| Full Name |
Rhoreen Calliope |
| Race |
Half-elf |
| Classes/Levels |
Craftsperson |
| Gender |
F |
| Size |
M |
| Age |
21 |
| Special Abilities |
Naught |
| Alignment |
Trying |
| Deity |
Brigh |
| Location |
Torch |
| Occupation |
Crafter of Metal |
About Rhoreen Calliope
They called her proud. And Rhoreen knew that they did, but also f!&@ them and she doesn’t give two goblin poops for their judgment. She was just trying the best she could, and sometimes her results...they weren't awful.
After all, she's been studying at the Torchforge for a few years and while she had not done anything major, she had still managed to bend and rend more than a few minor pieces of skymetal into useful items. The wand that was tied around her neck with a leather cord, for instance. No, it was not perfect. No, it was not even perfectly straight. But it was *hers*. And she crafted it using her skill, her hammer, and Torch fire. She still had the burn-scars from it. And they were also hers.
So yes, the wand that dangles from her neck was a source of pride. It was hers. And if the people of Torch thought her proud, well, she was. Proud and smug. She knew it. She hoped to be as good as her pride and smug seemed.
Thanks to Khonnir Baine, she was at least acquainted with the Torchforge, and with skymetal, and the basics of craftsmanship. She was no expert, and she would tell you the same. She would not lie about her skill, but also, she would not correct those who thought her better than she was. Khonnir was good to her, teaching her when he had the chance, and offering avenues of exploration when he didn't...as to keep her out of his hair.
She already knew she didn't have the best crafting tools, but she had the ones she could afford. Not a bad set for a orphaned half-elf who came in to town after her parents had been killed on the journey here from Magnimar. She got lucky to become friends with Khonnir, and even with Val, and so she'd been given some education, and some training. Enough training to sort of know what she is doing.
* * *
Now 21, she was not pretty, not ugly, but wicked smart. Wicked wicked smart. And she was clever. Able to piece things together after she took them apart. Sure, she didn't have a great selection of trinkets, but she would. She knew she would will all pride and smug arrogance of youth.
She carries no proud weapons, just a dagger. And wears no armor, because why would she need that? She does have a handy hip flask, but it's filled with oil for her work. A metallic holy symbol hangs near the skymetal wand around her neck.
She is dressed in craftsmans clothes. Her golden hair is tied back in a sensible ribbon of cloth, and her brown eyes are stubborn, prideful things.
