Quill the Fletcher's page

About Quill the Fletcher

20 adamantine arrows
20 ghost salt arrows
20 silver/cold iron arrows

* * *

goog

"Could you move your head to the left a bit? Just a bit?" Quill looks over the stranger's shoulder to the brown haired girl several tables behind him. "Oh, that's good. Thank you."

Quill's eyes look at the stranger's face, only occasionally flickering over to the girl's.

"My parents? Not much to say, really," Quill replies. "I didn't really know them. My father didn't speak to me much...always thinking upon his magic. My mother, Laori who could have been a font of love in other times, was obsessed with some god...Zonk Fuffon? VonMuffin? I forget the god's name. I was young when they left me at the gates of Trunau."

Quill's eyes again flicker to the girl, Marigold, then back to the stranger.

"I still pray to Ketephys that I was lucky enough to be left here. My parents were a#@!~*+s, but at least they were merciful. They left me here because they knew they did not have love in their hearts for me." Quill shifts his package from his left side to his right, sliding his chair over so he can better see Marigold...She is so far away.

"I'm better off here. I got a job. Joseph Cavinton...you know Joseph, right? He took me in, made me an apprentice, made me part of his family. And I think I've learned well. I can shoot pretty good, and my hands are the fastest in tying fletchings to arrows. No, I got it good here. Occasionally, I get out and about on errands, like I do now. Taking his load of arrows to the armory in case the City needs them again." Quill pats his package, his own armor jingling at the sound.

Quill considers ordering a drink, but holds off. He doesn't handle liquor well (he blames his elven constitution) and certainly won't be drinking while he has deliveries to make. He wouldn't be here at all if he hadn't spied Marigold. She worked at the mill...and that was a fair walk from Cavinton's Shop.

But that didn't stop Quill from following or moon-eying the fair maiden when he had the chance. It's just that she was very beautiful for a human. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off her...and she probably didn't know he existed.

Quill was different. An elf. And not just an elf in a human city, but an orphaned elf. Still, being an elf was not an orc, nor an ogre, not any of the other giant races that laired near Trunau. It was strange that in this frontier city that fought so savagely together to protect one another from outside threats seemed to care so little about those who might be different.

Quill returns his attention to the stranger, his left hand fingering the holy symbol to Ketephys that dangles from his neck.

"Like I said. I'm lucky. I have a good life here. A trade. And a purpose."

* * *

Driving Forces-Survival and community. Quill loves his adopted community...it's a family his parents never offered. He feels indebted to Trunau and Joseph for his survival and lives to serve both of them. He's too young (only 116 by elf standards) to have thought seriously about his future.

Aspirations- Acceptance, both by the community and, more importantly to his male hormones, some recognition from Marigold Pottersmoot (the miller's daughter) that he exists. At some future time, he'll wants to learn more about his elven heritage and decide for himself whether he wants to follow it more...or continue along his more humanish path.

Secret Desire- To go and find his parents...and kill them. Rejection sucks and will be recurring theme for Quill. He will constantly be at odds with himself and his loathing for himself...and his anger at his parents.

* * *

Quill has brown hair and green eyes, both gifts from his father. He stands roughly 5'10" tall and weighs a hefty (for an elf) 130 lbs. Like most Trunau 'natives', he constantly wears his studded leather armor all about town in case of attack. In addition his hope knife dangles within ease reach at all times.

Quill is neither exceptionally quick to smile nor frown, but is prone to times of deep introspection that usually lead to insights into his own self-loathing and self-pity.