Wiki Category: Characters

PLAYED BY: Jared Levine

CONTACT INFO: CaelCyndar@gmail.com, FancyCreb on Discord

CHARACTER NAME: Khanomzade Elazaros Ben-Miryanthe Ampeliel

GENDER: Man

PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 36, born 238

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Once, the heir to the title and fortune of his mother, a wine baroness, if that could be considered a profession. Now, a wanderer, a dreamer, a lover?

KNOWN SKILLS: Recuperation, passing the time, sampling Mardrun’s delights.

BIRTHPLACE: Keramezion, a province in northwestern Themakis

APPEARANCE: Elazaros has long silky hair kept in a luxurious ponytail, the style appropriate to a man of good stock.

RELATIONSHIPS:

• Khanom Miryanthe Ampeliel – Mother. Miryanthe was once Khanom of Keramezion. When she fled the May’kar Dominion, she took with her as much of her wealth and assets as she could, including seeds for the drought-resistant grapes that their eyalet was known for. In Mardrun her title has been replaced by ‘baroness’, though she still prefers the original version.
• Malachion – Servant. Deceased, killed during honor duel on Elazaros’s behalf.
• Dinora – Servant. Deceased, drowned while attempting to ford the Yurnai.
• Nessaia – Servant. Deceased, crushed by giant boulder.
• Danilos – Servant. Deceased, killed by a Mordok.
• Glorga – Lover? A mysterious and beautiful Mordok woman that Elazaros met during his travels, when she attacked his caravan (see ‘Danilos’). She seemingly spared him, clearly because of their great mutual love and attraction. He is driven by the sole desire to find her once more so that they can be united. He’s pretty sure someone said ‘Glorga’ to her at one point, so that must be her name.
• Imrick Oakenbrow – Employer. Imrick has obviously seen great potential in Elazaros and has hired him to tend bar, something only someone of his great skill and pedigree could do.

RUMORS: Some would describe Elazaros as ‘lazy’, ‘foolhardy’, ‘self-important’ and even ‘destitute’, but clearly those people have never met him, as he is an extremely interesting and humble person.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: The following is a letter, which has miraculously managed to make it to Newhope, having barely managed to survive the journey in one piece.

“Dear Mumsy,

It is I, your beloved eldest son, Elazaros. By the time you are receiving this letter, it will have been one full year since I have left home. I do not know if you have noticed my absence, you are so busy with your work, and I did not want to bother you as I left. I took only the bare essentials- nothing but the clothes on my back, and several additional sets in my luggage, which of course was carried by four of our finest servants (may their souls rest in peace).

The journey has been difficult. It wasn’t at first, but after Malachion was tragically and unavoidably killed defending my honor after a slight cultural misunderstanding that was blown way out of proportion (by the Ulven, I assure you), I was forced to walk, as everyone knows that a palanquin requires four servants to carry it, and three will simply not do. Once I was forced to walk, things got significantly harder. For one, my feet began to hurt!

Ah, but I have gotten ahead of myself. You must be wondering why I have left, and renounced my inheritance to your title. (oh, by the way, I renounce my inheritance to your title. Sorry!) As you may remember, I have always loved board games. On Faedrun, we had such lovely sets gathered from across the continent. I will never forget the kindness you showed me on my eighth birthday, acquiring the very Matraquer board used to bludgeon Margrave Thuriel to death. I still have the tooth that fell out of the bottom of the board when we first played upon it. Right. As I was saying, now that we have been living on Mardrun, surrounded by all these interesting Ulven peoples, I wished to see what sort of games they’ve made for themselves.

Unfortunately, I have seen a great deal of misfortune along the way. After Malachion’s death, I traveled north, and we found ourselves at a great river. I had heard stories of the Clan that lived across it, and so we decided to ford across. Dinora was tasked with the great duty of carrying all of the silver (oh I forgot to mention, I took a teeny amount of silver to keep myself afloat, only a few pounds of coins) across. As we were almost to the opposite shore, we were accosted by brigands! They threatened us with their swords and axes. I bravely ordered a retreat, and the three of us made it safely back to the other shore. I say three, of course, because sweet Dinora was not with us. It appeared that, weighed down by the silver, she had stumbled into a slightly deep part of the river, and had drowned.

After the failed venture north, we decided to travel east, through an area I now understand is called ‘Night River’. I do not know what sort of river flows only during the night, but I’m glad we did not see it, because our footing was treacherous enough! We traveled along the river for a while, so that we would not get lost, but then it ended and we found ourselves in a terribly rocky region. We attempted to climb so that we might be able to better survey the area. It was very hard, so I got uppies from Nessaia and Danilos. After being raised up to what I thought was the perfect platform, the ground beneath me began to shift! I bravely leapt out of the way to safety, but poor Nessaia was completely squished, flatter than the coins that killed dutiful sweet Dinora. I will never forget her final words: “Oh no!”

Eventually, the two of us remaining made our way back down, and then we got very lost. Everything that I have described up until now happened in the first week. The following eleven months were, shall I say, an uneventful slog of the two of us in the woods, surviving through the combination of Danilos’s great experience as a hunter, cook, explorer, and naturalist, as well as my excellent leadership and ability to get a good night’s sleep even in stressful circumstances. I grew a beard! I think I will keep it.

However, soon my fate would be changed forever. In the deep woods, we encountered a group of Ulven, who were very kind and shared good food and good company with us. They were hunters from a nearby village- apparently we have been less than a day’s walk away from civilization for quite some time now! I do not know if Danilos found this quite as entertaining as I did, but I guess with my poet’s soul I just appreciate some good irony.

We began to set back off with them towards their village, but suddenly, it seemed we had more company! Some strange green fellows who spoke in a language I have never heard, and after all that time I spent learning the Ulven tongue! The hunters called them ‘Mordok’ and with them was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her tusks, they glistened. Her muscles, they swelled. Her skin, dewey, green, and scarred, like a cantaloupe. I was so enraptured by her appearance, that I hardly noticed as the others that traveled with her cut down our Ulven friends. And poor Danilos as well, who threw himself in the way of the woman’s blade, which she mistakenly swung at me!

And then, as she drew her sword from the quickly-cooling corpse of Danilos, with whom I have had many great foibles and adventures, we locked eyes. Her beautiful amber eyes bored holes into me, out of love, I assume. Moments took hours, and at the end of them, it was just me and the Mordok. One of the others said ‘Glorga’ to her, which I took to be her name, and the group of them departed. This was terrible! It forced Glorga to leave me, clearly against her will, and it left me with the duty of having to figure out what to do with all my dead friends.

Eventually I managed to find my way to the village, and I informed them of what had happened. They were somewhat rude to me after that, and sent me on my way. I decided to go looking for Glorga, who must be so distraught without me, and got lost again (I won’t bore you with the details but things were much harder without Danilos) and eventually found myself in a city owned by a group called the ‘Storm Yarls’. I have a job now! I charmed my way into a bar while evading some ne’er-do-wells called the ‘Ain Heryar’ (who are weirdly into wolves, might I add) and pretended to serve drinks to people, by putting various ingredients into a glass and pouring alcohol over them, which they seemed to like! One of those people liked me so much, he offered me a job, and that is how I have managed to afford to send you this letter.

Anyway, mumsy, being poor is hard. I have had to write very small letters, as I could only afford this one piece of paper. Could you perhaps send some silver back my way? Even a meager hundred coins or two would serve me quite well, I think. Oh, and speaking of serving, if you have any servants looking to see more of the world, I would be happy to take them off your hands!

Soon I will return to my search for Glorga. Though I know it will pain you so, I will not return home until she and I are together once more.

Hugs and kisses,

Khanomzade Elazaros Ben-Miryanthe Ampeliel AKA Your special baby boy”

PLAYED BY: Jenn Schneiderman

CHARACTER NAME: Imay Namum

GENDER: Female

PRONOUN(S): She/Her

CLASS: Rogue

AGE: 35 in July 274

RACE: Human

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Brown

OCCUPATION: Brewer/Herbalist in Haven

KNOWN SKILLS: Makes decent potions, her mead needs work

BIRTHPLACE: New Vandregon

APPEARANCE: Pretty Generic Human

RELATIONSHIPS: She knows some folks around Haven, though she isn’t very talkative as she’s mostly found in the kitchen/cellar with her concoctions.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: Imay couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been interested in plants. Her most consistent childhood memories were wandering the lanes and sidewalks looking for weeds. No one paid them much mind, they grew in the cracks and crannies, taking in just enough to be able to grow where nothing else seemingly would. Being trodden on and plucked didn’t phase them, they grew back anyway. Timeless.

The rhythm of the seasons moved them. Growing, flowering, sleeping, dying, then growing again. They held properties in each of those seasons, many were harmless, coaxing weeds into soothing a burn or numbing small pains was child’s play. In some months, the properties were less known, less desired, less safe. Though, those were reserved for those that truly destroyed the weeds. They deserved more than to be cast aside, to be squandered and forgotten. Just because they grew in undesirable places didn’t mean they weren’t worthy of life, or respect, or examination. Passersby forgot that they were there in the winter, when they took their annual respite to recompose. To breathe, rest, and plan for the year ahead. To spite those that had tried to stomp them out. They didn’t have to grovel and scrap for space, they could move and live on. If not themselves, then in what they made. In their roots spreading and their windblown seeds. In new creations and compositions. Changing their leaves, balancing their properties, finding new ways to survive and thrive. If they couldn’t stay, they would find their place elsewhere.

Knowing where they lay underneath packed snow gave Imay a sense of comfort as she strode through New Vandregon. Leaving them behind for Haven gave her a small sense of loss she couldn’t quite explain. It didn’t matter. She would set down new roots, she would make new friends.

PLAYED BY: David Lambert

CHARACTER NAME: Torvin “Tor” Inazuma

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): he/him/his

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: Don’t ask

RACE: Human

HAIR: Silvery brown

EYES: Hazel

OCCUPATION: A member of the Bardbarians

KNOWN SKILLS: Sailing, Singing, swinging dangerous things

BIRTHPLACE: Small port town in Aldoria

APPEARANCE: Rather disheveled but in a wise and learned way

NOTABLE TRAITS: Has an attuned and practiced sense of humor, remembers the old world, and loves telling stories, especially about his amazing conquests.

RELATIONSHIPS: The Bardbarians, his adopted son.

RUMORS: He has had some pretty crazy adventures with his son.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY: My childhood was an uncomplicated matter. I was born and raised in the beautiful trade port of Ciryndor in Aldoria, the greatest of lands. There was much beauty in my youth. I was raised by the sea, the sun on the water, the lapping of the waves, living off the bounty that the sea provided. While harvesting the sea’s bounty my father would create shanties which my mother and sister would weave into enchanting harmonies. These are my oldest memories.

In my youth I was also taught of the deity known as the Sea Hound, the god of the seas. It fascinated me, and I soon learned the language of his form. My devotion to the Sea Hound meant that I was a favorite of the local dogs due to my tenderness, and perhaps the fact that I always carried something to feed them.  One dog in particular, a black behemoth I named Goliath, adopted me and became my inseparable companion.  The majesty of the sea and my love of the Sea Hound resulted in my joining a merchant ship to explore the world at the age of 15. I am convinced that my connection to the fiercely loyal Sea Hound has guided and protected me during my life journey.

As a swabbie I did things such as scrubbing the deck until my hands were raw, hauling on lines, managing the sails, working on the masts and, if needed, rowing until my back felt it was going to break. It was hard and dangerous work, but I loved it. It was a small price to pay for life with the Sea Hound. For the next two years, with Goliath by my side and my dad’s shanties on my lips, I seemed to be a welcome companion to the seasoned sailors who taught me their tips and tricks of the trade. The captain, Silas Sunsail, a devout worshipper of the Sea Hound, took me under his wing and expanded my worship of the Sea Hound by helping me become well versed in the “barking prayers.”

One fateful day the ship’s minstrel, Jareth Truthweaver, asked to speak with me. He said that he’d heard my singing, saw how hardworking I was, and had gotten permission from Captain Sunsail to offer me a position as his apprentice. I eagerly accepted, and he began teaching me that very day. The next 6 months were quite formative for my future, Jareth provided me with song after song until my throat was sore.

However, one day, after a huge storm, the captain called me to his cabin. At first I thought I was in trouble until he told me that Jareth had fallen from the mast into the water and was swept up in the boat’s wake. I was devastated by the death of my friend and mentor. That night, during an ensuing storm, while most of the crew was below deck, I was atop the mast, lost in my grief. I screamed to the heavens, “Why?!?!?” And the heavens responded. I heard the Sea Hound’s gruff, barking voice in my head, as clear as day: “Be not sorrowful that he has joined me beneath the waves. Now you must fulfill your duty. Sing the song of the Sea Hound across the seas.”

The next five years were anything but simple. I carried the song across distant lands, bore witness to a resurrection, leapt from a tower, took more arrows than I care to count, and at one point had an axe lodged in my arm. I bought a ship. I sank a ship. Just your everyday kind of chaos.

Then one day we were sailing south toward the port town of Silver Cove in Vandregon, hugging the coastline, when I saw her on the lighthouse. Something about her held my gaze. She moved with quiet purpose, tending the great lens with practiced hands. The rising sun caught in her hair which, dark as ink, moved like ribbons in the wind. “She’s new,” said my First Mate, catching my stare. “Took over last winter, I heard. Name’s Ioelenia.”

Ioelenia.

The moment I saw her I knew I loved her and that one day we would marry. I boldly told her as much when we met. She thought I was insane, and to an extent I thought I was too. But the more we spent time together we knew we were made for each other. I decided to leave my ship and tend to the lighthouse with her. Occasionally we would visit the taverns in Silver Cove to sing songs of finding one’s forever love. We spent nearly four blissful years together, before war came knocking at my door once again. Word came from my family in Aldoria that Ciryndor was under siege. They warned me not to come, but thinking of my family being in such danger I knew I had to fight.

There was a small fleet departing that day, and Ioelenia reluctantly walked with me to the harbor. I still remember the last time I saw her. She touched my face tenderly and said, “Stay safe and come home soon.”

As we arrived at the harbor in Ciryndor, the sun was just beginning to rise over the familiar silhouette of my hometown–then came the horns of war. The enemy was waiting. They were waiting for us. Twenty ships entered the bay. Two made it out. The galley I was on was severely damaged when the main mast was knocked down by an undead with an axe. I mustered what little strength I had left and blasted the beast into oblivion. Only seven of us (three of whom were seriously injured) made it to a longboat to escape. We rowed like our lives depended on it. At one point I looked back and saw several ships were on fire, while others were being boarded. Watching my fellow sailors being slaughtered. Some thrashed in the water, others floated face-down. It was the saddest thing I’d ever seen.

In the chaos our longboat was somehow able to make it out of the bay and we found sanctuary in a hidden cove a mile up the coast. I did what I could to treat the wounded, but I was exhausted from the previous assault. When we woke the next morning we had lost two men. We continued in the longboat and began following the coast towards home.

We stopped within sight of the docks. What I saw shocked me and will stay with me for the rest of my life. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, boarding ships. In that instant, I understood—this was the end of all we knew. The fate of humanity was dependent on these people’s lives. Our salvation, our freedom. Our last hope.

I made it onto one of the ships to help those that were sick and dying. Many didn’t make it—I count myself lucky to have gotten the berth I did. From the whispers of the passengers, I learned that Vandregon’s Southern Army had held back the Undead scourge from those docks until they fell. I learned that these ships were bound for a new land: Mardrun. I’d heard the name before, the chatter and rumors of tavern tales, but I had no idea what waited across the sea.

The voyage was long and grueling. My sea-worn skills kept me useful—but I could not sing. Of all the hardships we faced, none weighed on me like the uncertainty of Iolenia’s fate. I didn’t know if she’d escaped. I didn’t know if she was even alive. In my grief—for Iolenia, for my family, for all who had been slaughtered—I had lost my voice, my will to sing.

At last, we reached land. Mardrun. A new world. I found work on the docks of Newhope, hauling crates, so that I could watch for my wife among the disembarking survivors. Every new ship arriving stirred fresh hope—and dread. During the day I asked around when I could, pestering sailors and merchants who might recognize her name or beauty. At night I would have nightmares that she wouldn’t recognize me anymore.

Years passed. Life in Newhope left me with no hope. The sea called to me again and I took a job on a northbound cargo vessel, carrying my grief like a song, always playing in the background. Before I left, I returned to the rented room that had been my home, packed my meager belongings, and stepped away from the only stability I’d found since the Fall.

And so began the voyage that would change everything. A week into the journey, a monstrous storm crippled our ship and as I was swept overboard, I prayed that the Sea Hound would welcome me into his watery embrace. I awoke on a beach with the sun in my eyes and sand in my mouth. It was there, among the wreckage of the ship and my heart, that I screamed to the heavens, “Why?!?!?” And the heavens responded once again. I heard the Sea Hound’s gruff, barking voice in my head, as clear as day: “It is not time yet for you to join me beneath the waves. Your sorrow will deepen your song, not with bitterness, but with truth. You must sing again, sing the many songs of the Sea Hound across the land. Go forth with renewed purpose, and your fortune will find you.”

The next three years were anything but profitable. I wandered from town to town, selling whatever I had on me—songs, stories, trinkets, favors. Most places eventually kicked me out. Some didn’t like outsiders. Others didn’t like my devotion to an almost dead religion.

And then came the boy. It was in a dusty little town deep in Nightriver territory. I’d just been tossed out of the tavern for suggesting the ale could be improved with less mud in it. I was nursing a bruised rib and my pride on a bench when he approached. Thin. Sharp-eyed. Probably fifteen, though he carried himself like someone older. Clothes too big for his frame, hands twitching like he was ready to steal something. I asked him what he wanted.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at my staff—the one carved with the Sea Hound’s sigil—and said, “You’re the one who sings weird songs.” I nodded in the affirmative. “They say you talk to dogs.” I smiled and nodded again. He sat beside me. “Teach me.” I blinked and asked, “To talk to dogs?” He answered simply, “To matter.”

That was the first time I truly saw him—not just a street rat or a curious kid, but someone adrift. The same way I had been. The same way so many were in those years. I asked him what his name was. “Drake,” he said. “Drake Carrion.”

And so began the second half of my life. Drake became my apprentice and I began teaching him the craft of song. He would become the son I never had, a reason to keep going. He was a quick study–the best, if you asked him. He was impatient, stubborn, cocky beyond his years. But by the sea hound, he had heart. Where I brooded, he joked. Where I hesitated, he leapt. I sang with a voice that had finally begun to return—not the same voice I once had, but something deeper. Weathered. True. And for the first time in years, I laughed like I meant it.

We traveled the width and breadth of Mardrun, surviving on music and mischief. We had our share of adventures, which, if you ask Drake, I’m sure he’d be happy to brag—ahem, tell you—all about them (like the time we accidentally started a small cult in a mountain village). But we also helped people. Our songs gave hope. Our laughter gave light and brought people together—if only for a night—around fires and mead and old stories. That’s what bards do. That’s what I had forgotten in my grief.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

PLAYED BY: Daniel Sulman

CHARACTER NAME: Brother Gerald

GENDER: Male

PRONOUN(S): He/Him/His

CLASS: Cleric

AGE: 17 (in 274)

RACE: Human

HAIR: Short, straight, brown

EYES: Blue

OCCUPATION: Ordained Eagle in the Order of Arnath’s Chapter of the Light.

KNOWN SKILLS: Can fight, in various ways and with various weapons. Can cast divine magic. Pretty intelligent. Is trying his hand at poetry.

BIRTHPLACE: A house in Starkhaven.

APPEARANCE: Around 6 feet tall. Stocky build. Usually wears armor and an Order tabard, and if not, basic clothes and a burgundy hood.

NOTABLE TRAITS: Looks young for his age. Somewhat easy-going, but in a serious situation, drops the light attitude for a no-nonsense one. He is not his father, and will tell you. Believes that his father lost his family’s honor and worth, and now he has to earn it back. You can call him Jerry.

RELATIONSHIPS: Other members of the Order, Lay and otherwise; Brother Carl, a mentor and friend; family: Mother, Father (both deceased); only child; no cousins, aunts, uncles, or other close relations as far as he knows.

RUMORS: Some say that his father was a Griffin of the Order, but when the Lich came to Mardrun, he fled rather than face the threat. They say he was hunted like a dog and hung for cowardice. Jerry doesn’t like to talk about it.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

To the Keeper of the Library at Starkhaven,

You asked for details concerning my life, so here they are.

As far as I know, most of my family has been in the service of Arnath. My mother was a healer, a combat medic, in the Lay Order on Faedrun and then on Mardrun. My father was a Griffin. We lost contact with him around when the Lich came. One of my grandfathers was a captain in the Lay Order, and died in the early years of the war with the Undead. My other grandfather wasn’t in the Order, but my family thinks he was one of the major suppliers of food to it. We don’t know what one of my grandmothers did, but the other was a valiant Lion.

You get the idea.

Now, after all those generations of bravery and commitment to Arnath, comes me. My father was executed (I’ll talk more about that later). As the years went by, especially after my father’s death (which he must have deserved), my mother’s hair grew grayer and she grew weaker. She stayed as active as possible in the Order, vehemently refusing to stop her work. When the fighting between the chapters began, and the Starkhaven keep was taken over, she picked up her spear and joined the fray. She fought for the Fist, believing that strength was the only way we survived. From what I’ve learned, my mothers heart gave out when she was patrolling. Not even the magic of Arnath’s healers could save her. Soon after, a member of the Lay Order militia came by and took me to an orphanage.

So there I was, alone in an orphanage in Starkhaven. It was in the middle of the town, so the Fist and Light’s fighting was never far away. When the fighting finally ended, I was just shy of ten years old. The Chapter of the Light, the winning chapter, was desperate for more members after the losses suffered. I, a child who had just survived a war zone, somehow found myself in front of a Griffin that was testing my magical abilities. To both of our surprises, I was able to cast magic through the power of Arnath. The Griffin mentioned he had known my father, and he hoped I turned out better than him. I thought nothing of it at the time.

Anyways, I joined the Order. I was trained in all sorts of things. Fighting, healing, even cooking. After a few years, I was given to Brother Carl to apprentice under. My father may have known him. Carl was an Eagle, and I inherited a little bias towards the role because of this. Just a few months ago, I was ordained as Brother Gerald Anderson of the Order of Arnath. I chose to become an Eagle.

While Carl was obliged to train me as well as he could in all three roles, he only had experience as a Lion and Eagle, and he had far more in the latter. Due to this, most of my training was in Eagleship.

Now, about my father:

I don’t really like to talk about him. The few memories I have are him, vaguely red with the tabard of a Griffin, cooing at me in my cradle. I remember vividly one time. I saw him staring at the small shrine to Arnath that was in my childhood home. That was the last time I saw him.

When I was older, looking through the Order’s archives, I came upon a few papers detailing Harold Anderson (my cowardly father)’s desertion and execution. Unknown to others, perhaps due to some foul undead magic or a curse of the mind, my father turned on his fellow clerics and then fled, seemingly out of his wits. When he was hunted down, some expected him to be branded or punished in some way… but the judgement handed down by the clerics deciding his fate that day was swift and absolute; they hung him for his actions against the Order. Swift justice was a cornerstone of the Chapter of The Fist, afterall.

Nowadays. I try to stay “in the know,” where things are happening. I keep a journal, writing whatever it is that comes to me. Years ago, soon after I learned how my father died, I wrote down the three aspects of the Path, & how I live them. Here it is:

Duty to the People.

I try to stay just & fair in my life, & keep my word & my honor, & those of Arnath & the Order. I protect those that are weaker than me, & help those that need it.

Duty to Arnath.

I always pray when the time comes. I try to keep to the Path, & honor Arnath in all that I do. After all, I am his Light on this world, & must act accordingly.

Duty to the Order.

In the battle situations that I’ve been in, I always listen to my superiors & respect them. I learn from veterans in the Order, & treat them with the respect they deserve.

(The journal’s over now) I recently learned about Grimward deploying captured civilians into battle. Basil (a commander in the Lay Order) sent news about it. Apparently they threatened to kill the poor soul’s families if they didn’t fight.  It seems to me like that’s just about the worst thing someone could do. I’ve heard through the grapevine that Basil was all for killing them. That’s something I dispute. I know he doesn’t have to follow Arnath, but I’ve been taught most of my life that my duty is to protect those weaker than us. That’s a dilemma there. If I had been there, would I do my Duty to the People, and spare the poor bastards, or my Duty to the Order, and obey my superiors? Ah well, that’s just my thoughts on the matter.

Now before I send off this letter, let me write this: I am not my father. I have honor. I follow the Path. I am of Arnath. I am an Eagle, fighting for Him.  I am, I am, and I am.

.

Signed by my own hand,

Brother Gerald Anderson of the Chapter of the Light

The Tenth of April, of the Year 274

PLAYED BY: Kevin Novy

CHARACTER NAME: Niklaus (Klaus) Devereaux

GENDER: Male

PREFFERED PRONOUN(S): He/Him

CLASS: Mage

AGE: 37

RACE: Human

HAIR: Long hair

EYES: Green

OCCUPATION: Spymaster

KNOWN SKILLS: Skilled in arcane

BIRTHPLACE: Faedrun

APPEARANCE: Tall, dark clothes, long hair, mask over one eye

NOTABLE TRAITS: Nothing of note, blends in.

RELATIONSHIPS: None

RUMORS: He drinks and he knows things.

BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:

Klaus felt the rain pour down from the heavens and felt its cool touch run down his face.  How did it come to this he pondered as he held his burnt face.  The rain did little to dull the painful ache that the fire had left  upon him all those years ago.  He stared down at his feet and  rage swelled inside him.  He was so far away from achieving his revenge yet his quarry was so close.  He felt the calm hand of the man on his shoulder.   The man spoke.

” Easy Klaus, easy”

Referring to his white clenched fist.

“Tell me my everything”, he said calmly.”

Klaus tried to calm himself and tell the man what he could.  He was born in Faedrun like most humans were.  In his youth he developed an arcane potential and was sent away to an academy.  He could not recall the name of the academy or the location of his old home.  That part of his life seemed a distant shadow now.  He did remember constantly getting into trouble and often being reprimanded.   But Klaus knew he was different then the rest of the students there.  Klaus spent his time bullying and attacking his fellow students.  It would lead to his eventual expulsion.  He would spend most of his teen years as a grifter, going town to town stealing to survive.   Sometimes killing those who got in the way.  For instance, when the undead arose and forced the denizens off Faedrun, he killed an entire family just to secure space on a boat.  To the detriment of all living species, Klaus would survive his journey and start a new on Mardrun.

The next chapter of his life had him joining a gang of liars and cheats.  A small group of goons called the swamp rats.  They moved from town to town swindling people out of their money but managed to keep themselves small and hidden enough to evade the law.  They went about their business for a good 10 years or so and Klaus came to see the gang as a family.   They looked out for each other and kept each other safe.  Life seemed to be on the up and up for a murdering thief like Klaus, that was until the silver crossing job.