Thron's Altered Kingmaker (Now Litejedi's)

Game Master Litejedi

Step 1: Write 5 background and concept elements that you feel are important to your image of the character.
Dunstan Isengraef
1) Dunstan is a paladin of Abadar, a protector of commerce, roadways, with a strong connection to the land itself.
2) Dunstan is considerably less taciturn and gruff than a typical dwarf. He is straightforward and honest, and can convince people he is right, much of the time in arguments. Dunstan is slow to get angry, but when roused is not afraid to act as a judge and executioner when necessary.
3) He is a rough-hewn dwarf from northwestern Issia, the children of mining folk who worked for the Golka’s and lived within the lands of House Garess. He does not care much for the squabble of the nobility, seeing as he has risen in his station from a relatively low place, and believes everyone should be given the opportunity to. His father is a forman at a mine, and his mother is a miner and stoneworker, with a keen eye for quality. Dunstan has a lot of siblings, who are also miners.
4) Dunstan feels that it is his sacred duty to protect and foster civilization, orderly trade, and the laws of the land. Dunstan does not care for the recent strife related to the Surtova’s succession, only wishing for a strong monarch to rule justly.
5) Dunstan dresses plainly compared to many of the other clergy in the church, not adorning himself with gold or precious metals (beyond his holy symbol), and preferring rock and stone items wherever possible. He is 4’2” tall, with golden braided hair and beard, coal black eyes. He is broad-shouldered and stout, and rests a heavy longhammer on his shoulder as he travels, wearing heavy armor almost exclusively.
Step 2: List at least two goals for the character.

1) I would like to have Dunstan help create a safe civilization in the Stolen Lands, by ensuring a lawful, safe, and productive network of cities and towns.
2) I want to smash the bad guys and the enemies of the various mini-baronies.

Step 3: List at least two secrets about your character.

1) Dunstan doesn’t actually care about the nobility, but only pretends to in order to ensure that common folks are protected. He holds nobility in some kind of contempt, for thinking they are better than common folk.
2) Dunstan’s father made a secret pact with some earth elementals he met in the mine, in a place where the boundary between planes became thin, to avoid places in the mine, reducing the profitability of the mine, and keeping many of the dwarves in near-poverty. In return, the elementals, subtly assisted Dunstan over the course of his life. Duncan didn’t “need” to protect his other kids, because they were safe in the mine, with him.

Step 4: Describe at least three people that are tied to the character.
1) Dunstan’s father Duncan taught Dunstan everything he knows about stone, mining, and commerce, but otherwise doesn’t really understand his son, and believes that his son is too “soft” and needs protection.
2) Isaac is the older human cleric of Abadar who trained Dunstan in paladining within the fortress of HIghdelve. Isaac is a kind and generous cleric, unlike some of his kin, and has emphasized that Dunstan should use his unique gifts to help protect people, not just civilization. Duncan does not care much for Isaac, thinking him to be a bad influence.
3) Snerklerf, was a gnome fence in Highdelve, where Dunstan relocated to train as a paladin. Snerklerf was caught selling low-level narcotics, and other banned items, and sent to prison for some time, where he was abused by the non-gnome prisoners. He has a chip on his shoulder against Dunstan, believing he wasn’t hurting anyone, and that the punishment did not fit the crime.

Step 5: Describe three memories, mannerisms, or quirks that your character has.

1) Dunstan tends to stand perfectly still when not fighting, and can seem to react slowly when a fight breaks out, but his reflexes are honed from his time in the mountains, and moves quickly during fights.
2) Dunstan prefers to keep his feet on the ground, especially if that ground is in a mountainous, urban, or rocky area. He is visibly uncomfortable in other terrain.
3) Dunstan has frequent dreams of being entombed in the earth, but finds them comforting instead of terrifying as many people would, and his senses in the dream seem to amplify to a fine point, with the earth and stone acting as an extension of his body and mind.

There are two events that defined young Chrysan's life. The first, already mentioned was the horns. Not so much the fey abduction, but the horns themselves, which led her to her separation from her noble family and into the arms of thieves and bandits.

The second was the death of her protector, her teacher, her... father as she started to see him. Kan. The old guard who had followed as she ran away. As Chrysan grew and learned the arts of banditry and manipulation, she also grew ambitious. The crews they worked had none, so she sought strength, and found in the Harpy (a half elven former nanny with a brilliant but broken mind, driven to gluttony, cannibalism, witchcraft and of course the Pallid Princess). The Harpy's crew was strong, and the two excelled in it even with Kan's reservations. All was at least okay, until Kan died. Crossbow bolt in a raid. Just happened. Knew it might at any time, to either of them.

The young woman she was becoming would have survived, after silent grief, and a further darkening of her heart. But Harpy hated waste. So Kan rose, a mindless minion of undeath, crossbow bolt still in his neck, his own blood drenched armor.

The horror of it shook Chrys to her core. That thing was not her Kan, would never be, and its very existence meant the ONE person in all the world she cared for would suffer.

"wait"

A single word whispered in her mind as she coiled herself to throw all she had to kill it and then the Harpy so it could never rise again. One soft word, frosted with a dark cold, resonating with her own hate. Chrys knew enough religion to know where it was from. The Lady of Graves, the hater of undeath (or more likely one of her servants). Still it made her pause, made her see the others were watching her, testing her. If she tried now, she'd die and Kan's body would still go on. Probably the Harpy would just raise her as well.

So she waited. Ignored the screaming pain as her loved one shambled about. Manipulated, acted, grew, until the day was right. A year later, another word, "Now" was spoken in her mind. The only other word the divine passed on to her.

That day, she slit the unsuspecting fat hag's throat, salted her corpse, and set it on fire in front of the remains of the crew (having staged a coup, the gang was in the process of butchering itself). The fire blazed blue, stopping the fighting, and all watched as she spit in the fire and then walked off, leaving the life of banditry for something new.

It was raining again, on the Mordant Spire, as a mild typhoon buffeted the island and the elvish inhabitants. Rain tried to spatter the magically augmented windows, but it puddled briefly in odd-shaped globules before, before being whisked away by some external force. Sophiel started at this, in lieu of doing her trigonometry proofs, trying to figure out by intuition the way that such a thing was devised.

It isn't natural whatever it is. Mother says that the arcanists of old warded the spire from intrusions by the Azlanti, but the side-effect of this warding is that many innocuous things get warded too.

Sophiel had seen more than one albatross slam into a wall of force extending into the sky above the central spire of the island. She would try to revive the poor birds, usually unsuccessfully. Her... family tended to be practical, and strict about things. Something about warding the world against being overrun by aboleths, etc. etc. but Sophiel did not truly believe that the problem was as dire as they claimed. Philosophically, she understood the tension between over and under preparation, but it seemed awfully strange to spend so much time doing such a thing. The gods, and the natural order, would not stand for things to get out of balance for long - anyone with a sense of the long-view would understand this. Though... perhaps the universe is acting through the Spireborn.

Sophie was staring at the water when her mother arrived, noiselessly, and watched her for a moment. Sophiel was still staring at the rain when her mother coughed, nearly five minutes later. Dreamily, Sophiel responded, "have you ever thought about the rain, mother. What causes it? I mean, I know what causes it... generally."

Analiena raised an eyebrow at the hurried end of the statement, then after a moment responded "weather is influenced by many things - naturally complex behaviors that are interconnected, magic, divine power... Have you finished your proofs? You have fallen behind your peers."

Sophiel waves her hand, "no, thinking about this, mostly. And I you're right, but that doesn't answer why, or the reason behind why. There's something else that is on the edge of understanding. All the formulas and computations and modeling that you do doesn't get you closer to that which lurks at the edge, does it."

Analiena straightens up, "That is not our place. We serve as guardians, and we are blessed to do so. We must know our place - lest Golarion fall to ruin."

Sophiel's eyes flashed briefly, "your place, yes, maybe. Do you think I am suited for this? Calculations, repetition? It's nothing. I'm not going to live as long as any of you. I can't spend - fourty years calculating the best way to predict how a droplet of water will fall. I want to be out there - feeling it." Her voice was pleading. "I want to see why, and how. And meet other people who aren't so... elfy!" Sophiel looked ashamed at her outburst. "It's not enough."

Analiena frowned, slightly "It is safe, and that must be enough. Finish your proofs - we eat in fourty minutes."

Sophiel frowned at her in turn, "Oh, yes, I can't wait." She waved her hand dismissively and sighed, audibly, returning to her work. The door closed behind her, and she returned to her work - briefly, before she again watched the rain again.

Sophiel sits glumly on the rocky beach, tossing pebbles into the water. Periodically one will bounce off of some invisible field, or disintegrate into a colorful shower of sparks. She seemed to be aiming at those spots, but her aim wasn’t great and she wasn’t strong enough to reliably throw it the entire distance.

Chin in hand, she watched as the sun shone down on dolphins creating the waves, snacking on a school of fish, until a Mordant skiff sped by, dispersing the cetaceans and their snack. She frowned at her cousins, knowing full well they would not see her, stuck her tongue out in their direction.

She raised her hand to throw another pebble, and as she let go of the stone, she was startled as the head of a woman popped out of the water in front of her, and into the path of the stone. The stone hurtled towards the creature, slowing during flight until it stopped - spinning slowly in the air until dropping with a quiet splash in front of her nose.

The woman was ancient, with craggy feature and hair that looked of seaweed, and Sophiel stared, agape as the woman quickly swum over and emerged from the water. ”Dearie, you should be more careful.” said the crone, in a cackling voice. The woman hobbled up surprisingly quickly, and took Sophiel’s face into her hands. ”Pretty enough, eh?”, cackling, she jerked her hand with surprising strength to the right, peering at Sophiel’s profile. For the first time, Sophiel saw a large woman standing with a bored look, a few feet away with golden shears hanging at her belt, and golden braids, peering down at Sophiel, with a critical eye. The large woman reached an enormous hand out in front of her and seemed to grasp something in the air - a golden thread that Sophiel noticed for the first time extended from her chest past the woman, and into the distance, shimmering translucently in the sun. The large woman sniffed, disdainfully, ”it will have to, won’t it, though I was expecting a bit... more.” She peered at the thread, rubbing it between her fingers and watching Sophiel for a response. Sophiel, who was initially quite frightened, now mostly felt consternation. The large woman dropped the thread, which disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

Slightly muffled by the presence of a grip of steel on her jaw. ”Respectfully madam, madams. Please unhand me, that, all of this - whatever you are doing, please stop.” The crone, with eyes as black as the night sky above the steaming sea, surprisingly obliged Sophiel, shuffling back a bit. Sophiel rubbed her jaw, and continued ”as you have brightened up an otherwise uneventful morning, I will refrain from signaling for help from any of the listeners - but I would appreciate some explanation for how - and why you two have sought to manhandle me while I perform the terribly important task of being bored.”

She heard a light cough to her left, as a small, beautiful woman with butterfly wings appeared, and curtsied while flying in mid-air. The woman was dressed in a smart looking waistcoat and held a scythe strapped to her back. ”Three, actually.” Then to the others, ”she seems to be polite at least, when her back is against the wall. A good trait.” The winged creature smiled at Sophiel, ”this must be confusing, so sorry about that, I am -“ she started, before the towering woman waved her finger and seemed to strike the very sound from travelling through the air as the flying creature animatedly seemed to speak in some unknowable way.

Rolling her eyes, she made a cutting motion with her finger towards the giant, glaring fiercely in a way that was disproportionate to her size. The giant sighed and gestures again, and the flying woman spoke more slowly, ”yes, that, fine, who I am does not matter. It’s who you are that matters, Sophie. You matter to us, and you matter to others, or you will, more than you can know. You must leave this place - your time has come to an end with the elves, they have no use for you.” Her voice became softer, and she said the last phrase not unkindly, smiling at Sophiel without a hint of guile.

The old woman, now seated on some rocks, and holding an obsidian scythe with a gnarled driftwood handle, smelled of the sea, with tattered clothes made of watery plants. ”What good is her future if she does not understand the past? That woman told her nothing. She has no knowledge of her three worlds - she barely knows the one she’s in. Maybe the mistress was wrong about you dearie.” The crone smirked toward the girl, her eyes still as black as night.

The giant scoffs, ”she is wrong, and right, and…” The winged woman says quietly, ”both…that is up to…” The crone shuffles forward and watches Sophiel, again, whispering ”the girl.”
Sophiel watches the crone’s eyes, which seemed to grow larger, stretching out within her face, distorting her features, and Sophiel watched as she felt drawn closer to the crone’s face, the blackness in her eyes studded with unknown constellations seemingly connected by nearly transparent golden threads. She felt herself pulled forward, falling, until she fell into a pit as large as the universe itself, surrounding her and overwhelming her. The strands began to vibrate, the air thicker than normal, and she felt an enormous pressure building up behind her, the threads near her vibrating violently.

She turned her head behind her to see what was approaching, and was awake, on a rocky beach, having slept for a few hours. She looked again out at the steaming see, picked up a pebble, and threw it towards the shield.

…
The next day, she packed up what she could, including books, and went to the quarters of her mother, who was writing quietly. ”Mother … I have to go. But I am sure you already knew this. Thank you… and the Listeners, for what they have given me.” She quickly strode to her, and gave Analiena a fierce hug, then turned back to the door, as her mother sat passively, staring at the book in front of her, clutching her inkpen tightly. Sophiel says, pausing, without turning, ”this does not have to be the end for you, either. It has always been your choice. I love you, mother.” Sophiel gripped the straps of her bag and shuffled out of the spire.

Rumors: The young nobleman's daughter disappeared a decade ago. The official story is that a man in his employ, a former soldier, kidnapped her. Searches turned up nothing and o ransom was ever asked for, so she has been presumed dead.

Rumors: Servants knew of the week long disappearance, the girl's personality change once she showed back up, and the screams coming from her room at night. Employment loyalty had no hope against the coin offered by gossip mongers so all sorts of rumors spread about why. Still that was a decade ago.

Rumor: When the life of thievery turned to joining crews, they were tight lipped as most people turning to that lifestyle were, so rumors of where they came from were never debunked (except the real disgusting ones). A father and his tielfling daughter was the most common. When the man died, she became the 'pet' of the Harpy. The horned fire haired young woman was rarely far, unless she was out listening for the boss. Until the night the camp turned on itself, where she killed the other woman, and then disappeared. The rumors of how and why are wide. Demon escaping control, just fed up, crazy killer girl, divine justice, sacrifice to the dark gods, so on.

Not that there is much law in the river kingdoms: Like most semi intelligent brigands, she would go in with hood and mask. A small child/woman with the occasional glimpse of red gold hair. Later a young woman matching the same description plus the dark horns from former bandits or ones caught and spilling all the could to save themselves from the noose.

Gurev Medvyed and Sophie, and a handful of Gurev’s favorite rangers were riding west, skirting the edge of the Gronzi forest, keeping an eye out for rogue loggers or bandits.

Sophie’s uncle was riding an enormous elk, fitted with a specially trained saddle, but no bit, and guiding the creature with his knees. He periodically patted the beast’s neck in encouragement, and made bawdy jokes to his men, skirting the very edge of tastelessness.

Sophie watched closely, smiling and laughing at the jokes, appreciative that her uncle both had invited her on the trip and was managing to keep his most masculine impulses in check. For their part, the jokes were funny, but she was too distracted to truly appreciate them. She had trained extensively in the ways of her new family, but still had trouble with riding. Animals seemed to get along with her well enough, but her magical connection seemed to be more tied to the land itself, and the other lands that existed, seemingly on the edge of sight, where the boundary between worlds was particularly thin. She saw this land reflected in the shape of a fiddlehead, grown too large for it's surroundings. The swirling of water in a stream, too perfect to be natural. The formation of boulders with cracks that appeared in fractal patterns that could not be natural, and cut against the typical cleavage properties.

She watched, keeping an eye out for more, drinking in everything she could, hoping to understand but settling for appreciation. The forest was lovely, unlike some of the dark and foreboding places she passed on her travels. There was a lightness to it that seemed to shout safety and serenity - whether that was the gnome’s doing or something else, she knew her family’s duty was threefold: first, stop the logging as it is illegal by decree of the Surtovas. Second, stop the logging as those doing it were not managing the forest well enough to allow the trees to regrow. And third, stop the logging because, it was unbalancing to the spirit of the forest. Three reasons, there were always three reasons for everything these days. She concentrated on the areas near the forest, mindful of the presence of anything otherworldly, and tried to keep herself engaged with the others.

She focused on her responsibility, on riding the stubborn grey palfrey, and on minding her uncle so intently that she missed the presence of the half-dozen men and women of ill-repute that sprung up from the brush, surrounding her party with their bows drawn. The bandits were camouflaged and armed for speed, the bows drawn but not yet taut, menace only lightly implied.

A roguish looking fellow, about 40 years old appeared behind her, hand on the pommel of his sword and smiling like a cat who caught a canary.

”Lord Medvyed, fancy seeing you here in my neck of the woods, as it were.” He winked at Sophie at this last phrase, and she merely watched him, her hands raised in an expression of supplication.

By this time, the mirth had fled from Gurev’s face as quickly as darkness does when a sunrod is brought to bear. He turned back and wheeled his elk toward the man, staring down at him with something between annoyance and contempt. ”Duma, you have grown bold - perhaps too bold. Not to be a caricature,” Duma nodded, respectfully at this, ”but what in the hells is the meaning of this. I am the leader of a great house of Brevoy, you cannot just rob me and expect -“ at this last phrase, Duma smirked and drew his sword, then swiftly approached Sophie, holding it inches from her.

Gurev paused, and Duma responded, ”you were saying, your lordship?” with a sneer. Gurev’s anger turns to fear as he raises his hands. ”Who is this little lily, Gurev? I haven’t met her before. Milady, I am Duma - some say that I am the sly, but I find that to be a bit reductive. I am more than sly, I am a raconteur, a rake, and a cad. I also would like you to toss me ... half of the gold pieces that your dear uncle has given your fine palfrey to carry.”

Gurev looked more surprised than Sophie would expect. She narrowed her eyes and watched the exchange. ”Duma, that is too much, at the end of our rounds, we are to deliver it to the King’s accounts at the church. It’s nearly a month of taxes!”

Duma looked doubtful for a moment, then responded again, ”two thirds then, and I’ll thank you not to argue again lest the price increase further.” Gurev’s face flashed with anger and Sophie watched passively as her uncle bolted forward on his steed and attempted to ride down the ranger, who sidestepped the charge, cut the bindings from Gurev’s saddle, and unseated him quickly and efficiently. Dazed, Gurev began to protest from the ground, then looked up at his assailant, then almost imperceptibly nodded (an expression that was only visible to Sophie), the tall brush hiding this from every other observer. Duma hesitated for a moment, then reached down and grabbed her uncle. Pulling back his hand and making a fist, Duma smiled wryly at Gurev, then smashed his fist into Gurev’s face, her uncle’s nose making a sickening crunch as the cartilage smashed into bone and he began to bleed.

Duma wiped his hand and stood up stiffly, lowering a dazed Gurev to the ground gently. He turned his gaze to Sophie, and the archers surrounding the group nocked arrows into their bows, quietly but noticeably. Her uncle’s men seemed to be waiting for an opening of their own, but as they were outnumbered and each had at least two arrows trained at their heart, they watched as their lord fell.

Sophie raised her right eyebrow and unbuckled four of the six sacks of coin from the saddlebags of her horse. Delicately, she tossed them towards Duma, and they landed, clinking at his feet. She then raised her hands, ”I trust your business has concluded, villain. You had better run far after committing such a heinous crime. Only the deepest, darkest depths of the forest will be able to protect you from the wrath of the Surtovas. You were a fool to steal their rightfully collected dues.” She laced this statement with an almost palpable venom, the words dripping with contempt and her eyes flashed with anger.

Duma for the first time looked taken aback, briefly, but then he smiled again, ”it would be fun to see them try.” He gathered up the sacks and whistled, and he and his crew disappeared into the brush, quickly moving into the forest and leaving no trail. Sophie hopped off of her horse and saw to tending to her uncle, who is sitting up and gingerly touching his broken nose.

Gurev grumbled, ”that hurt. Could you please my dear, patch me up?” He smiled at his niece, his beard matted with blood. When she healed him, his nose seemed to mend properly but the blood remains, and he pulled out at rag and started cleaning himself off. His men tried to wrangle his elk but, it shied away from their touch and he waved them off, ”Come on, you know he won’t respond to you.” He calmed the beast down and approached it, whispering softly. Sophiel watched this, remaining impassive, then asks ”What shall we tell the bank, uncle?”, her expression inscrutable.

Gurev thought for a moment, then grumbled, again ”the truth. Duma accosted us and stole some taxes, then fled deep into the woods. It’ll be tough to find him, but thankfully, our lands don’t generate much to begin with. This’ll be written off, I expect, or they will have me round up a posse and do my diligence- enough at least to show that they’ll takes it seriously. We may need to give them some of our savings, as well, though I doubt as much as was stolen...” Gurev sighed and straightened up in the saddle, touching his still sore nose, and looked at Sophie seriously, and straight in the eye ”consider this lesson number 157. Your subjects rely on you as much as you on them, your duty is to protect them. You are their first and best like of defense. If that means you get hurt in the short term, so be it. Lesson number 158, know the consequences of your actions, and be prepared to face them.” He watched her face for a reaction, and she nods slowly. ”Come on then, the Surtovas won’t be happy, especially if we are late, and I expect there won’t be many more loggers - let’s cut across the hills to make better time.”

He and his men rode west and Sophie lagged behind, watching the forest and thinking, before she turned to her uncle and followed him.

Step 1: Write 5 background and concept elements that you feel are important to your image of the character.

1) Sophie is the right-hand woman to her uncle, Baron Gurev Medvyed, and lives in Stoneclimb with him and her extended family. She has a wide variety of magic powers which she brings to bear in this regard.
2) She is friendly, polite, and kind to people, assuming the best of intentions when they first meet, and trying to find ways to make people feel comfortable with her. Though relatively small in height, Sophie’s presence within a room commands attention from others when she speaks. She enjoys speaking with and learning about the lives of disparate people.
3) Sophie is a slight young half-elven woman with braided raven-black hair, bound with coppery headband. She has small hoop earrings in her pointed ears at various locations, and her skin is pale with a slightly translucent, silver quality. Her eyes are dark brown, and her nose straight. Her lips are slightly upturned at the corner, and her features are remarkably symmetrical. She wears a fashionable set of garb, most of the time, her outfits always with a natural theme (rich reddish brown and verdant green are most common) to compliment whatever trends are popular in the capital, and even while traveling her clothes always seem suited for the occasion. She is fond of leaf motifs, and will sometimes paint complex patterns of leaves onto her hands, and occasionally on her face.
4) Sophie’s personality is in flux. She knew very little of her boisterous father growing up, and stuck at the cloister of the Mordant Spire, she was reserved and clinical. That began to change as fey secretly spoke to her and asked her to play pranks on the elves. She agreed, but only to the requests that were not malicious. This caused her to be more fun-loving, but also eventually caused the tension that led to her leaving the spire. She is keenly aware of how she projects herself, and having travelled across much of the width of Avistan, she tried out many different “masks” along the way, which she leveraged to get what she wanted. But when she found the rest of her family, and found that her father had died, many of the masks fell away and she began to wear one which was closest to her true personality: protective of those close to her and cautious of outsiders, generous without being a spendthrift, honest but manipulative (she realizes people project their own desires onto her and she leverages this, not unkindly, to her own ends and the ends that she believes would be good for them), knowledgeable but sparing in details, self-effacing but with an air of self-importance (as if to disarm people while still retaining confidence). She prefers to make people think that agreeing with her is their own idea, because it’s the easiest for her (it makes most people are agreeable she’s found). She usually can convince people to see things her way, but when her knowledge or expertise is challenged in a significant way (if she doesn’t realize she’s being manipulated, or someone has a different recollection of a fact or event), she can lose her composure.
5) She has a soft spot for animals, children, people of little means, and refugees, and the best parts of her personality shine with them. With most nobles, officials, and clergy, she is manipulative, and cautious, and more likely to let the worst parts of her personality show, believing that she knows better than them. She has a mild obsession with the number three, but she does not realize it.

Step 2: List at least two goals for the character.

1) Sophie would like to effectively protect her family, the poor, and anyone who has had a difficult time from being crushed under the boot of the Brevic nobility. She wants to figure out why she was drawn to this place, where the boundaries between worlds is thin, and how it concerns her fate.
2) It would be cool to have Sophie set up a pseudo-representative government in her mini-barony, though who knows if that is possible. It also would be cool if she wild shaped into interesting fey forms.

Step 3: List at least two secrets about your character.

1) At least once per month, Sophie hears three distinct whispers and voices urging her towards one path or another, and sometimes the voices argue. Based on her judgement of the situation, she will follow the instructions and or not, she cannot tell the difference between the results.
2) Sophie is being watched, and manipulated towards a fate by Magdh, the eldest of destiny, to some unknowable end.

Step 4: Describe at least three people that are tied to the character.

1) Gurev is her uncle, her teacher, and her patron - guiding her in the way that the Medvyeds have been surviving in the nest of vipers that is the brevic court. He loves his niece, but his own children are to take over for him after he is gone, and he secretly doesn’t know what Sophie will do when he passes on. The other nobles would not stand for yet another non-human outsider taking over a Brevic house (they are already up in arms about Toval Garess).
2) Piotyr is Gurev’s son, the younger of two siblings and nominal heir to the Medvyed house. His sister, Svendya is an adventurer who left home a few years ago, and has informally given up a noble claim, finding court intrigue to be tiresome. Piotyr is gentle and kind, and also enjoys animals like Sophie. They have become dear friends, and she has become concerned that his honesty and naivety will hurt him if he cannot learn to deal with the Surtovas effectively. She knows that in an ideal world, he would be a perfect leader to the house, and has no interest in ursuping his place, but she is worried (and Gurev is too).
3) Bishop Candice Destrov is the head of the church of Abadar for Brevoy, and she knows that Sophie has been touched by the first world. She has sent inquisitors to spy on the Medvyeds, as Candice has become convinced that the fey are attempting to destabilize and destroy Brevoy in the absence of a despot, and the believes Sophie is working for them to do so.

Step 5: Describe three memories, mannerisms, or quirks that your character has.

1) Sophie prides herself on her wide and eclectic interests. A dilettante and a sensate, she likes to learn at least a little bit about everything, and is pleased to demonstrate this knowledge to others. She is, however, an actual expert on magic to some degree - arcane, planar, and nature specifically, and some of the border between these different fields.
2) Sophie has a mild obsession with the number three, and is likely to favor things that come in threes (by happenstance - it’s hard to manipulate her by exploiting this). She also tries to get input from three different sources before making important decisions, hoping for varied expertise to provide the most breadth of skill.
3) Sophie does not recall her past interactions with the various fey heralds that have spoken with her once they cease, beyond a vague tugging at her memory.

Combat Result: 1d6 ⇒ 5

As the group traveled down the road towards Oleg’s Trading Post, they are beset by goblins! They assail the group as they break out into a goblin war song! But the heroes do not falter, and brace themselves for battle! As the goblins advance, Dunstan, Orri, and Isabella advance, cutting down a trio of the green fiends with their blades and axe! However, the next wave of goblins is soon upon them, and the trio find themselves in a staunch battle to hold the line!

Meanwhile, Sophiel conjures forth a ball of flame in her hands and begins hurling them at the goblins. Strangely they at first are thrilled at the sight of fire...until they realize it is them who is aflame! A pair of goblins runs up to bring Sophiel down from behind...only to be cut down themselves as Chrysa leaps from behinds horse and thrusts her sword through one’s neck before quickly withdrawing the blade and slicing down the other!

As the fight rages, the goblins soon see they are outmatched, and the few survivors flee into the woods!

Combat Result: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Party Members: 1d5 ⇒ 3 Isabella
Isabella Injury: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Limb: 1d4 ⇒ 2 Severed Off-Hand

As the group makes camp that night, they are disturbed by an unsettling silence that has fallen over the woods. No birds sing, no frogs croak, no crickets chirp. But the silence is broken by a methodical raking of leaves in the darkness, moving ever steadily towards the campsite...

In the darkness, a of eerie pinpoints of light...like eyes...can be seen approaching against the light of your campfire. As they grow closer, you all ready your weapons, and as the figure nears your fire, you see that you are now beset by an owlbear! The beast advances on you all, and you leap into action to defend yourselves! Dunstan lunges forward first, slamming the thing’s skull with his hammer! It recovers quickly, however, and pins his weapon down with a paw before clamping down on his left arm with its powerful beak! It shakes him about like a rag doll before throwing him aside. Dunstan goes flying to the side of the fight screaming in agony beyond the light of the fire!

Sophiel attempts to make the creature slip up with a grease spell, but it’s claws seems to give it more than adequate footing. Adequate enough to slap Chrysa aside as she attempts to stab the thing in its flank as the Lebeda siblings charge into action! They thrust their blades at the beast, delivering a couple of lacerations to it, before it rears up and let’s out a deep hoot-like-roar before it comes crashing down and slashes at Orri, causing him to have to leap back to stay safe.

Isabella takes the opportunity to try and strike. She lunges forward once more, but the owlbear wheels faster than expected! She reflexively raises her buckler as the beast brings a massive claw across her arm, rending flesh and bone in one fell swoop! She shrieks our in agony as her arm is ripped away at the elbow in a mangled mess! The group calls for a retreat as Dunstan recovers and returns in time to stop the massive bleeding from her wound with a bit of healing blessing from Abadar. The last things the group sees before they flee into the dark is the sight of the owlbear swallowing down the remains of Isabella’s arm...

The next morning, they return to their camp to find it in ruin, along with one of their horses being killed and mostly eaten...