Locke Galston, Age: 34, Pit Fighter.
“Heard she’s paying off a debt, no sure what for but she’s gladly paying it in blood, sweat and tears so whatever it is, it must be precious. “
Locke stands 6’4” inches tall and has short cropped un-styled, light blonde hair that currently is covered in sweat and standing in several different directions. Now that you are closer, you notice this is a woman, not a man. Her shape is still female, but the normal feminine curves are not as noticeable without any fat to accentuate them. Her body is cut, well-muscled and well defined, but not necessarily bulky.
She is shirtless, her chest is wrapped with a worn tan bandage, that has countless blood stains. Some fresh but most old and faded. She wears plain, brown pants, that are tied at the waist with a rope. Over it are layered several belts with pouches and small bags, as well as a faded yellow scarf. The pants are loose around the thighs but are gathered at the knee. Her calves are bare. Her feet and hands are wrapped tightly in worn bandages. Around her left wrist, you see a red silk ribbon wrapped several times around the wrist and over the hand.
She wipes her forehead with a towel, her scarred hands still wrapped for the fight. Her face is neither attractive or unattractive. If it wasn’t for her size and strong build, her features would be considered forgettable.
She picks up a burlap sack, and from within it produces a large onion. She looks at it and then locks her pale blue eyes at you expectantly.
Gren Llast, Age: 42, Former Captain of the ship known as The Ardent Dawn
“Fuck off.” – Gren Llast
One might say that Gren has lost his way, but that would not be true.
What’s true is that he should have died when they ran a sword through his gut. He should have died when they threw him overboard. He should have died of that fever, on an abandoned beach as he shivered and starved.
He didn’t. Not because of luck, not because of fate, or the Gods’ will. He didn’t die because nothing can kill him, not before he sees those eight bastards choke to death on their own blood.
So, one might say that Gren has lost his way, but he knows exactly where he is going.
To hell, probably, but not. Just. Yet.
Robin Truegust, Age: 35, Adeptus Conjuratus of the Arcane Brotherhood.
“I have a very special present for you! I saw you looked troubled so I took the liberty of sorting through your memories while you were asleep last night, and I took the worst ones and made them disappear. You should feel better now. Trust me.” – Robin
Robin Truegust knows what you’re thinking when you look at him: He’s just a short, weak, bookish academic who wouldn’t survive a minute in the real world away from his precious scrolls. He’s even deformed, an extra thumb on his left hand. It doesn’t move as well as his other digits. Surely it must get in the way of casting spells.
You notice he doesn’t even like being touched, or even having people in arm’s reach of him. Probably because he’s afraid….
Actually, Robin doesn’t like being touched because Robin doesn’t like having to deal with the complications of killing someone. Frankly, he finds it messy and distracting.
He knows what you’re thinking when you look at him … because he’s reading your thoughts right now. He may be short, and weak, and bookish, but after pulling a few threads in your mind, he’s as tall as an Ogre, and he could lift a wagon with one hand. Extra thumb and all. Or, maybe he could snip those threads and you’d forget you ever laid eyes on him.
Why though, would an Adeptus Conjuratus of the Arcane Alliance expend the time required to do any of that?
He tells you it’s all in your head and that he’s probably harmless.
Fehmed, Age: 9, Powder-monkey, currently employed at the Cutlass Inn in Luskan.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” – Fehmed
One day, they’ll tell stories about a famous adventurer who roamed the high seas of the north, fought pirates, romanced princesses and wielded a legendary blade that spoke to him in an ancient and long-forgotten language.
You might hear that he later saved the realm for a planar invasion and traveled to the famed City of Doors, dined with the Lady of Pain, stood against the Harmonium and traveled the Astral plane on a silver thread making enemies and friends alike of the Gith.
In his waning days, it is said that he commanded a great army, and led it courageously against the feared Thousand Fists tribe of Orcs, engaging them in battle on southern slopes of the Nether Mountains. The tales even recount his victory over an elder blue dragon on the peak of Dragondoom.
They say this man was the incarnation of a long forgotten deity and is now worshipped by men and women seeking his guidance and protection in their adventures.
Few stories will tell you that it all started when he was nine years old, homeless on the streets of Luskan and was paid three gold to fetch water for a bath for the famed pit fighter Locke and her companions.
Yvessia Solemnbranch, Age: 150, Sorcerer, Rogue, Adventurer
“Come now, we have only just met. Surely you cannot dislike me already.” – Yvessia
That uneasy feeling that you get when something isn’t right. You can’t put your finger on it, but it’s there like a splinter in your mind, incessant, pleading.
When she enters the room, that’s what she coveys. Whether she intends it or not. Yvessia Solemnbranch cannot mask her presence, because it’s her very presence that is awry.
Despite her unusual, but not uncomely appearance, her aura is warped, troublesome and unnerving.
It wasn’t always this way, however, and it may not always be this way if she can fulfill or escape the terms of her contract.
The only remaining questions is: does she want to?
Annah Summersong, Age: 15, Wizard Apprentice.
“Do you like blueberries? I LOVE blueberries! They’re, like, the best thing ever, uh-huh!” – Annah.
“Annah? No, she’s not from around here. I believe she has been Eraevin’s apprentice for a few years now. She’s supposedly the daughter of some fancy noblewoman from The Scarlet Honor family from down south.
Never met a child so peppy and bouncy, I suppose it’s because of all the blueberries she eats, but she is a sweetheart really, very bright too. Eraevin seems most impressed with her, says she’s a quick study and did you know, she is friends with one of the Dragonslayers?! No, truly.
They stayed here last winter, Annah was inseparable from the one they called Locke. Seemed like they knew each other well. She was a mess when they left again, cried for days.” – Darcy Stonebreaker, Innkeep in Icewind Dale
Burford “The Navigator” Crutchly, Age: 55, Navigator of the ship known as the Ardent Dawn.
“Oh, oh! The c-c-ceeiling full of keys? Why, I-I-I carved the all. I’m n-n-not sure what they open, t-t-take one and try it out per-per-perhaps?” – Crutchly.
Black Galston, Age: 52, High Captain
“You should come work for me, join my ship! You won’t regret it.” – Black Galston.