Dot
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Dot.
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric moved:
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I shall endure.
All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” ― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy: The Inferno, the Purgatorio and the Paradiso
boop
Hey scran did you have a program do your character??
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“Know then, O Lord, that in ages past the priests of the fell god Pharastuz (may their very shadows writhe in torment) hunted across the lands, slaying and reaving the clerics of Tarmenel, and other followers of purity and goodness. Pharaztus (who should not be named in jest), exulted in the deeds of his infidel followers, foul, unnatural and morally corrupt as they were.”
“Know further, O Mighty Prince, that, at the last, the good folk (being dwarves, elves, gnomes and halflings) sallied forth with the great Lords of men and turned spell, prayer and sword against the accursed ones. So it was that the hidden temples of Pharastuz were cast down into the dirt, their disgusting congregations transported to rot in donjons and his ensanguined clergy slain and immolated. And henceforward the lands of the good folk knew peace and prospered mightily under the enlightened rule of your forefathers."
“But also know, O Wise and Puissant Visitor, that the foul worship of Pharastuz still continues, hidden in dark places from the eyes of the just and noble….”
lacob, 239th Guildmaster of Luminaries; Words To A Visiting Prince, Vol 1.
1st SHRIVENTIDE, 1400CY - The City League, Business Quarter
Collectively you have heeded the summons from your old patron Gormrenn Geldzauberer and now find yourselves ushered hastily into an antechamber within his gilded Alcázar[1].
Within at the head of a lacquered wood table sits Gormrenn himself. His golden teeth glinting as he smiles - a contrast against snow white beard and tanned skin.
He bids you sit whilst servants finish dressing the table with dishes of cheeses, drupes, fruit, fresh baked bread and gold embossed pitchers of wine and water.
Beside the mercantyler sits a quiet young woman with long black hair and green eyes that flit between host and eclectic guests. She is well-dressed, although the fashion and cut is more rustic than reflective of the trends of the City League. The rich blue cloak she wears is of good quality, with clasps of silver at the neck.
Her thin fingers nervously play at a silvered signet ring as she waits, before Gormrenn pats her arm with his own bejewelled hand, eliciting a weak smile from the girl.
The mage-mercantyler grins and nods as you all finally sit;
”Welcome my friends to my most humble abode, and thank you for answering my summons. There is food on my table and water or wine for those who wish to slake a morning thirst before we talk business…”
Gormrenn leans back, surveying your collective assembly with smiling pride;
”Hah! My what a fine company you do make… I have already told young Lady Jenneleth here of you all, and your merits as vagabondi[2], but I am a peddler at heart, always eager to sell… so please, introduce yourselves in your own words for her benefit…”
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"Name's Rannock Deepdelver" - a brawny dwarf stood up, his armor clinking and creaking - around his neck the Hammer holy symbol clearly prominent, identifying him as one of Grunnundergön, the Hammerer’s faithful - Dwarven God of Creation, Mining & Smithing.
He reached out for food and drink, hands calloused and strong - "You know I never much liked the term vagabondi, but then again it is what it is" - he chuckled at Gormrenn - "I am an artificer and a trader. And when the Hammerer sees fit, I have also been known to carry his Blessings and bash some heads that need bashin'" - the dwarf smiled at their host, and pat the warhammer at his side - "It is good to see you again Master Geldzauberer" - he nodded - "And a pleasure to meet you Lady Jenneleth" - he bowed with surprising politeness, then turned around to the others in the room.
"Enough of me fer now!" - his speech finished, the dwarf sat back down, apparently quite happy to focus on more relevant things, like eating and drinking.
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The clopping footsteps echoed coming down the hall. Spiro knew the way, and though he had a few scars as receipts of his work for Gormrenn, he still eagerly anticipated being summoned... each is one step closer to paying off his debt.
Hmm. I bet if I lowered the pivot point and added a grease fitting behind each knee it would allow the addition of a spring to soften the steps. I'll have to work on that tonight.
The door opened and was quickly filled by a suit of armor unlike any other. Painted a pale grey and with the Official Seal of Shriventide painted on the chest, the studs on the armor gleemed with newness. A closer examination might reveal the Hawk and Sheave of his family on the left shoulder, and an unrecognized crest on the right.
Taking a seat, the youthful face of a young man was revealed as he removed the helmet with a metallic click and a hiss of escaping air.
"Greetings. I'm Spiro of Hawk Plantation... though at the moment I am a bit estranged from using that name in any official capacity. Please don't feel threatened by this mechanical behemoth. I guarantee it's completely harmless... usually".
He then reaches for a goblet of wine, struggling a bit to reach it with the confinement of the armor encasing his body, but showing his familiarity with the armor he twists just so and is able to both grab the goblet and successfully drink from it.
Ah! As usual a fine vintage. You never disappoint Master Gormrenn".
He then looks at the recently introduced young lady and smiled shyly holding out his goblet in her direction.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance indeed Lady Jenneleth. Here is to your health and long life".
He then sits back a bit alarmed at the creaking sound the decorative chair makes.
Gormrenn grin widens as you both introduce yourselves, his eyes crinkling in appreciation.
"Of course Master Deepdelver. That term is somewhat vulgar... and we have company so I will refrain. Let us call you all specialists yes? Skills and aptitudes that I have found most useful in aiding my economic endeavours..."
As the metallic whirlwind that is Spiro settles, Gormrenn shakes his head with a chuckle;
"Quite the entrance lad... I can assure you Lady Jenneleth, Spiro here can be more... subtle... when the situation requires it."
For her part the young woman seems to take it all in her stride, returning your toast one of her own.
"Gentlemen. I am please to make your acquaintances... My name is Jenneleth of Haranshire, apprentice to Tausthäuser."
Her voice is soft, accent rural, and words considered.
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Beneath beetled brows and a spiked mop of black hair, the half-orc watches the quiet young woman intently. His focus only shifts to the others at the table as they introduce themselves… with the hissing and clanking warrior drawing a concerned look. When the others have said their piece, he clears his throat.
From the chair, he rises… and rises… and rises. The meaty half-orc stops at his six and a half feet of height. His clothes are plain, a peasant’s tunic and trousers held up with some sort of woven leather belt. He looks as if he should be laboring in a field somewhere. The only indicator that, perhaps, he has a place at this specific table is the ornate, superbly crafted, and bespoke steel cestus covering his left arm – from fingers to elbow.
”Hûnidark.” He states flatly. The half-orc begins to sit and stops half-way at the laugh about to burst from Gormrenn. They had talked about how Hûnidark presents himself more than once. He slowly resumes standing. ”Brother to the Order of the Knot… of Kordd.” He looks at the woman and nods his head, ”Nice to meet you…” He sits down quickly, then half-rises again to add in the belated honorific, ”Miss.” before sitting down again. He takes a cup of water and sips at it.
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As the towering Half-Orc rises then sits, the seat next to him seems to move of its own volition... followed by wheezing shuffles until from behind the table steps a rotund halfling that wearing dark, hooded robes. His prodigious grey beard follows the contour of his rounded belly whilst hiding much of his face, leaving only a large bulbous nose sticking out from the sea of wild hair.
The old halfling steadies himself, then bows before addressing Jenneleth in a high, creaky voice akin to a rocking chair or door needing oiled;
"Greetings my dear. I am Zeebo Softfeather, an acquaintance of Master Geldzauberer... and despite appearances am not a gnome! Perish the thought I say! Gno, I am, merely a well-fed, well-read halfling of... mature, yes mature years... Like a cheese I have got better with age!"
He begins a wheezing giggle at his own joke, then coughs to compose himself. Tapping his large nose he whispers;
"I know a smidge of this, smidge of that and a pinch of magic... Now... did someone mention cheese?"
Zeebo disappears from view then pops himself up onto the chair, small hands reaching for a truckle of cave-aged Stinky Abbott[1]...
Hûnidark's imposing stature seems to cause Jenneleth some consternation, but his brief but cordial introduction settles her initial fear.
"N-nice to meet you too... Master Hûnidark. I know a little of orcs... There is a tribe in Haranshire, laired in the Great Rock Dale... Wh-which of course means nothing to you as you are not from my home... n-nor an orc..."
She blushes, her voice trailing off as her words become an embarrassment. Reaching for her wine in a fluster she knocks the glass, spilling it clumsily...
"Praestidigitatio!"
....or would have had the glass not righted itself as Zeebo's wheezing voice uttered the strange incantation...
Across the table, beard matted with cheese the old halfling chuckles to himself;
"Just a pinch! Heheh."
Jenneleth nods in his direction as Gormrenn claps his be-ringed hands in approval;
"Hah! Bravo Master Softfeather! That glass was an antique!"
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Rannock frowns impossibly as Hûƞidark stands up, almost choking on a particularly tasty piece of cheese - it feels like he is about to burst into a tirade, but somehow miraculously, the dwarf remains silent... For a few seconds...
Then Zeebo's prestidigitation has him rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He still remains silent somehow. Perhaps by stuffing his face with food and wine.
"N-nice to meet you too... Master Hûnidark. I know a little of orcs... There is a tribe in Haranshire, laired in the Great Rock Dale... Wh-which of course means nothing to you as you are not from my home... n-nor an orc..."
She blushes, her voice trailing off as her words become an embarrassment.
It take a moment for Hûnidark to realise the woman is actually embarrassed by her gaffe... because that didn't happen, in his experience. Racial insults were most often left hanging or proudly owned.
He found himself trying to help her off the verbal hook she caught herself on... with no idea why he was doing it. "No harm done, Miss. I've never been to Haranshire. Is it, uh, pretty?"
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Having quietly sat and waited for the others to introduce themselves, Mos continues to be silent. He watches the group and smiles and shakes his head at the actions of Zeebo. Finally, in a quiet voice, he speaks.
"I am Mos Smallbarrow. The Guild sent me to join this group at the urging of Lord Gormrenn."
The halfling gives a deep bow to their host before sitting back down.
Jenneleth steadies her hand, then nods at the imposing half-orcs question;
"It is... At least I think so Master Hûnidark. The rolling Blanryde Hills, all our woods and the Churnett River make for nice scenery... the two Mires... perhaps not so much..."
She smiles weakly before Gormrenn interjects;
"Good to see the Guild heeded my request Master Smallbarrow... As for the questions on young Lady Jenneleth's homeland... well you may answer them yourselves if my proposal is to your linking... So to the matter at hand!"
The gilded mercantyler takes a draught of his wine, then continues;
"As the young Lady said she is apprenticed to one Tausthäuser, an old wizard acquaintance of mine. He has need of a new stock of material components, items required in the arcane arts... more so now he has a promising new charge. She has completed her studies here and her Master wishes her to return bearing these items. The frontier realms are remote and trade routes are dominated by necessities and bulk carriage. Many are superstitious and prefer not to handle items of a magickal bent, others would seek to open such a delivery out of idle curiosity or illicit musings. Now you may wonder why your benevolent benefactor would entreaty such a skilled collective in a simple delivery..."
Gormrenn smiles, his golden teeth glinting;
"Perhaps this delivery may not be quite as simple as it would seem. Banditry is on the rise throughout the frontiers... The goblins and orc raiders grew bolder... Lawlessness and opportunism seems more prevalent than in previous years. And of course the doomsayers of Cthenkes claim, as they are oft, that the sanguinary cultists of The God Reaper are abroad..."
The merchant-mage frowns, then shrugs;
"All may be true. Some may be false... However the trade routes are no longer safe for small and valuable endeavours such as mine own. And so I wish to employ your services once again, this time to conduct this delivery... and see the young Lady Jenneleth returned safe to her Master and beau alike. To this end I offer you collectively 250 gold, with a personal stipend each of 100 silver upfront."
He retrieves a scroll of parchment from his belt, holding it up. The missives gold leafing catching your collective eyes;
"Certain conditions apply. Both goods and good Lady Jenneleth are to be delivered to her Master. Within the chest will be a letter of credit bearing your marks which will require Tausthäuser's countersignature to become tender. Questions?"
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"Will ye be providing transportation? Or should that also come out of our stipend?" - Rannock inquired, his merchant mind already pondering costs and expenses - "And what about supplies? Prices have been soaring I hear" - he added, leaning back on his chair - "Last but not least, how far is Haranshire again?"
Gormrenn's teeth glint knowingly;
"Hah. Ever the businessman Master Deepdelver. Transportation? I offer none. Tis' 3 days travel on foot to Haranshire... The first day will likely be safe enough so close to the City League. Afterward you will rely on collective skill, guile and determination to overcome any would-be obstacles."
He mirrors the doughty dwarf, leaning back in his own chair;
"Your stipend can be spent on supplies, gambled frivolously or in the purchase of more cheese. It is yours to fritter. And yes prices are soaring... particularly for arcane supplies... The labour to deliver such items is a different matter..."
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"Ye don't mean to tell me Lady Jenneleth will be carrying a chest herself, do ye?" - Rannock smiles also - "I am hoping you will at least throw a mule or a pony in the bargain?"
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At the mention of more cheese, Zeebo looks up from his feast and wheezes his appreciation.
He pauses, casting an eye toward Mos;
"Excellent! Another halfling! Good to see you kinsman... I can heartily recommend the Stinky Abbott with that wine... a truly mouth watering combination!"
The old wizard nods in agreement at Rannock's suggestion;
"A mule! Indeed! We halflings have short legs you know!"
Gormrenn chuckles to himself ruefully;
"Very well. 250 gold when the job is done... 100 silver apiece upfront... And a mule to carry the goods, which you can keep. Now that is my final offer... You wish further charity seek out the kirk of Säith!"
At mention of the God of Protection, Jenneleth pipes in;
"We have one of those in Haranshire! A temple of Säith I mean... not a mule... Which we do also have... Master Carmen's miners havemanyofthem..."
...before her voice trails off in mumbled embarrassment.
The mercantyler-mage lays the parchment upon the table. Then bids one of his staff bring quill and ink.
Hûnidark runs a hand through his hair, thinking. ”You have the chest here? How big is it?”
Spiro nibbled on the cheese, but as usual it made his stomach rumble a bit.
"Well then! Looks like we have a juicy task laid out before us. Let me return this clanky smelly armor to Brother Gristle, grab m stuff and I'll meet you all out front".
It takes Spiro a couple of tries, and more squeaks from the chair he had chosen, but he eventually is able to stomp off to return the experimental armor.
At Hûnidark's question Gordrenn shakes his head;
"Not here. At my warehouse. If agreeable then I will arrange to have it delivered here... or wherever you require within the hour. As for its size...", he shrugs; "... It is a large chest[1], some 40lbs in weight. Light for a mule, or one who follows Kordd the Mighty no!"
The merchant chuckles, bidding Spiro hold for a second.
"Spiro, remember to sign the Letter of Credit. Any who wish to be paid at journey's end must do so, unless of course you are charitable and offer your services for free to a poor old merchant!?"
Gordrenn's gold teeth glint in a widening smile...
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The half-orc snorts his amusement. "I'm Kordd's monk, not his pack-mule." Without preamble, he moves to the other side of the table and signs the agreement.
"I serve, and I am of service!" the halfling says as he signs his name to the bottom of the document.
Spiro takes more than a few minutes to remove the metal gauntlet's many snaps and buckles before signing. He doesn't bother to put it back on as he leaves to get ready to journey.
"Very well. 250 gold when the job is done... 100 silver apiece upfront... And a mule to carry the goods, which you can keep. Now that is my final offer... You wish further charity seek out the kirk of Säith!"
Rannock smiled contentedly, first taking some notes, then raising his drink - "Deal" - downing it, he moves to first carefully read the agreement. If he finds nothing untoward, he will sign it.
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Througout the introductions and subsequent discussion, one chair remained
conspicuosly empty.
Gordrenn would glance at it every once and a while with a little sigh and look of annoyance.
In a lull in the conversation, everyone's ears could pick up the distict sound
of a quite talented voice singing...
Oh, the year was 1258
How I wish I was in Darkmoore now
A letter of marque came from the king
To the scummiest vessel I've ever see
God's damn them all, I was told
We'd cruise the seas for Adrani gold
We'd fire no bolts, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Freeport pier
The last of Barrazin's privateers
Oh, Elcid Barrazin cried the town
How I wish I was in Darkmoore now
For twenty brave men, all fishermen, who
Would make for him the Antelope's crew
The singing get's closer and closer
God's damn them all, I was told
We'd cruise the seas for Adrani gold
We'd fire no bolts, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Freeport pier
The last of Barrazin's privateers
Until the singer was right out side the door!
The door eases open as a tall man enters. He's wearing an assortment of fashions....all of which are at least 10 years out of date, for those that care for such things.
He stops , eyes wide as he sees the room was not empty, but the song continues out of his mouth...
...with the staggers
..as he looks across the room at Gordrenn...
...and jags ???
The last words coming out in a strained squeak.
His momentary embarrassment , however, is quickly expunged as he straightens himself and declares with a smile, "Ah, you must have said half past the 5th bell...not the 6th! Has everyone signed? " he asks, rushing over to the table and examining the document.
Seeing that indeed all parties had entered the agreement, he picked up the quill and with a flourish added his own intent to the document.
Straightening, he executes a florid bow to both the fine young lady and to his new colleagues, he booms in a dramatic stage voice.
Those who had been in the League City for any amount of time would probably recognize the name as belonging to the most educated savage to every grace the City!
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"Biscuits be crumbed! Quite the entrance! No we've not all signed... this halfling hasn't yet..."
With that Zeebo reaches for the letter and pauses momentarily before signing. He then passes it to Eireachdail;
"Late but still have time for cheese! Fill your boots!"
At Eireachdail's entrance Gordrenn's smile wavers slightly, but as the others sign it widens once more;
"Eireachdail. Ever a pleasure... Your voice seems on good form... I trust your sword-arm is the same?"
Jenneleth merely sits wide eyed, clearly wondering what she has got herself into with such an eclectic group.
The mercantyler-mage gestures to where one of his staff array half-a-dozen bags bearing Gordrenn's Sigil.
"Your silvered stipend my friends, you may keep the pouches. Now just to confirm your timings... When do you propose to leave? So I can ensure young Lady Jenneleth here is suitably ready and rested..."
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Between the animated tea-kettle (Spiro) and the gonna-go-with bard's 'colorful' entrance, Jenneleth Hûnidark merely sits wide eyed, clearly wondering what she he has got herself himself into with such an eclectic group.
"Tomorrow morning?" he offers speculatively.
Gordrenn nods in agreement;
"Excellent. On the morn it is. I will have the chest and mule readied for your arrival. Enjoy your last night in the City, Eireachdail do lead them astray nor fall foul of the The Punctillan[1] please..."
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Rannock stared incredulously at Eireachdail's entrance. He stammered several times, apparently about to say something, but every time caught himself, and took another sip of wine.
He grabbed the coin pouch with an annoyed yank, and counted the money to calm himself, nodding approvingly at Hûƞidark's suggestion of departing the next day.
Gordrenn nods in agreement;
"Excellent. On the morn it is. I will have the chest and mule readied for your arrival. Enjoy your last night in the City, Eireachdail do lead them astray nor fall foul of the The Punctillan[1] please..."
"See you in the morrow!" - he hurried out, worried the man may burst into singing again. Then he paused, bowing to Jenneleth - "Milady, it was a pleasure" - and readily bolted out the door, waiting for the others outside.
Hûnidark rises, takes the purse of coins with barely a glance, and drops it into his belt pouch. He offers Gormrenn and Jenneleth a polite nod before turning and walking out the door.
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Mos slips out of the building almost unseen, but he waits for his 'fellow' halfling to come out and follows the fellow. Something seems a little off, and as an emissary of his guild, it would probably be a good idea to know what was up.
After the conclusion of the meeting Mos tails Zeebo at a distance, flitting between shadows and round corners on the well trod cobbles of The City League's streets.
The old halfling keeps a steady but slow pace, often pausing to look at shoppe fronts or signage, sometimes stopping to watch a passerby with curiosity before moving on.
Eventually the old codger stops at rough and ready tavern in the trade centre The Pick & Axe; a hangout for miners, warriors both gnome and dwarven. Zeebo pauses at its threshold surveying the street calmly before entering...
Mos enters and immediately is met with a throng of dwarves, gnomes and the odd human who bears arms and armour, or are blackened from working the city's coal-pits.
Of Zeebo there is no sign... however as a shifty wee halfling enters the establishment, several dour dwarves and red-capped gnomes shoot you hard stares. Others quickly stow nuggets or bags of gem fragments being appraised or traded at the numerous tables.
A grubby dwarven miner, as tall as he is wide points to the door you just entered through;
"Nothin' fir you here Little Mister Lightfingers. Best be on your way lad..."
While the trail has gone cold on the old halfling, something clearly is amiss. Prior to his "disappearing" act Zeebo acted like he was being followed or was wary they were being watched/tailed - you've watched enough marks or rival thieves to know the signs. You're confident the magic-user wasn't onto you, so they were worried about someone or something else...
Spiro spends a sleepless night constantly getting up for a drink of water, then a little later having to visit the John. Hi is excited about this journey, and finally gets in a few hours of sleep before arising before dawn and checking that everything is ready for travel. Too nervous to eat breakfast he arrives at their meeting place an hour early.
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Knowing better than to enter an establishment where he will be completely out of place, Mos notes the building and decides to head back to the Guildhall and do a little research into one Zeebo Softfeather or anyone else who might be on the Guild's 'snatch and hold' list.
As morning arrives, Mos gathers with the others at the arranged site, his purse a little lighter as the 'tithe' to the Guild was already taken when he went home.
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2nd SHRIVENTIDE, 1400CY - The City League, Business Quarter, Courtyard of Geldzauberer Mercantile Residence
By the gilded gates Gormrenn stands, towering above Jenneleth. Members of his household busy themselves securing a large chest onto the back on a sturdy looking mule.
As the group assembles, the merchant-mage nods towards the pack-mule and its cargo;
"Morning my friends! The mule's name is Peeble'lar[1], treat her well. More importantly what she carries is both valuable and fragile so care should be taken when on the trail and unloading. For security it has a Lock enchantment upon it... this should prohibit any overly curious parties should it fall from your possession. If Tausthäuser is half the mage I remember he will unlock it and your letter of credit when delivered to him."
The merchant rubs his bearded chin, then eyes Jenneleth and your assembled number;
"I also bring news of potential opportunity when you reach Haranshire. I hear word that Count Parlfrey has entreated the City League in aiding against banditry and villiany that blights his realm. This request has been refused. A rider from the Guild of Messengers and Couriers was dispatched yesterday to carry the bad news to the Count... However if you do seek employment the Parlfray's have a long history of employing mercenaries to good effect, you would do worse than seek his audience in light of no aid being given. I shall of course waive my finders fee!"
He flashes his gilded grin and chuckles.
Your investigation, yields little of note, save that very little is known of one Zeebo Softfeather... normally you would expect some minor rumour or some such.
Hûnidark wears the same (clean) tunic and trousers that he had on yesterday. He adjusts the straps on his pack and shoulders it, ready to travel. He looks to Jenneleth. ”Are you ready, Miss?”
Stun (1):
Fate (3):
Rannock cracked his neck and pat Peebles - "Good girl" - then turned to Gormrenn - "Don't ye worry. We'll keep Pebbles safe"
"I also bring news of potential opportunity when you reach Haranshire. I hear word that Count Parlfrey has entreated the City League in aiding against banditry and villiany that blights his realm. This request has been refused. A rider from the Guild of Messengers and Couriers was dispatched yesterday to carry the bad news to the Count... However if you do seek employment the Parlfray's have a long history of employing mercenaries to good effect, you would do worse than seek his audience in light of no aid being given. I shall of course waive my finders fee!"
"Just leave it to the Town Council to make the best decision for their folks, and allow bandits and villains afoot" - the dwarf laughed - "Sure, I'll have a word with the Count - I am sure we can come to an understanding. And if it is a good one, I'll make sure you get your finder's fee" - he winked at their employer.
Spiro prances about eager to get underway.
"Well... no time like the present".
He then starts forward.
"I'll lead the way".
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2nd Shriventīd 1400CY The CIty League, Olde Trade Road
The first days travel is slow and somewhat uneventful. True to the warning of banditry traffic along the Olde Trade Road is sporadic and most who pass are wary of such a well heeled band. While still in the City League’s borders, militia patrols are also sighted which allows for a less wary journey at least.
Along the way, and at first night of camp you learn a little more about your travelling companion, Jenneleth: the 20 year old is a native of Milborne (the largest village in Haranshire) and is the daughter of the miller and village elder; Haldelar, and his wife Parella whose baking is renowned amongst the local miners and traders. Her parents are canny and kind, and they adopted a foundling - Severen; who is an apprentice smith in the village and as strong as an ogre!
Jenneleth is clearly proud to be the apprentice to Tausthäuser, the most powerful wizard in all of Haranshire! [1]. However she confides that the city life is not for her, she has missed her rustic home in these months of study in the City League and is keen to return, to see everyone again… [2]
Hûnidark is comfortable with silence and has no skill at ‘small talk’… but as their road is pretty long, he gives it a rather poor, and abrupt, go. ”Miss? Gormrenn said you got a ‘beau’, that’s like a special fella, right? What’s he like?”
Stun (1):
Fate (3):