Name: Pepper | Age: Four (months) | Height: Smol | Weight: 0.04lbs

A common brown field mouse; it hardly stands out from the rest, in all except she is Pepper, and thus unique. She peeks her nose out from the hood, blinking at you with curiously intelligent eyes. She has been with Cayden through thick and thin, and through sheer halfling luck, survived. She lets Cayden scritch her forehead for a few seconds, before burrowing back into his hood.

How did Cayden meet Cassandra? Simple, really. He entered Baldur's Gate, carrying the usual alms box to deliver to the orphanage there. A recent construction by a compassionate older woman, Cayden's temple was their most reliable donor, and he had been given the duty of delivering their donation at the end of every second tenday. It was his first official duty as a cleric, and he was eager to prove himself... even if this was literally moving a box from one place to another.
As he passed a gap between two houses, he heard a weak cry. The cry of a child. He turned. And he saw two men, grappling a struggling child to hold him still, while a third, a woman, slowly lowered the sharpened tip of a spear towards its throat. He didn't think. He acted. He ran into the alley.
"Stop!" he shouted.
The woman straightened and turned towards him. She took him in as he came to a halt not ten feet in front of her. Her lips twisted into a smile.
"So we have an audience. Nice to know the gods want to watch as well."
Cayden paused. "Watch what? Watch you m-murder a child?!"
One of the men scoffed. "Ain't a kid. It's a demon, and it's gonna die like one."
Cayden hesitated, before glancing toward the child, and letting out a soft gasp. From a distance, with the shadows and the dirt, it was difficult to see, but up close... the girl's eyes were onyx black, even where the whites would be. Her tear-streaked face was the colour of amber, and maroon hair hung around her shoulders... but most importantly, a pair of horns curled out around her ears. A tiefling dressed in ragged clothes, most likely abandoned on the streets, or else alone with no guardian to speak of. He looked down at himself - not always had he dressed in armour, been well fed, had a roof over his head. Once, he was just like her.
He turned back to the woman, who still held the spear in her hand. "L-let her go."
Her expression changed from smug to stunned. "What did you say?"
He took a deep breath and stood as tall as he could. "Let. Her. G-go."
"Why in the Nine Hells would we do that?!" one of the men asked. "I'm getting bored of you."
The other nodded, and added, "Piss off, halfling."
But the woman had another plan. She smiled and bowed with a flourish. "Of course, ser. Boys, go on."
They looked at her, aghast, and the girl wriggled free from their grip. In a flash, she was gone.
The woman straightened her back, and her eyes locked onto Cayden as the mirth faded from them. "Now, if you would be so kind as to hand over that box you have on your belt, we can all go on our merry way and forget this ever happened."
The two men grinned, realising now her plans, just as Cayden felt that pleased feeling fall down dead. The woman took a menacing step forward, her spear lowering. Cayden took a step back, letting out a soft sound of surprise as his back hit the wall.
"We let the girl go, didn't we?" the woman said, the spear getting unnervingly close to the halfling's throat, his eyes widening in fear. "I say we deserve to be compensated for our troub-"
"Do not touch him, you scoundrel."
Everyone's heads swivelled sharply toward the newcomer. A young woman in a white and green dress stood there, her eyes intense. Plucking at the edge of a red cloak was the tiefling girl, hiding mostly behind the new person.
The woman with the spear cursed. "All these interruptions! Go away, girlie. This doesn't involve you."
The young woman raised her chin. "I am involved now. And I will not tell you again."
The first woman sneered. "And what are you going to do about it?"
There was a burst of flame, and the woman let out a shout of pain, casting the spear aside, her hand red and angry. The newcomer had a raised hand, still glowing from the magic she had used. The thug looked at her companions.
"What are you waiting for? Get that bi-!"
Her voice died away as a spear pressed itself against her throat. Cayden was shaking all over, but his hands were steady enough, knuckles white around the spear in his hands.
"Leave."
Her face ruddy with anger and embarrassment, the thief didn't say anything else. She left, and her friends went with her. Cayden, the spellcaster, and the tiefling girl watched her go. The woman turned to Cayden soon after.
"You were very brave to do that," she said quietly.
"I c-could say the same of you," Cayden stammered. His heart felt like it was in his throat, and he was swaying slightly on his feet.
She tilted her head. "My name is Cassandra. Hex here ran into me on the street, and when she told me what was going on, I had to help." The tiefling mumbled something and moved closer to Cassandra, who placed a hand on her shoulder. "And you?
"C-Cayden. Cayden O-Oakheart. Cleric of Yondalla."
Cassandra paused for a moment, then smiled. "Would you perhaps be willing to take a job? My brother and I need an escort."
Cayden froze. A job? A journey? But he had barely even gone beyond Baldur's Gate before. His hand went down to the box at his side.
"I-I'll think about it. I've g-got something I need to do first." His gaze fell on Hex, who still stood shyly behind the spellcaster. "And she needs to come with me."
For a moment, fear and confusion crossed the tiefling's face. But, at Cassandra's encouragement, she stepped out from behind the cloak and nodded at Cayden. The halfling nodded back. He had lived on the streets, once. Now he had to make sure no children went through what he had ever again.

Start with 'How did NameOfChar meet NameOfTwin? I want you to write a short story describing the answer to this question, either full-third person or from the perspective of your character. This is how I will get an idea of your writing style. Cassandra wears green and white, and is a spellcaster. Sebastian wears blue and black, and uses a sword. Both wear a red cloak, and have brown hair and green eyes. Remember, Cayden's character sheet is HIGH END of what I expect.

Name: "Charlotte" | Age: 15 | Size: 3 ft. long | Weight: 4 lbs.

Varrus was a lowly street rat growing up without a copper to his name. He did whatever was necessary to survive and earn his coin. The moment he could afford it, he bought himself a lute and taught himself to play. Charlotye has been by his side since he was 15 years old and has seen him through both good times and bad. Charlotte has helped him earn the few coppers he'd need to stave off starvation and warm the hearts of the downtrodden. A life without music is a life not worth living...

Varrus met Sebastian one night while in Baldur's Gate, more specifically outside a tavern by the name of 'The Spoiled Princess'. Varrus had been passing through Baldur's Gate in search of a new adventure when he found his way into 'The Spoiled Princess'. He'd settled down for a hot meal and drink when he'd noticed a few eyes from across the tavern. Not Cassandra or Sebastian mind you, no. When you were someone like Varrus, you didn't get to where you were without stepping on a few toes and cheating a few people who deserved it. Varrus had made the mistake some time ago of taking off with a valuable artifact he'd been tasked with smuggling. When Varrus saw what it was, he couldn't resist. He swapped the artifact, turned tail, and took off with the gold he was owed in hand. Needless to say, his 'previous employer' didn't take kindly to being cheated. That was were the goons who'd eyed Varrus came in.

"You have something our boss wants, bard" one of the goons said. Varrus sat back and with a goblet of wine in hand, smiling as though he didn't realize he was about to be beaten to death by 2 men who were much larger and much stronger than him.

"I honestly don't know what your talking about. I'm merely a weary wanderer looking to rest his bones and fill his belly with a hot meal and wine. Perhaps I can offer you both some and we can talk" Varrus replied. One seemed to consider it and was about to speak but quickly thought better as he took an elbow in the rib from his associate.

"Stuff it Varrus, The Spider wants what you owe him. Now, you can either give us the artifact and we can be on our way or you can give us your life" the goon said. Varrus sighed in agitation and sipped his wine. The price he had to pay he supposed.

"Boys, I don't have the artifact. I sold it weeks ago. Now if you want my life, fine. You can surely try and take it. Outside of course, I'd rather not get blood all over the table" he replied with a sip of his wine. The goons smiled crooked smiles, clearly getting an answer they'd been hoping for. They led the way outside, unaware that something was missing from the table. Varrus followed and the goons smiled at the bard, one holding a dagger and one an ax. Varrus smiled. "Come on boys, you are clearly stronger and bigger than me? Do you really need a knife and an ax to do me in? How about fight me like men?" he said. The goons smirked and shrugged, dropping there weapons and sliding them aside.

"Your call bard, just means you'll die slower" he said. Varrus smirked.

"I'll certainly die my large friend, but it isn't tonight and it isn't by two inbred thugs who can't seem to use their eyes" he taunted. That was when the largest of the goons charged at him, head down like a bull in an attempt to tackle him to the ground. Varrus spun, coat flourishing in the wind, a flash of silver against the light as the goon dropped to his knees. He clawed at his throat and sputtered, choking. The thug who hadn't charged Varrus looked at the two and saw why his friend was choking. Varrus had palmed a knife from the table inside and used it to slash open the brutes throat.

"BASTARD!" he yelled before Varrus flourished the knife and threw it into the man's crotch, bringing him to his knees.

"Oh shit! I am so sorry! I was aiming for your foot!" he said as he approached slowly. He finished the ordeal with a knee in the brutes face and a finger pointed at him. "I don't OWE your boss anything. YOU owe ME your life! So, I'm gonna let you keep it if you complete a small task for me. You go to The Spider, you tell him what happened here, and you tell him I'm not to be disturbed. Am I clear?" he said. The thug nodded furiously as Varrus smiled and pat his cheek. "Smart man" he said as he stood. That was when he saw that a man was watching him. A man dressed in blue and black with a red cloak who eyed him. Varrus looked embarrassed and offered a slight bow.

He apologized for what he had seen and he had smiled and told him it was quite alright. In fact, he was looking for someone like him. Someone who clearly could handle a sticky situation and didn't mind getting his hands dirty. When he offered Varrus a chance at adventure, the bard leaped on it like a stray on scraps. He didn't need the promise of gold, merely the promise of adventure. Varrus offered his rapier, his wit, and his lute to service this man on his quest and all those involved. THAT, was how Varrus Viccarian met the mysterious Sebastian.

Name: Foe Slayer| Size: Med | Weight: 4lbs

Foe Slayer is the battleaxe given to Magdar when he became a War Priest. It used to belong to his trainer, Roland. He wields Foe Slayer in all of his battles. It has been blessed by many War Priests through the years.

Magdar Ironhart was tired and pissed off. He had spent the last two weeks walking to Baldur's Gate and found this dive of an tavern. He knew that this tavern was a place that mercenaries often came to find jobs. He needed an job and soon. He was nearly out of coin and food. He could find a local church of Tempus and get a bed and food there. However, his pride wouldn't let him do that until he found a job. He didn't want go begging from the church while unemployed.

While at the tavern waiting for something to happen, Magdar noticed Sebastian enter the tavern. He didn't look to belong in this tavern. He looked too you and naive to be in this dive. Magdar thought that he must be looking to hire some sell swords. He stood up to see what Sebastian wanted and offer his services. Before he got there, three large men had surrounded Sebastian. They were very rude to him, the thugs threaten him. Maybe Sebastian could take of him self, maybe not. Either way, Magdar has always hated bullies from his youngest days. Without really thinking he slammed his shield into the face of one of the bullies. It was a short but exciting fight. Sebastian to subdue one of his attackers. Madgar used his shield and fists to beat the other two down.

Magdar was hired on the spot.

Name: Eye of the Storm ( The Lyre He Caries ) | Size: Medium | Weight: 1lbs
A wooden lyre that sweep upwards towards the middle from the side, and back down again. The wooden chassy has been stained dark at the outside, and slowly grows into a lighter brown the further inside it goes. It is decorated with burned engravings depicting circling striations of clouds growing more violent the further away from the center it goes. The only blemish is a terrible scar, a gash caused by a severe burn marring nearly a half of the instrument. Even so, it remains polished polished and lacquered.

The typically soft notes befiting the instrument has been modified to hold a more basey sound. The notes drag on much longer, causing the notes to reverberate in the air as if it was in a quiet auditorium. It was never meant to be sinister, but artistically serene and peaceful. Like the eye of a storm it's self... where there is safety, calm, and light.

The instrument was a gift he had commissioned to be given to the one he loved. A lover long gone and still mourned. He keeps it in the name of her memory. Taking as much care for the instrument as he does his own appearance. Rarely playing it. And fiercely disallowing anyone to take it out of its case, even less to touch it.

None of the Kobold tribes of the Zakhara deserts seems to know where this Kobold had came from. He held none of the tribal markings or scents. He was discovered collapsed in the sun. He held grave wounds of acidic damage, and was wrapped defensively around a damaged lyre. The shamans had planned to leave him there. That was till they noticed the latent arcane energies inside Vaal. Even his appearance closely resembled a blue dragon. Dragon Wrought. Kobolds much closer to their ancestors who tends to show great magical power. Seeing a potentially useful member, they had collected him. Though, they soon began to regret their investment.

When they asked the recovering Kobold details of his life, they got strange answers. His name sounded as if there were parts of it missing. His memories were hazy and seemed erratically out of order. Repeated questions always yielded the same results. Even stranger was when his eyes fell on the lyre, he let out a long forlorn wail that echoed through the warrens.

And worse, where the question of his sanity had been brought to question, was he claimed he was a dragon. He claimed he soared the highwinds, was the master of the storms, his very own sea. A horde he once held, and now long lost. He did not just claimed. He poised, held the arrogance, mannerisms, and more. Vaal truly believed his own lies for truth. The shamans were not having this. It was a grave risk to their tribe, and so they had him exiled.

Vaal felt himself deeply offended. Yet… there was something deep in him that compelled him northward. It was not the desire to seek answers - he somehow felt he had them even if he couldn’t bring them to the forefront of his thoughts.

So how did Cassandra meet the Kobold? It’s a slow tale, not quite worthy of songs… not that it’s wanted by the kobold. But, like many grand tales of upstarting adventurers undergoing wanderlust, it all began in a tavern…

---

Night. The streets were cascaded into darkness, while the light of the moon had been absorbed into the rolling clouds overhead. What remained was a gentle blue wispy glow about the size of a copper piece from so far below the skies. The thunderhead that rocked the skies and unsettled the air is long gone, leaving only the riddens in its wake. The drizzle after the storm, where the world seem calmer, more peaceful, save for the occasional flash of light. Droplets of water pitter pattered against the paved streets. The occasional gust of wind blue a cloud of water through the air to buff those who wandered the streets at night. It all added up to a gentle din. A din to which people ran too from shelter to shelter. A din to which puddles seemed to forever dance. A din that a dragon(Kobold) enjoyed.

Vaal Storm Touched, By the Grace of the Winds, Weaver of the Highstorms, Harold of Thunder, Scourge of Kites, Guider of Ships, the Grand Gem of the Fakhara sat in the sheltered patio of “The Thespian’s Clutch”. A lavish tavern located in Baulder’s Gate, just across the street from a theater inside the proper district. His gaze was directed to the sky. A longing look filled his gaze. Like a sailor anxious to get back to sea. His daydream had overtaken him, soaring through the clouds. The gentle kiss of lightning. The defining roar of thunder…

Blink. He had snapped out of his daydream with a jolt when something had sloshed against his claw. His gaze dipped down slowly taking note of his claw which had been circling the rim of his glass. His eyes dipped lower, and saw that his carelessness had caused the glass to tip slightly and splash his wine across his claw. He sighed softly, and then noticed the world was gray and back. The candle at his table, and various others had gone out.

Still… it was hardly an inconvenience. His eyes were so well adjusted for the dark. A fact many did not know or forgot. A fact that some strangers eyeing him from an alley across the street did not consider. There was a small glint of brandished steel… a knife. Footpads then. They likely saw him leave the theater during the interlude… and desired an easy mark. A kobold was certainly an easy mark. But not a dragon. He tapped his claw in that small scented puddle consideringly.

With a swish of his tail, he raised his soaked claw and curled the digits. A low mutter left his lips, and his fist cracked to life with bright jagged tendrils of electrical sparks. What wine there was on his hand burned away and left a peculiar fragrance. The light illuminated himself, and the area around him with a soft blue glow. And the glow dimmed as the sparks died out… leaving a single curling trail of electricity that danced between his index and thumb. He placed it down on the puddle, lighting it a blaze.

One single flame rose from that puddle and waved gently in the air. The Kobold dabed his finger into the burning contents, drawing up a dollop of fire. Then flicked it onto the candle’s wick and lighting it. His claw gently laid down on the puddle, extinguishing the flames. It rose up once again, curling and allowed the Kobold to rest his chin on the back of it.

His gaze directed towards the footpads. A small smile curled on his lips. Seemingly wicked if the intent was known. What would such magic do to someone who’s wet? The footpads seemed to have the same thought. They shifted uncomfortably. They slowly began to round there way closer, then paused once realized that Vaal was confidently looking there way. His gaze had been trailing them expectantly. Even though the candle light wouldn’t have thrown enough light to expose them.

“Run along now, darlings… less you wish to leave your leavetakings to take your chances… and dance with jack o’ the shadows?” Vaal’s voice rang out softly in a lilt. Just loud enough to be heard over the gentle song of the rain. It held a strange accent. His words seemed to slur together, despite not showing hints of intoxication. The difficulty of understanding… was lessened with each new word being punched at the starting letter.

The message was clear, and well understood by the footpads. Vaal had ensured them of their plans tonight. If they went through, someone would die. And that someone would not be him. Messy at the very least. It was as if everything was stacked against them. The weather, the lack of light, his magic and potential range, and his smaller size being able to easily take advantage of what cover there was.

To the Kobold’s delight, the footpads spun about and hurried off beyond his sight. He thoughtfully pinched his goblet, and gave the contents a swirl. How many times has he been or nearly accosted? Many instances he had simply ran. Some, he got out of by the skin of his teeth and dumb luck. And few were fights under his terms. The kobold gritted his teeth into a scowl. Oh how he loathed feeling so vulnerable that even a small advantage felt like throwing dice loaded for failure with death! And why was it that the mediocre always sought to destroy their betters!? As if it was their fault they live such dour lives!

“Excuse me, is this seat taken.” The Kobold looked up slowly with a raised brow. He found himself looking up to a woman dressed in green.

“And you are….?” The Kobold began, his gaze flitting along her form, scanning her attire as well as what visible weapons she may carry. His gaze drifted back to where the footpads had been thoughtfully, and returned to the woman. Was she with them? No… that attire says something different about the woman.

“Cassandra.” The woman replied curtly with a dip of her head. She remained quiet even as the Kobold raised a brow. He had been expecting a house name to follow. But… as seconds grew uncomfortably close to a minute he relented.

“Vaal Storm Touched, your pleasure,” The kobold drawled, waving a hand towards the seat across from him. As she sat down, he continued. “Now… humor me while I am being so terse… but why have you approached me when there are many other seats? Most assume that when one is sitting along, they are not expecting… company.”
“Oh… nothing else than that incredible display of power you’ve shown.”

Though mild, the flattery did cause the Kobold to perk up. Vanity and pride swelling up beyond what many may have believed to be capacity. It was blinding really, enough for him to miss that gleam in her eye.

“You saw that? It was nothing, a mere sideshow act amidst a sea of incredibility. Just enough to keep the rabble in check." He took a drink after poising himself in his chair. Leaning back, but not quite slouching. Tail curled in the air, arcing up to curl under his chin. "Now, darling, why are you here?”

---

A discussion was drawn under the time limit for the Theater’s crier to announce that the show would be continuing. A discussion for a job within armed service. A discussion that certainly piqued Vaal’s interest as a means of removing his vulnerability. The pay was nice, but not having to look over your back for some clout with a sword seeing a mere Kobold? That was like laying the sky before him, even if it was only temporary.