Artemis Lihanuga's page

Basics
Artemis Lihanuga is the overprotective big brother to everyone. He is the first to put himself between those he sees as weaker and anything that threatens them. When engaged in a task he is singular of focus, approaching any situation like a woodcarver. Sometimes this leads to him missing things on the periphery, in and out of combat. His nature is one of odd balance. His strength belies the delicate work he can accomplish when carving wood, much as his nature as a stalwart defender is balanced by the savagery he can unleash when pushed too far. In this latter aspect, his father says Artemis is much like his grandfather.

He has a fascination with the river, spending time when able watching the loggers send their wares downstream. While he would love to know what sights are beyond the lands of Kassen, his dedication to home and hearth doesn’t allow for his mind to wander too far.

History
Artemis is a simple man, desiring to be a woodcarver and carpenter like his father and his grandfather before him. Growing up in a small cabin build by his grandfather, he wanted for little in the simple life shaped by his parents Portos and Emilia. Like his father, Artemis is a big fellow, arms and back strong from long hours at the workbench hand planing and routing wood to aid in the assorted projects given by the locals. He is a friendly sort, with a ready smile and a hand of aid, but Artemis has kept to himself for the past 3 years.

He has a long, overprotective streak running through him, leading him to be the first line of defense in any situation where a weaker person is being assailed. He volunteers with his father to guard travel to and from the River Tourandel when their turn comes up in the community. He will also travel with the other men of the village when rumor spills forth dangers on the frontier.

The Lihanuga family arrived in Kassen two generations ago when Alonso Lihanuga and his wife Aurelia looked to settle down after years of service in the war. Alonso had been a spear and shield fighter in the conflict with Molthune, but had earned his leave after losing his leg in battle. He and his wife, already pregnant with Artemis’ father, found a small ramshackle hut on the edge of town where his true love of carpentry could be realized. Inside three months, Alonso, despite his missing leg, had turned the place into a strong cabin that could weather the storms and the harsh winters that swept down from the north.

Alonso’s spear and shield rested on the wall of the sitting room, a reminder of his older days and the lessons only war can teach the young. They remained there until such time as Portos was older and able to understand their use and consequence. And it was so for the next generation as well, both the comprehension of war and the need for creation passed down to Artemis as soon as he could manage chisel or the spear. Artemis was a lucky fellow, able to benefit from father and grandfather alike during his formative years. And although Alonso passed, soon followed by his dear wife, the youngest generation recognized Erastil’s blessing in being allowed to know them so well.

Presently 18, Artemis is recognized around town as the “Woodcarver’s Son”, a term of endearment to be sure given how beloved his family has become over the past 75 years in Kassen. But there is a hint of sorrow in several eyes in and around town, for they know the tragedy that Artemis holds deep within his good-natured heart. They know why he volunteers more and more often for the frontier patrols which scout out any dangers threatening the village. No one knows this fact more than his father, Portos. The elder recognizes the warrior blood that flows through his own father’s veins. He’d watched as Artemis had begun crafting a large club, carved with the designs seen on his grandfather’s shield. The determination to become sharper, stronger and better able to protect the ones he loves…

Vignette: 3 Years Ago

”Try it again,” Artemis encourages, smile broader than the banks of the river on which he stands.

”My arms aren’t long enough,” Mikhael calls back, resting his hands on the haft of the axe. He steps away from the water, the logs lined up like Old Man Kellen’s cigars as they roll.

Artemis laughs and shakes his head, meeting Mikhael on the wooden pier and holding out a hand for the axe. His friend gives it readily, a laugh of his own, eyes rolling with exasperation. ”I’ll leave it to you, Artie. I’m happy to stick with the ledgers in my uncle’s study.”

The axe would be a deadly thing in anybody else’s hands. His father had called it a boarding axe once, a weapon taken from a small crew of raiders who’d floated up the Tourandel long before Artemis had been born. They’d caused a good deal of trouble, but his father, grandfather and a few others were able to fight them off. the boarding axe had been one of the spoils of the fight. Now, in the hands of Artemis, it’s hooking implement and bearded blade were perfect for maneuvering the logs floating on the river’s surface. Another tool to be used in selecting the proper wood to be used in their shop.

”Whatever you say, my friend. I’m still glad you came along. At least I won’t lose count.”

Later that day, the two boys venture west along the river, seeking the elements of adventure that only the young can see around every bend in the trail. Spinning tales of adventure told by his grandfather, Artemis soon loses track of just how far they’d gone, their steps taking them beyond the areas two which his father had taken him in the past.

There is little warning. The high, wind-tearing scream of an arrow, then Mikhael’s shriek of pain as he hits the ground. Black fletchings sprout from the arrow in his chest. Artemis stares down at him, shock clenching his heart, an odd part of his mind marveling at the shoddy workmanship on the missile. But he turns away in time to see the pack of goblins burst from the trees, rusted and notched cleavers waving back and forth. He brandishes his father’s boarding axe, trying to shout but only managing a wheezing gasp of unintelligible words.

Three of the goblins are on him, his wild swing of the axe missing cleanly as they begin slashing and kicking and biting. One manages to get behind his knees and topple him to the ground while another hefts a rock and brings it down on his head. It’s the last thing he sees for a long while. But before he loses the world around him, he hears the goblins set upon Mikhael.

In his deepest heart, Artemis weeps for his friend.

Some time later, he is awoken by the familiar smells of his mother’s cooking and his father’s pipe. Artemis feels relief wash over him, burning through his veins from the core to fingertip. ”By the Hunter...a dream...only a dream…” His voice is weak, his breathing labored. A light shines in his eyes and he soon sees his parents’ faces.

The sorrow and fear in their eyes tells him the truth of it. Tears fill his own eyes and he shuts them tight against the knowledge that he’d somehow survived while his friend had died…

Cygar’s arrival in Kassen was met with the mixture of wonder and suspicion common to a small town. It went beyond Artemis’ interests for the first day or so. But the scarred face of the stranger arrived at his doorstep on the second night. Although taller than the man, Artemis felt the child by comparison. He followed his instinct and summoned his father to the door. It was a surprise to see that Portos had a small measure of familiarity with Cygar. Further still, the man seemed familiar with Artemis’ grandfather, Alonso. Going so far as to offer condolences for the family's loss so many years ago.

”A good man.” He’d said in that voice that reminded Artemis of the saw blades in the workshop.

To which his father responded, ”I’m still not interested.”

Cygar simply nodded as though he’d expected as much. He thanked the household for the hospitality and made for the exit, leaving behind that he would be in town for while longer. Artemis stood behind his father, waiting as the stranger turned briefly to take in the young man for a moment then depart into the night.

His father, nor his mother for that matter, spoke much of the visitation after Cygar left. Only to say that he’d met the man a few years ago before Artemis had been born. An old acquaintance of his own father, Alonso. Soon after, Portos turned in for bed, leaving behind his son and a long list of questions.

Over the next few days, Artemis began hearing rumors around town that the stranger was affiliated with the Pathfinder Society. A murderer and grave-robber some said. Others called him nothing more than a thrill seeker making coin off of good folk’s heritage. A thief, nothing more, and a person Artemis would do well to stay away from according to Anelise the smithy’s wife.

But Artemis remained curious. Just what sort of association did Cygar have with his family?

Artemis cuts an imposing figure, standing roughly 6’ 10” and well muscled owing to the years working as a woodcarver’s son. He keeps his hair brown and long, but well-kept if not tied back. Brown eyes with a hint gentleness to go with the hidden sorrow at the loss of his friend. His steps are sure and steady, as measured and careful as he is when carving wood.