The Village of Westloch
Characters
Avareh
A herd of deer, grazing in the meadow. Tall grass swaying in the wind. It was my forest, and thus, I saw. The branches of a tree across the clearing stirred. Birds in flight, directing my gaze. I saw them then, a pack of wolves, poised in hunt.
I did not interfere. I did not turn away. My place was here, my role; to watch. They remained some distance from the herd, four of them, crouched and watching. I recalled my time as a hunter, stalking my prey, predicting its behavior, shaping it…
I found it before I realized I had been looking for it; a fifth wolf, upwind. One of the deer lifted its head, alert. It had sensed the wolf. The lone wolf chose this moment to strike, but too late. The herd was spurred into action by his movement. They ran, into the pack. The wolves took 2 of them down. They had wounded a third, but it got away. No matter, between the 5 of the they would eat their fill tonight.
"But not I," I thought, pulling a pale blue berry from my pouch, "it is not my place". The berry was soft, and tasteless, but it would have to do. It will always have to do.
The sky was darkened overhead. A storm was coming. I would need to find shelter. Tonight would be a difficult night. I picked up my pack, slung it over my shielded back, and made my way into the woods.
There was always time to think in the woods. It would not let me forget. The berries reinvigorated me, rose my heart rate, and made me alert. The increased sweat made my scars itch. The elevated blood pressure made my fingers swell, just enough to make my rings uncomfortable. Some scars hurt worse than others.
I made camp in a felled tree, burrowed by time, rot and the many creatures that had come before. It was small, but it would do for the night. As the sound of rain and thunder approached, I examined my makeshift home. I could stand, almost upright, and had enough room to lie completely straight if I needed to. I sat on the far end of the hollow, looking out past the crevice I'd gotten in from. I consciously slowed my breathing, my other bodily functions soon followed. Thus, I rested. Thus, I dreamt.
I dreamt that I was the lone wolf from the clearing, a distraction, yes, but a hunter nonetheless. I craved the taste of meat, of fresh blood. It had been so long… A movement, up ahead. The deer! I leapt from my position, elated on the thrill of the hunt, ready to kill! But there were no deer, only an Elk, so large it could never be mistaken for common.
And suddenly, it was no longer a dream, but a memory. I was myself, young and proud and fierce. The clearing was no longer. Instead of tall grass, I leapt over the roots of a massive tree, larger than any other I'd ever seen. The elk lay before me, breathing, but barely. It was forbidden to kill Giant Elk, for they were divine creatures, but this one was old, weak and already dying. To kill it would be a kindness, to honor its carcass a boon. I pulled my knife from my belt and approached, slowly so as not to scare it. I let my hand go softly over its massive neck, soothing the creature, before plunging my dagger into its heart. My hand burned as its blood poured from its body. The creature, already weakened, could do little but shy away and cry out. I pulled my dagger from its chest and made my way around, to its head, easing it into the next life. I thought it was my place.
The thunder pulled me from my dream. The storm was here, and it was massive. I could only see a few feet beyond the entrance to my hollow, such was the downpour. I reached into my pocket for another berry, but they were gone and the dream had left me wanting again. I reached into my pack, grabbing some dried meat, the last of it. I would need to hunt again soon.
Larissa
Orphaned at a young age Larissa was adopted by a human family, one of the few who didnt hate the tiefling race. they took her in and treated her like one of their own.
Larissa grew up with three brothers who always bested her in games and sports. As a child she faced many a discrimination due to her race but the acceptance and love of her adoptive family showed her to trust only those who showed her that kind virtue.
Growing older she installed into the military in the infantry devision , even though she could best any other soldier, she was never promoted, but this did not stop her trying to prove her worth.
One faithful day some of her fellow soldiers were captured and made prisoners but Larissa did not stand for this. Going against her orders she journeyed out to rescue them, and though the odds were not in her favor She single handedly rescued all of her men. This act awarded her a medal of honor for her bravery. Following this she was given some time off from the war front. She traveled on her own from village to village until one unexpected encounter came her way.
A demon goddess of seduction Succubus revealed herself to Larissa and offered her powers of magic. Larissa, intrigued by the possibility to best even more people made a pact with the demon and began learning the ways of the warlock. Feeding off of the power of the gem embedded in her chest containing the blood of the demon, Larissa was ready to take on any foe who came her way.
Fizzlebang
The illustrious Baron Garaspite began his new life with humble beginnings, having to live in a miserable hovel. A hovel made by the finest of masons and interlaced with the most expensive of décor.
It was a paltry structure in comparison to the abodes of the higher nobles but seeing as how Master Garaspite was so humble and not in the least capricious, he only grumbled about the lesser accommodations to the lower house staff and NEVER EVER to his sovereign or to those close to him.
Many hours would he spend toiling away in his arcane study, looking over his notes and spells, his incantations and conjuring’s, and busying himself with his work and whiskey. As day would drag into night it became readily apparent that his whiskey took a much more preeminent position in his mind, as they say, old habits die hard. As Master Garaspite looks around his baroque style study, he seems like he absorbs the very texts and information held within the books around him. The Master was not always this way…
As a child, Master Garaspite often enjoyed playing and fooling around with his friends and family as most children do. As a little sprite, Rhine Garaspite was not out of the ordinary, on the contrary, like many other gnomes he would tinker with and build new contraptions day after day just for the sake of getting a reaction from his friends, be it awe, excitement, joy, or laughter. As was customary of gnome demeanor, Master Garaspite showed extreme curiosity and inventiveness, this mixed with his love for tinkering led to the creation of his nickname, Fizzlebang; named in part after his famous Fizzlepop DislocatorTM, which was meant to transport Fizzlepop bottles from one location to another (an oddly specific kind of transportation invention I know but gnome inventors are notoriously fickle so it’s simply less contentious and candidly advised that one just drop the whole issue and not ask them why their inventions can only teleport one thing but not another). The “bang” part of the nickname came from the result of his decision to imbue the invention with magic which caused the by-product of the magic overflow to seep into the Fizzlepop as it was being transported, and as everyone knows you never imbue pop drinks with magic. The subsequent result was…explosive.
This sort of tinkering and experimenting ran especially strong in his family, the Garaspite family was well known for having produced much of the modern day gnomish teleportation technology as well as the occasional energy weapon. As time progressed Master Garaspite’s fun loving childhood and socialable family did nothing to stem the tide of the more cerebral activities which started to occupy his mind and his attention. The playful Fizzlebang became sullen, often isolated, and deeply introverted.
During these times Master Garaspite would often be found fulfilling his more social needs at a high end tavern drinking with the only sort of company that would tolerate his new demeanour, able-bodied rough housing dwarves. Through these encounters Master Garaspite learned dwarvish, albeit a drunken, slurred variant of the language (arguably this was dwarvish in its purist form, seeing as the entire race seemed to be intoxicated on a regular basis).
One day whilst on his way back from the tavern the Baron Master Rhine Garaspite was stopped by a peculiar gnome with small horns jutting from his head and a hellish imp by his side.
This gnome would soon become the Master’s sovereign, offering him power, magic, and purpose in exchange for unwavering loyalty and a sealed lip. This time that elapsed between then and now and all that took place are still steeped in mystery, even for us trusted servitors, the events of that time are unknown. All that we know is that we now serve the Master as he serves his sovereign and to question his power is to question the sovereign who instructed him, and that, is truly a disastrous proposition.
Bard
None know for certain the true name or origins of the Bard, however all agree he came from the sea.
Some stories tell of how as a lad the Bard was discovered beached on the western coast, having swam hundreds of leagues from the desert island he and his mother were marooned on. Others swear he is the son of the sea itself and his music is inspired of all manner of sea-beings. Still more believe he slaughtered 50 sailors and captained the empty ship from across the oceans, his songs haunted by the lamentations of the damned.
Even the legend of his instruments and ability do not align: some claim both to be wrought magic, others believe he was born with a viol in his hands, and some believe he merely attended the college in Sielu, years after arriving from the sea. Each story may quite likely be wives-fancy, yet The Bard refutes none.
In any case, the Bard is as famous for his skill with a blade as his captivating melodies. Relying on the crafts of blade (this he admits to learning from necessity), deception, and showmanship the bard makes a living wandering from town to town duping and entertaining the masses.
Not much is certain about the Bard, but his fame, and infamy, spread as far and as wide as the common tongue is spoken.
Heskan
Also known as Heskan the Extinguisher, I don’t remember my earliest years. From my oldest memory I have always been living with the Kerrhylon clan, the Southern Brass Dragonborn clan, a very zealous group of servants of the Flame. They took good care of me, but I’ve always felt unease around them because I knew I did not truly belong to the clan.
I am a Silver Dragonborn, of a chilled soul, not of fiery brass. I am a servant of the Flame, and I believe even my cold breath has purpose in this world. When I turned 15 and became a mature Dragonborn, I decided I would wander off and find my kin, find my true clan.
On my path, I will use my Cold Breath to extinguish the Flame’s Spark from all those who turn against it.
