------------
Watching as Okaris leaves, Larks mutters a quick prayer for him. "Inheritor hear my plea, give this man a sign that hope is not lost for him. Forever vigilant in your name." He mutters, brushing his holy symbol with his hand.
A moment later he turns to head back to the table, catching the tale end of Faffnyr's story. "I agree, many times in my journey through this place have I been awed by the beauty of this land. Never did I imagine that such things could be found in a desert."
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Bard (Dervish Of the Dawnflower)
1. Disciple of Sarenrae: Okaris is an ardent worshiper of The Dawnflower and tries to live his life in accordance with her tenants of temperance and patience in all things.
2. Mercy’s Hand: Okaris believes all can be redeemed and will give intelligent creatures the opportunity to surrender.
3. A Friend in Need: Okaris will not willingly leave a friend behind and will avenge fallen comrades.
Okaris is a serious and ardent worshiper of Sarenrae, The Dawnflower. As such he tries to exercise temperance and patience in all things. He is altruistic but is stern when necessary, often standing up for the down trodden and oppressed.
He is a lover of debate, swordplay, as well as smoking his pipe. He can be meticulous, especially when it comes to his appearance. He is polite and well-mannered but isn’t afraid to speak his mind which has led to trouble on occasion.
Okaris stands a little under six feet tall with a thin but well-muscled build, he looks older than his years and carries himself with an air of confidence. He is well tanned with grey eyes, the color of the sky right before a storm, and has shoulder length dark black hair with a luxurious mustache, a small goatee, and long sideburns that extend to his chin. No matter the weather he is always wearing dark blue robe that reached to his knees, which has a gold emblazoned sunburst on its back and a Keffiyeh, weaved with a blue and gold pattern, to cover his head. Okaris favors tan and brown colors in his dress and attire. This is usually worn over leather armor which has faded to grey with age. He always has his scimitar within easy reach.
Homeland, Family, and Childhood
Okaris was born and raised amongst the tightly packed streets of the great desert metropolis of Katapesh. His parents, Abbu and Jaheria, were weavers of rugs and carpets, enjoying a deal of notoriety for the tightness, vivid colors, and intricate designs of their weaves. His parents enjoyed a reputation as shrewd bargainers, competent craftsmen, and honest business owners. As successful merchants they owned a small sized, blue and white striped tent, in the great bazaar of the lower city. While they were a family of modest income they enjoyed the cosmopolitan lifestyle offered by living within the walls of the city of coin.
Okaris was an energetic and curious child, although he didn’t show much aptitude or interest in weaving. Okaris was raised to take up his father’s trade and the goal was that he would eventually have his own small stall to make and sell carpets from. His lessons began at a young age and his father was a hard task master in showing him the weaver’s art. Suffice to say that after a short while it became clear to Okaris that he was not meant to be a weaver. He was too much of a free spirit and time at the weavers loom chaffed at him. It seemed that he was always dying, shearing, knotting, or tying. When he would rather play on a borrowed rug, imaging he was a great Sultan, vanquishing his enemies as he rode his magic carpet through the air.
Inspite of his parent’s skill they slowly lost business to Ahkmed's Carpets another thriving business in the bazaar. Slowly their debts mounted until they lost their place in the bazaar. Close to being destitute and sold into slavery to pay their creditors Okaris looked for a way to quickly earn some money. As fortune would have it Okaris and his family was rescued from their fate when he won a poetry contest held during the Sunwrought Festival. He was able to use the prize money to pay off the families debts. As a result of his victory Okaris came to the attention of a local bard named Haleen. Haleen was several hears older then Okaris but offered to take him on as an apprentice as she was impressed with his natural talent. His parents were happy to let him go reducing their expenses as they prepared to relocate their business to Solku, a city to the west.
[spoiler=Data]Human Homeland: 1d100 ⇒ 67 Metropolis:
Human Parents: 1d100 ⇒ 38 Both parents alive
Human Siblings: 1d100 ⇒ 97 No siblings
Circumstances of Birth: 1d100 ⇒ 62 Middle Class Birth: [ooc]artisan and merchant social trait
Parents Profession: 1d100 ⇒ 76 Artisans:
Major Childhood event: 1d100 ⇒ 19 Competition Champion:
Adolescence and Training
Thus, Okaris’s training began, his earliest memories of his training are of words, the tone, pitch, and melody of Haleen’s rich and vibrant voice lifted words from the pages of books as she read to him or related stories. But for him words were much more than a well written verse, words was alive, thick sensual, and intoxicating. Words were a mystical force that touched his soul to its very core, a thing of beauty. He quickly realized most people did not understand words in this way. It was true that most people enjoyed music or a good debate, but they got the same enjoyment from watching a horse race or partaking of a fine meal. No for him words, their sounds and intonations were pure joy and it was like a language that communicated with his very essence. Fortunately, Haleen had the same feeling, and wound up being Okaris’s mentor in developing his gift.
Okaris’s classroom was the various inns, taverns, and street corners of the great city Of Katapesh. His primary instructor was Haleen who was… well she was hard headed, sharp tongued and uncompromising. She had a fiery temperament that didn’t win her many friends but she always had a smile and a kind word for Okaris. She was also magical, she possessed a gifted ear for music, writing her own songs as well as playing several different instruments.
It seemed that they were always on the move, either running from something or running to something. Along the way Okaris learned how to use music to change reality. He flourished under Haleen’s tutelage and he grew in ability and skill. Not only were there lessons about music and magic but there were lessons on oration, body language, diplomacy, etiquette, audiences, and numerous other subjects. He learned the stories of the heroes of the land as well as tales of the Zephyr Guard, Osiriani Epics, and Taldorian Ballads as well as treatise on human behavior. He learned to recite entire poems, discourses, and plays from memory. However, the lessons he enjoyed the most were the daily sparring sessions. It was here where he learned to mix his magic with the martial. Under Haleen’s watchful instruction he learned the forms of the dervish.
In spite of their skill the pair struggled to survive in the mercurial city where coin was king. Life was hard for the two and, thanks to Haleen’s temperament as well as Okaris’s prefectionism, steady jobs were hard to come by. As a result they supported themselves by whatever means necessary often forced to take odd jobs after odd job to pay their debts.
Bard: 1d100 ⇒ 25 Dabbler: worldly social trait
Influential Associates: 1d100 ⇒ 63 Seer: Scholar of the great beyond faith trait
It was after they had a string of such losses that Jaboo, a mercenary in the Sword and Shield guild of Katapesh appeared in Haleen’s life. The handsome warrior tried to worm his way into Haleen hart. Haleen and Jaboo began spending more and more time together, leaving Okaris to his own devices. Okaris felt abandoned but found solace in the arms different women. Okaris actively atagonized the mercenary on at every opportunity he had. It all game to a head and Joboo challenged Okaris to a game of knivesies. This was exactly what Okaris had wanted, the warrior had fallen into his trap. Although Okaris was smaller than his opponent he came away victorious as he cheated by greasing the knife handle. While Jaboo in his anger kept trying to pick up the knife Okaris was safely able to pick up the coins and get the victory. Haleen was furious with Jaboo and ended their relationship but things were never the same between Haleen and Okaris and they started spending more and more time apart. While Okaris regreted the strain on his relationship with Haleen he felt that the pompous and overbearing Jaboo got the humiliation he deserved.
After this event is when Okaris heard Vashi a Seer of Sarenrae utter the words from The Birth of Light and Truth, from the top of a box on street corner in a crowded squar. The words of this book, Sarenrae’s main religious text, literally changed the direction of Okaris’s life, moving him toward the light of the Dawnflower. After hearing the words of hope and inspiration he found less joy in entertaining and slowly he and Haleen drew more and more apart. Where once Okaris spent every day with Haleen he now found more and more of his time was spent in the company of the Seer learning about Sarenrae and her ways. More importantly Vashi fortold that Okaris would enter the service of the Dawnflower and be pivotal in expanding her influence. This foretelling cause great concern for Okaris and the already meticulous man tried to everything right to ensure he fulfilled his destiny.
Haleen’s was supportive of Okais’s choice and he soon began preach the word of the Dawnflower, to heal the sick and tired, to show mercy to the weak, and to bring justice by the sword if necessary to the citizens of Katapesh. That is until Haleen disappeared with no warning but a suspicious note. Okaris became convinced that something happened to Haleen and could not forget her and get on with his life has her note suggested. Now he spends most days looking for a trace of his friend.
Conflicts: 1d20 ⇒ 9 Cheater: 1 CP
Conflict Subject: 1d20 ⇒ 9 soldier/warrior
Conflict Motivation: 1d10 ⇒ 3 Pressured/Manipulated 3 CP
Resolution: Mixed feelings
Deity: Sarenrae
Romantic Relationship: 1d20 ⇒ 9 several Significant Relationships
Drawback: Meticulous
-----------------------------------------
I've said this more than once, so please don't get too offended if you're not chosen.
None taken ;)
It's not so much that I blessed this, it's just that other than the criteria laid out I refuse to let myself have a say about your characters at this point. If you want to swap classes and change stories that is fine! I'll start reading them on(LATE) Tuesday and deliberate on putting pieces together Wednesday.
That said, is it just me or are there a good portion of half-orcs? Anyway, just as a reminder I am picking two humans at least and 2 of the PCs will be of one gender while 3 will be of the other. Lastly, my goal is to build a party with varying skills.
I've said this more than once, so please don't get too offended if you're not chosen.
No problems there.
It is your game, after all.As it is, I think less than half the applications I make for a game get accepted.
So it's no big deal at all.
I can't speak for everyone else on the half-orc thing, but they're my favourite core race.
They have social handicaps in the RPG sense (and more than a little).
But they have some cool racial traits and abilities that appeal to my own style of play.
====================
Here's Nurûrsh's back story, if anyone's interested.
My usual process is to use the Ultimate Campaign to make a frame work and then find a logical-ish way to tie the pieces together in a narrative.
Any constructive criticisms would be most welcome. I've got a lot of time on my hands now that I'm on a pension, so I like tinkering around with a spot of story writing. So any [polite!] critiques I could get are welcome.
And to tie together what he's said in these posts and his background, you'll see he kind of to mention a few key details about himself. Not fibbing, but not being totally forthright either. :D
His childhood and adolescence were drudgery. He was never abused, but resented being one of the 'mere' half-orc slave owned by Ulanim, a modest merchant inf Lamasara. He was one of several half-orc slaves owned by Ulanim.
Ulanim's other half-orc slaves taught Nurûrsh the practice of self-tattooing. Nurûrsh attributes that for his often astounding luck. He also secretly learned how to fight with his manacles if he must.
He was often a porter for Ulanim's caravans bound for Sothis. One such caravan changed his life dramatically. Halfway through that journey, the caravan was set upon by Osiriani bandits. Nurûrsh impulsively decided to make a bid for freedom during the confusion of the fighting. He grabbed a camel he knew belonged to Fasan, Ulanim's son. Just as he started making his way out, caravan and bandits alike were engulfed in a haboob; a blasting sandstorm. Between the battle and the haboob, Nurûrsh became hopelessly lost with Fasan's camel.
After the haboob subsided, neither caravan nor bandits were to be seen. He decided to try trekking south to Katapesh. He relied on his luck to distance himself from Ulanim and Sothis. Typical of his luck, Fasan's camel was well supplied with food and drink.
His luck was not all good, though. One night he found two small vials of what he thought were expensive liqueurs hidden in the false bottom of a scroll box with Fasan's belongings. Nurûrsh decided to indulge himself for the first time in his life with drank both in rapid succession. They tasted exquisite. But he soon realized that they were not liqueurs. He became violently ill and then too weak to continue travelling for several more days. He is wary of liquor because of that.
Several days after his recovery, he discovered he could start fires a few times a day at will. He then actually took the time to read the papers that were in Fasan's spell box. Several spells written down on parchment. He was able to read and memorize some. But most he could not understand. He also found a small note that he overlooked with the vials. It seems that the vials were highly illegal extracts Ulanim knew nothing about. Both were magical blood extracts: one of dragon blood and another of efreeti blood. Little wonder he was so ill! Nurûrsh burnt all of Fasan's papers out of spite once he read that note.
He soon adopted the patronym 'Toglum'. It came unbidden to him when he burnt Fasan's papers.
Thanks to his preternatural luck, Nurûrsh made his way safely to the bustling city of Katapesh. He quietly sold Fasan's camel and belongings and bought some inconspicuous clothing and equipment. He is hoping his luck will give him some idea of what to do next.
Race:Human
Gender:Male
Class:Paladin (Sacred Servant)
1- Champion of Good: Lark is a man driven by his sense of justice, not fearing death or sacrifice he will always strive do do the right thing no matter the cost.
2- Paladin of Iomedae: Inspired by tales of the great hero's of Iomedae, and of his Goddess's own legends, Lark seeks to emulate her teaching to the best of his ability. To be truthful, vigilant against all evil and to show courage in the darkest hours.
3- Knight's honor: Raised by a Knight, Lark knows that nothing is more valuable than his honor. As such his valor in battle and the trustworthiness of his word are two things that can never be bought.
Drawback- Headstrong. Lark is almost unable to resist the urge to help those in need or the desire to correct and injustice he witnesses. This gets him into trouble more often than not and has cost him dearly in the past.
Lark is an earnest and devoted worshiper of Iomedae. He his constantly vigilant against the presence of evil and will never falter in his duty. He is kind and caring with friends and potential allies, wrathful and unrelenting with his enemies. Driven by a longing to see injustice corrected he has a hard time restraining himself in the presence of such wrongs, compelled to speak out and act against it.
He is a consummate charmer and lover, though not to the point of hedonism. A lover of swordplay and relishes a good challenge. He always keeps his gear clean and takes a healthy amount of pride in his appearance. He is confident and well spoken, gifted with a grace and confidence that he hopes will one day inspire others to carry on his work when he one day falls.
He doesn't expect to live long, knowing that the candle who burns brightest burns fastest and has accepted that one day he will bite of more than he can deal with.
Lark stands just under 6 foot, possessing a lean and well built physique. He walks with a straight back and an air of self assured confidence that endears people to him that when combined with his natural charms given him an aura of conviction that most people have a hard time resisting when he puts his mind to it.
His skin is the telltale pale white of cheliax with short cut dark black hair and deep blue eyes, he always keeps himself clean shaven. Regardless of the environment he is seldom seen without his armor, a distinct tabard of red and gold over it. Emblazoned on the shoulders of his armor are the holy symbols of Iomedae. He is never far from his shield and refuses to part with his trusty longsword.
Born to a Knight in the service of a Chelish Baron, Lark never knew his mother and his father refused to speak of her. What ever happened between them he was an only child and his father never took another lover. His father, Sir Kalder was a ruthless and expecting man who taught Lark that his only duty and expectation was to serve as a tool for the state. Raised on training ground and muster fields, Lark spent his formative years in the company of stern faced soldiers and was tutored by the steel fist of the Asmodean church. His father's reputation as a great knight and honorable man granted them governorship of a hamlet a days ride from the city his Baron lived in.
Lark grew up as an obedient child and eagerly absorbed the teachings he was given, seeking to please his father he practiced sword forms day and night. Raised under the church of Asmodeus as a noble's son he was taught how to lead, a role he quickly discovered a natural talent for.
Eventually in an effort to prove himself a worthy son and make his father proud Lark entered himself in tournament after tournament, making a name for himself as he brought him victory after victory. While he wasn't the best swordsman around, he possessed an almost inhuman ability to shrug off wounds and keep going.
The victories made his father proud and attracted the attention of many a pretty lass, whose attentions he eagerly accepted. For a time Lark was happy, and then he meet Diane.
As a young man Lark had never paid much mind to the world outside of his training and his father. He knew what happened in the village but never took an interest in it, his father's title wasn't hereditary and the land would pass on to who ever the Baron thought would be suitable so it wasn't his concern. That all changed when he meet Diane, a local lay cleric of Iomedae.
They meet as she was taking the customary walk of shame all non-infernal clerics must do in Cheliax, stripped to almost naked and made to walk gagged and shackled around town escorted by the local priest for an hour each week. However what struck him about her was that unlike other clerics he had seen, she walked with an almost indifferent demeanor, the insults and rocks thrown at her could have not existed for all the impact they had on her graceful features.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he had to know more about her, so he followed as she was escorted back to her rundown, modest temple. When he asked how she could bear such treatment she smiled at him and look to the sky, claiming that not earthly harm could compare to heavenly joy she received from doing her goddess work.
Never had Lark encountered such faith, the clerics of Asmodeus were devoted but they served because of the power they received. As he watched her channel her goddess power, brushing away the wounds like so much water he had to know more. And so he began to attend the weekly congregations at the temple of Iomedae, they were a small church but a pious one and while their clerics were abused it never seemed to dissuade them. From them Lark learned of the true meaning of honor, about valor and about Justice.
Eventually he and Diane started up a tryst, one that quickly became the gossip of the town. Kalder, his father, was displeased but couldn't deny the effect the Iomedean had on his son, never had he seen Lark fling himself into his training with such fervor before. He was like a man possessed, training harder and longer than ever. He had privately worried that all the attention his boy had been receiving would make him arrogant and soft so he was happy to see his son's passion.
Something was changing inside of him, Lark could feel it. He kept noticing things, things that were wrong. Things that for his whole life that had felt normal, now felt, off. He knew his time with Diane was responsible, their talks about her faith, the tales of hero's and acts of valor kept him awake at night. But he loved her, never had he felt this way about anyone before and he loved it. The first she said those three words to him and he realized that she truly meant it, it was like the sun had risen for the first time. He could no longer deny it and at the next congregation he openly prayed for the first time.
And with each passing week it became harder to watch her do the walk of shame.
As his relationship with Diane blossomed, Lark watched as a gulf formed between him and his father. Eventually he sat his father down and confessed that he would had converted to the faith of the Inheritor, and that he wished to leave to pursue adventure and glory in her name. His father explained that this would mean he would have to take the walk of shame and despite his own disappointment he felt a measure of pride as his son didn't hesitate in accepting it. And so Lark was lead around the village, gagged and in chains before a stunned crowd, his head held high with Diane at his side.
Inspired by this a family of slaves resolved to make a break for freedom and were quickly captured, in accordance with the law they were to be put to death in front of the village. And in accordance with the law Kalder and his son were to see it carried out.
As he watch the parents be impaled on the spikes of the great iron forks Lark felt a wash of anger roll over him but kept his peace. Then the last slave was brought forth, a girl of no more than ten, and Lark reached his limit.
With a shout he moved to block the way, a stir went through the crowd as the watch their Governor and his son argue. Voices escalated into fists and as Lark picked himself up again he proclaimed Iomedae's name and struck back with a mighty blow.
However he was only one man and was beaten into submission. The next day he was dragged before the town in chains, made to watch as the clergy of Iomedae were one by one added to the spikes, the last being Diane who was fearless to her last moment. After her body went cold instead of being added himself Lark was dragged out of town to where a horse waited for him.
There his chains were removed and his father tossed a bag of gold at his feet, saying that the only thing a man can do is stand up for what he thinks is right. No matter the cost, that is the true meaning of honor. Looking his son in the eyes he ordered him to leave, never to return.
And so Lark left, finding solace with other Iomedean faithful over the world. He never forgot what his recklessness cost him, and he regrets the senseless deaths he was responsible for. But through the guidance of Iomedae he has found peace, accepting it and even finding peace after Diane.
Grr...not going to have time to get this done tonight.
Race « Half-Orc »
Gender « Male »
Class « Sorcerer (crossblooded: Efreeti and Red Draconic bloodlines) »
Nurûrsh Image
2. Banter: Nurûrsh, despite lacking any formal training in rhetoric or oratory, he is surprising diplomatic and convincing. He fancies himself as a smooth talker, like Queen Zamere of Lamasara. He taught himself the gift of the gab simply by paying attention to stories of the queen's diplomatic exploits.
3. Luck: Nurûrsh is aware he has preternatural luck and relies on it more often than he should.
4. Drawback - Safety and Security: as an escaped slave, he is often wary (often paranoid) of strangers.
He has had a few short-lived affairs with other slaves. But his low station in life prevented him from forming any lasting bonds. He is ambivalent about family bonds. He has no real memory of his father no siblings. What little he can remember of his mother is unpleasant. She sold him into slavery in Lamasara to buy passage on a ship back to her native Magnimar.
Needless to say, making friends does not come easily to Nurûrsh. But his is loyal to the point of fanaticism with the friends he does have.
He is not overly interested in martial pursuits. Although stronger, more dexterous and tougher than most, he does not find it particularly interesting. He can defend himself with a flail, though. He was taught by fellow half-orc slaves, in secret, how to fight with his manacles in a pinch.
Nurûrsh also worships Sarenrae, like so many in Garund. He himself is not devout, though.
His skin does have the tell-tale greenish tint of orc ancestry. His skin is also weather and sun-beaten from a a youth of knowing only menial labour. His hair and beard are both jet black. His eyes are unusual, though. His pupils seem dark until one has a close look and can then see his eyes are red, like smouldering embers
Nurûrsh dresses plainly; he is uncomfortable wearing any clothes that draw attention.
Beyond those scant details, the only life he knew growing up was as a lowly half-orc slave in Lamasara. A life remarkably bereft of abuse, but resplendent in drudgery.
Not being allowed an education, Nurûrsh learnt what little education he had from others in what free time a slave could find.
He never had any formal training in anything as a youth. What he did learn he gleaned from the rare times he could talk at length with sorcerers doing business with his master. If not that, he was attentive to anything his fellow half-orc slaves would teach him in secret.
It was not until after his uncharacteristically compulsive escape did he discover his magical talents which were thrust upon him without warning. This happened while he was caught alone in the wilds. Despite that, he managed to learn a smattering of spells from a small collection he had with him by chance. It was largely by trial and error (mostly error) that he taught himself some control over his newfound powers.
In the confusion of battle, he was able to to slip away from bandits and his fellows. He knew enough to steal a camel with supplies, or he would never survive any length of time on his own. He managed to spot one particular camel, overflowing with supplies and goods. It was the camel that belonged to Fasan, the youthful son of his master, Ulanim. That is the camel that Nurûrsh stole. It would have the supplies to keep him alive and enough luxury goods to sell for supplies if he made it to a a town or city.
He felt bad about it. Fasan was one of the few in Ulanim's household who had been kind and friendly toward Nurûrsh.
Just as he started worrying that perhaps escaping was not a good idea, the entire area was engulfed in a lightning fast haboob. The blasting and blinding sandstorm engulfed caravan and bandit alike. Because of this stroke or luck, be it good or bad, Nurûrsh made good his escape. But he also became hopelessly lost as a result.
Several days later, Nurûrsh found two small vials in the false bottom of a scroll box in Fasan's belongings. Mistaking them for fancy liqueurs, Nurûrsh downed them quickly. They tasted exquisite. He was quite pleased with this indulgence. Until, several minutes later, he became violently ill. He alternated between feeling frozen or burning alive for several hours before passing out from pain and exhaustion.
After he recovered, several days later, he found a note the the vials he had not bothered reading before. The vials were actually profoundly dodgy magical elixirs. One was made from efreeti blood. The other, from red dragon blood. It seems Fasan had bought them from a pesh dealer without his father's knowledge. Between that note and how wretched he felt from drinking those vials, Nurûrsh has absolved himself of any guilt he had felt stealing from Fasan.
Nurûrsh wandered toward the fabled city of Katapesh to make his mark. It was only by astounding luck he was never spotted by gnoll slavers rife in the desert.
He now approaches life with a somewhat clean slate. The only guidance, such that it was, he had known was to follow orders from his masters. But now he is on is own without any real guidance except his trust in in own luck.
His childhood and adolescence were drudgery. He was never abused, but resented being one of the 'mere' half-orc slave owned by Ulanim, a modest merchant inf Lamasara. He was one of several half-orc slaves owned by Ulanim.
Ulanim's other half-orc slaves taught Nurûrsh the practice of self-tattooing. Nurûrsh attributes that for his often astounding luck. He also secretly learned how to fight with his manacles if he must.
He was often a porter for Ulanim's caravans bound for Sothis. One such caravan changed his life dramatically. Halfway through that journey, the caravan was set upon by Osiriani bandits. Nurûrsh impulsively decided to make a bid for freedom during the confusion of the fighting. He grabbed a camel he knew belonged to Fasan, Ulanim's son. Just as he started making his way out, caravan and bandits alike were engulfed in a haboob; a blasting sandstorm. Between the battle and the haboob, Nurûrsh became hopelessly lost with Fasan's camel.
After the haboob subsided, neither caravan nor bandits were to be seen. He decided to try trekking south to Katapesh. He relied on his luck to distance himself from Ulanim and Sothis. Typical of his luck, Fasan's camel was well supplied with food and drink.
His luck was not all good, though. One night he found two small vials of what he thought were expensive liqueurs hidden in the false bottom of a scroll box with Fasan's belongings. Nurûrsh decided to indulge himself for the first time in his life with drank both in rapid succession. They tasted exquisite. But he soon realized that they were not liqueurs. He became violently ill and then too weak to continue travelling for several more days. He is wary of liquor because of that.
Several days after his recovery, he discovered he could start fires a few times a day at will. He then actually took the time to read the papers that were in Fasan's spell box. Several spells written down on parchment. He was able to read and memorize some. But most he could not understand. He also found a small note that he overlooked with the vials. It seems that the vials were highly illegal extracts Ulanim knew nothing about. Both were magical blood extracts: one of dragon blood and another of efreeti blood. Little wonder he was so ill! Nurûrsh burnt all of Fasan's papers out of spite once he read that note.
He soon adopted the patronymic 'Toglum'. It came unbidden to him when he burnt Fasan's papers.
Thanks to his preternatural luck, Nurûrsh made his way safely to the bustling city of Katapesh. He quietly sold Fasan's camel and belongings and bought some inconspicuous clothing and equipment. He is hoping his luck will give him some idea of what to do next.
Faffnyr Baker,Image
Faith: Sarenrae
Mercy: As a former slave she knows that mercy is important
Dedication: She learned that one has to follow ones path to succeed
Drawback: Fear. She has been a slave and is afraid to become one again
Determined,
polite,
merciful
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 245 lbs
Hair: Jet Black
Eyes: Emerald Green
Skin: a mud brown
Physical Description
A bulky she half-orc with scarred face looks up from reading a book. Her face, although young shows the rigors of a hard life. Usually a face like that would be repulsive, but the look of serenity and acceptance in her eyes just makes it memorable. One can see that the tip of her left littlefinger has been cut and it has healed badly, leaving the fingernail as a huge blob of horn. A crudely made holy symbol of Saranrae hangs around her neck. She is wearing sand colored robes over a battered old armor to protect from the merciless heat of Katapesh and hiding her mascular frame.
She was born on a Katapesh slave farm and has no family, never had one
Taken in by the slave Aihee and trained she had to work the fields by day and was indoctrinated by night.
Faffnyr hates slavery but knows there is no way to change it. She is afraid her lowborn status will hinder her work and leave her unworthy in the eyes of the others.
Faffnyr Baker,Image
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Good, glad to hear it!
Now comes the waiting part. :O
Faffnyr takes Arian´s hand in hers and speaks in
Louder to the others with a happy smile she continues."This means we wan´t another song!"
Yeah!
Looking up from the painting Lark catches a few of the locals looking at him with interest. Taking a moment to look around he becomes painfully aware how much he stands out, the pale skin of his face unmistakable in the sea of tan around him.
Turning back to the table he leans over to Arian. "Are my people that rare around here?" He asks nodding over at the table of locals who were still gossiping among themselves, shooting him odd glances.
"Well where are you from, exactly? The Varisian coast? Did you travel all the way across the Inner Sea and through Thuvia and Osirion to get here?" says Arian to Lark.
"Well where are you from, exactly? The Varisian coast? Did you travel all the way across the Inner Sea and through Thuvia and Osirion to get here?" says Arian to Lark.
"I'm Chelish, you're pretty much right, over the Inner Sea, across land through Thuvia and Osirion then took a boat to Katapesh." Lark muses, recalling the long distance he had traveled, all the other followers of Iomedae he had meet.
"During my travel I've heard tales about of a group of paladins who turned back a siege in this region. Slo-Soul-Solku, yes, gnolls apparently. I'm errant paladin, traveling with out the support of an Order aside from the common bonds of faith I share with other followers of the Inheritor."
Naatme
Race << Human >>
Gender << Female >>
Class << Monk - Unchained >>
1. Order : Naatme values the order provided by civilization, and abhors the chaotic lawlessness of the wild Gnoll tribes
2. The Brethren : Taken in and taught by these esoterics , Naatme believed wholeheartedly in their mission and teachings.
3. Perfection : Seeking the perfection of mind and body, Naatme seeks to test herself against the world and its many challenges
4. Drawback: Love. Before her moral conflict, Naatme had a relationship with one Nespr Vass, a half-elf scholar. He continued on his
travels, but her feelings for him did not diminish. Now out in the world, she is constantly on the look out for him, hoping to
find him once more. While these feeling disturb her with thier power, she cannot ignore them.
Naamte is open to all and sundry experiences. She does not judge others, only herself, and that sometimes harshly. Her
aim is the perfect meld of mind and body her teacher spoke of. That can only come through the striving against challenges, small and mighty. She relishes
the opportunity to prove herself against whatever the world has in store.
Her dusky skin smooth and unblemished, Naamte is the picture of Garundi maidenhood, that is until she moves. Smooth and effortless, she moves with an economy that
shouts comptetence, of a sort that is never associated with traditional Garundi girls. Dresses simple, her eyes are alight with endless curiosity, but her
face is mask of calm, collected determination
Born in Kelarane, raised by esoteric organization The Brethren high in the Brazen Peaks.
Born in Kelmarane to a poor family of peasant, Naatme was the youngest of 8.
Her parents toiled in the fields and the town itself, making a meager living, the
children more often then not going hungry.
As children do, they entertained themselves. Naatme and her immediate sibling not
old enought to contribute to the family survival, ran wild through the
streets of Kelmarane.
It was on one such jaunt, that Naatme proved to adept at evading her silbings, hiding
under a basket. Lulled by the noise of the town and the warmth of her hiding
spot, Naatme fell into a deep slumber.
Only to be awoken by screams of pain and terror. Sitting up underneath the backet,
Naatme peered out to see scenes of murder and butchery. Gnolls rampaged through
the streets killing and pillaging. Scores of bodies lay still on the dusty
ground, women , men...children.
Terrified, Naatme stayed where she was. Then a smaller gnoll strolled by her hiding
spot. It stopped, muzzle lifted...sniffing.
It rounded on her hiding spot, and with a squeak of terror, the young girl flung off
the backet and ran for her life.
With a hoot of canine laughter the gnoll pursued, being much quicker than her, it
toyed with her as she tried to lose it in the twisty alleyways.
Finally, her memory failed, and she ran into a dead end. Chortling, the gnoll appeared
in the mouth of the alley and looked at her, salivating.
Grabbing a nearby piece of wood, Naatme made to protect herself, as she'd seen
her elder brothers play soldier.
Swinging the stick wildly, Naatme managed to keep the gnoll away for a few minutes,
but her arms grew tired and smirking the gnoll struck the wood from her hands.
"What have we here?" a smooth voice said from behind the gnoll.
It turned, startled, ignoring Naatme, and saw a man standing there, garbed for the desert, leading
a sturdy horse.
Confused for a moment, then gnoll realized the man had no weapons. It's courage
renewed, it launched itself at the man only to find its sword arm brought up short
by the man's left forearm; which felt as if it were made of iron.
"Tsk, tsk" the man admonished, then punched the gnoll with his right hand.
The gnoll flew back to his the wall beside Naatme, clutching its chest , blood already
seeping from its mouth...not realizing it was unable to breath.
Naatme watched the gnoll die, then turned to the man. A cloud of smoke blew past,
and the man sighed and crouched down, beckoning Naatme closer.
"Amazing you survived, child. You've some spirit in you, I think." the man
said, "Come, no else lives her but the gnolls, curse the lot." he says,
spitting.
Scooping up the girl, he rode out of the ruined city.
High into the hills he rode, higher still into the mountains. Ultimately,
he came to his desination, The Bastion. A settlement of the Brethren, an order of
monks and mystics, dedicated to the pursuit of physical and mental perfection.
Such was thier internal mission, out in the world they sought to advance the order
and benefits of civilization.
Here Naatme lived and grew, starting training and learning the ways of the Brethren.
Her body grew strong, her mind disciplined.
Her studies progressed to the point where she was chosen to assist in the Archives, assisting
the Head Archivist in his researches. She spent many hours, searching through
the scrolls and books, for just the volume the aged half-elf desired.
So outstanding was the outcome of her training, that Naatme then was allowed to
take tuteleage from the Bastion's Great Mystic, a learned and wise man, who
guided the Brethren's more metaphysical pursuits. Here, Naatme was awakened to
the great potential she had in the teachings of the Brethren, the possiblities
were great and daunting.
Besides her training and duties with either the Archivist or Mystic, Naatme
trained with the other students, the constant competition a vital element of the
Brethern's curiculum.
It came to pass, that an envoy from a neighboring valley was to visit. All sorts of
strange people and creature came to commune with the elders of the Brethren, but
this time...someone extraordinary.
The visitor came in the evening, the Brethren were all assembled in honor of the
arrival of... a unicorn! Naatme was breathless at the creature's beauty and grace.
With her previous appoinments she was certain that she'd be given the duty to
assist the guest during its stay. Buy nay! another was chosen.
Overcome with dismay, Naatme watched with jealous eyes as the young man chosen led
the unicorn to its quarters. Consumed with the injustice, Naatme came up with
a devious trick to discredit the other student. She would sneak into the unicorn's
quarters and 'hide' something of value to the unicorn...it was wearing a jeweled tiara!
Yes, that was it!
Later, she watched as the other student assisted the unicorn, taking its tiara and placing
it on a nearby table. The student then retired to a neighboring room, ready to
assist when needed.
Naatme watched the unicorn settle down for the night, then waited. Finally, full
of over-confidence, she stole into the room, silent as the night, picked up the
tiara and jumped up to secret it , hidden from view, on an exposed rafter.
"Hmmm, yes...no one will find it there." the deep , resonant voice of the
unicorn said in the darkness, Naatme whirling about to see it standing, majestic.
"Why do you do this?" it asked, "To what end?"
Naatme found she could not answer, for there was not answer, none that justified
what she had felt or did.
Nodding, the unicorn's gaze pierced Naatme to the soul, laying bare her her inflated self-esteem
and ambition.
Abashed, Naatme looked at the floor, then back up at the unicorn....who was gone! In it's
place stood the Mystic.
Seeing the panic and puzzlement sweep across her face, the Mystic smiled and said, "Worry not.
Such is the Test. All fail in some way. We have faults, yours happens to be pride. " he said gently,
the with a cutting motion of his arm, "Sweep such away! You are a prized pupil, but many before
you acheived the same or greater, and fell away from our teachings , consumed with thoughts of others'
intentions , others' achievements, others' prizes. That you were ashamed to be caught out....this is
good. Think on this, come to me at dawn."
Knowing she was dismissed, Naatme returned to her small room and lay on her simple cot, mind racing.
The lesson was obvious. Her jealousy had led her to act in a manner unacceptable. She lay there all
night, not sleeping, but examining her motivations and emotions, until the first light of dawn began to
lighten her small window.
Soon she was waiting outsider the Mystic's chambers, the two guards there pretending not to notice
her presense. The door opened of its own accord and she entered.
Kneeling before a balcony, facing the dawn, the Mystic waited. A hand indicated where Naatme should sit.
"What have you discovered, pupil?" he asked, eyes closed.
"I took for granted was was given to me. I expected the honor, and when I didn't recieve it... I grew
jealous. My only thought was to discredit the other student, so as to have the honor fall to me, the
most deserved. I now know all the honors I possess, I have earned, but I do not own them. They do not own
me. I am not defined by title , or position. I define myself."
The two sat quietly for a few moment, watching the sun rise together.
Then with a fluidity that belied his age, the Mystic rose and bade Naatme rise as well.
Formally, he bowed to her, "I can teach you no more. You will go from this place, not banished, merely
the next step in your tutelage. Our lessons will serve you, teach you, guide you for all of your life.
Return in your own time....you will know when. "
Thinking she was dismissed, Naatme was not dismayed by the Mystic's words, she turn to go, but a grunt from
her mentor forstalled her departure.
He was holding a scroll out to her, "A parting gift. Fare well, my friend."
Standing outside the Mystic's chambers, Naatme looked at the beautiful calligraphy written on the scroll's parchment,
an account of her rescue by a member of the Brethren, in the place of her birth.
She turned back to the now closed door, whispering "It was you...."
Naatme rised to look at the finished painting, leaning in to see herself for the first time on canvas.
"Your talent is impressive, though I believe you might have embellished my portrait.." she says modestly.
She then turns to Arian and Lark, "Though of Garundi heritage, I am a native of Katapesh, and if it's gnolls you seek, you've come to the right place. They are a plague on the attempts of good people to civilze these lands." this last she says vehemently, hand curled into fists more hard than one would expect from a Garundi maiden.
Naatme rised to look at the finished painting, leaning in to see herself for the first time on canvas.
"Your talent is impressive, though I believe you might have embellished my portrait.." she says modestly.
She then turns to Arian and Lark, "Though of Garundi heritage, I am a native of Katapesh, and if it's gnolls you seek, you've come to the right place. They are a plague on the attempts of good people to civilze these lands." this last she says vehemently, hand curled into fists more hard than one would expect from a Garundi maiden.
Lark nods in agreement. "I agree, had a run in with some on my way here. They ambushed our caravan but we managed to drive them off, took some wounds but fortunately no one was killed. We managed to track them back to their lair," His fist wraps tightly around his mug. "They'd been raiding caravans for a while, taking the women as slaves. I don't think I need to elaborate on what happened to them."
"No," says Arian, "I can imagine what happened to the gnolls, but what about the women?"
Lark looks away, a sad look in his eyes. "Used as slaves, one of them a few weeks later started, showing. We found out later that the leader of the pack had taken an interest in her. We found her one night , she had ripped her womb out with a dagger. After that a couple of the other women tried to kill themselves."
"That's probably not too different from how I cam to be."
"But with an orc father instead of a gnoll."
… Nurûrsh muses aloud …
"Except I don't know many of the details."
"Mostly because my mother abandoned me to my fate when I was young."
"Ah, you weren't able to liberate any of them, then? That is unfortunate," Arian says.
Lark looks up at Arian. "We kept a close eye on the other women after the first one, like I said they tried to kill themselves. When we got to town we left them in the care of the local church of the Dawnflower. I hope one day they find peace."
"Ah. Well, I suppose the Dawnflower's hands are the best care that can be given, now," says Arian, a bit cryptically.
Lark looks up at Arian, catching the cryptic language. "Do you disagree?" He asks pointedly.
"I think that Sarenrae's temple is generally well-suited to helping many victims. Some people need their own sort of closure, which they find their own way. But many just need a caring hand and some new meaning or direction, which that temple is poised to provide," says Arian idly, one hand running up and down the frets of her setar and seeking out various chord combinations.
1. Arian specifically didn't mention gnolls at all - as if she's talking about this problem from a general social perspective, not as a specific instance of women being abused by gnolls.
2. You think Arian may also be a rape survivor. But probably not gnolls.