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Name: Arrora Darwalyn
Age 25
Gender: Female
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 125 lbs
Race: Half Elf
Class: Cleric; Life Domain

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Brief Description: Arrora is a girl of healthy build, but she is not particularly muscular by any means. Her pale skin is dotted with sparse freckles and she has blue eyes. Her long, platinum blonde hair reaches down to her waist and often has braids thrown in a bit chaotically at times.

Weapon & Armor: The armor pictured above is what she wears; generally lightweight
She wields a quarterstaff.

Accessories & Miscellaneous:
- She has a necklace with the symbol of Selûne that she uses as an arcane focus
- Crescent-shaped hairclip (See second photo) enchanted with defensive magic that makes her light armor have the strength of plate armor without the weight.
- Bag (See second photo)
Inside the bag there is:
- Flask of water
- A couple of random flowers
- A moldy piece of cheese she forgot to eat a while ago
- Ring of Obscurity
- Coin purse
- Diary
- Two potions of healing

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Personality:
Arrora is an absolute ray of sunshine to be around. She's super sweet and positive. Happy and smiling more often than not, Arrora loves to have fun and to meet new people. She follows a strict moral code and always tries to be kind and think of the best in everyone. The only downside to her moral code is that she has not encountered many people who are morally grey. This means she has a hard time understanding those who are selfish or unkind, but she makes an effort to nonetheless. When it comes to helping others, she'd go out of her way and not be bothered much at all as she is very patient. She's also generally calm and not easy to anger.

However, she isn't the most charismatic or witty. She wasn't the most highly educated and her word choice is usually more simple. She isn't a good critical thinker and sees things in black and white at times, despite being highly empathetic. Additionally, she's also extremely forgetful and very clumsy. Sometimes she's a bit dense, overly innocent, and naive. When it comes to inappropriate discussion or cursing, she will often get flustered as she hasn't encountered anything outside of temple behavior before.

In battle, Arrora can be a bit of a scaredy-cat. She is pretty new to the game and has not encountered many creatures at all. She reacts very strongly to intimidating creatures and is easily frightened. She's as skittish as a kitten. However, Arrora is determined to overcome this flaw and wants badly to be as brave as her comrades. She's very determined to not let anyone around her ever die and goes to lengths to try to care for others around her, making sure everyone is well-fed and well cared for.

History:
Arrora grew up in the village of Triel. She was raised in a middle-class family as an only child to an elven mother, Ivora, and human father named Qion. There weren't many elves in the village of Triel originally; Ivora had moved to live with Qion in his hometown. They had been starstruck and adored each other as much as they adored their daughter Arrora. She lived a sheltered yet kind life. The Darwalyns were quite humble and did not need much to be happy. As with such a lifestyle, Arrora grew up being very easily pleased. She never knew much hardship and was raised to value kindness and courage. Her life had been pretty mundane until one unfortunate day.

In the Autumn of Arrora's twelfth year, orcs raided Triel. Arrora had never encountered any sort of attack or danger, and reacted cowardly at the sight of the terrifying creatures, running to hide under her bed. When she emerged, she found that her parents were no longer of the world and so were many townspeople that she had loved. Arrora was devastated by this event, her happy demeanor destroyed for quite some time. She was completely traumatized by what she had seen. Luckily for her, the people of the temple of Selûne took her in and were very kind. They helped her repurpose her life despite her intense fear of the world around her, raising her as a cleric so that she'd always be able to protect herself and those around her.

Time healed as did the wonderful support she received. Her newfound faith for the deity Selûne became very important to her. She decided as she aged and matured, that she should face her fears and no longer be the coward that stood back as people died around her. Despite her underlying fear of death and fighting, Arrora wanted to be better. She decided she was finally ready to take on the world at 25, after years of preparation and prayer. While looking for info on an epic quest for her to undertake, she overheard that a pasha named Jakeem Kalil was seeking travelers and knew she had to face her fear in order to protect others on such a perilous journey so she set off traveling to Calimport.

Skills and Abilities:

As a cleric with a focus on the life domain, she has a wide range of spells mostly focused on healing and buffing allies. She knows some basic hand-to-hand combat, but nothing crazy. She was trained in the temple of Selune. She always has cure wounds and healing word prepared.

Race: Human
Age: 59
Height: 6'1"
Class: Monk - Astral Self
Appearance:
Zasheir is a heap of toned muscle beneath heavily scarred flesh. Matted strands of gray hair spill from the sides and back of his head down to the middle of his neck, rough, drooping cheekbones frame a thick and broken nose, and his left eye is discolored and gray. By most of Calimport's standards, Zasheir is a very ugly man. Though the whip scars oddly suit him, like a familiar and broken-in coat, it's obvious that he is entirely unconcerned with his appearance, dressing only in a ragged pair of trousers and eschewing any offerings or opportunities to clean himself or his possessions.

In stark contrast, Zasheir's body is in incredible shape. The only vestiges of his age that show themselves here are the veiny wrinkles on the backs of his hands and a slight sag to his flanks. His arms are strong and corded, his neck and shoulders are broad, and he walks with an air of youth and athleticism that entirely betrays his aged mask. At nearly all times, the man is shrouded in a naturally foul smell, with olfactory threads of a botanical or chemical scent poking through. Having been an indentured resident of the Shackles Ward for most of his life, Zasheir very much continues to look the part of an ill-treated slave, and seems, of all things, comfortable with the stigma it brings.


Personality:
"At all times we are encircled by two worlds- what is and what isn't. Material and imaginary. Real and not real. Our judgement is the only weapon we can hope to brandish at the latter."

Zasheir could be succinctly described as a mystical, ascetic monk, but to do so would extinguish the kernel of truth and nuance to his beliefs. His age and experiences have largely reinforced and buttressed these to the point where he can be a bit hard to budge. The central point of his dogma is the idea that there are two realms that someone inhabits at all times- the material, which he defines as things he knows are real and true, and an imagined realm that is populated by one's senses, emotions, and perceptions.

"Many come across this conundrum at one time or another, but few have the stomach to confront it. Fewer still rebut 'what if?' and in sidestepping the question, they deny themselves an identity all their own."

Zasheir believes that accurately parsing the material and imagined realms through judgement allows one to truly transcend, this transcendence being what powers his ki and allows him to perform the extraordinary feats of athleticism he does. However, determining what is truly real is no simple task, for the imagined realm exists solely to harry and cloud your acumen. Zasheir pinpoints three main aggressors in this- vanity, pleasure, and fear.

"Unchain yourself from how others view you- perhaps even, from how you view yourself."

The monk subverts vanity by embracing his repulsiveness. He seeks to be seen as vile and odious by those he interacts with- this was difficult in the Shackles Ward, where hygiene continues to be a blessing, but in the other Wards and drudachs Zasheir has flourished in the loathing he is capable of receiving. He purposely engages in anti-social behavior, shouting curses near funerals, openly imbibing narcotics, crashing private social gatherings- judging by his weathered scars, he has regularly been punished for such behavior.

"Pain will help you see clearly. It cuts through bliss and comfort like a fresh efreeti blade."

Pleasure is tackled by welcoming pain and discomfort. An easy task for a near permanent insubordinate in the Shackles Ward, Zasheir is very familiar with the bite of the whips from the House of Nine Blessings. His skin is covered in memories from his times there. He also seeks out discomfort, choosing to sleep in the most uncomfortable places or positions, all in an effort to "see clearly" through the imagined realm and help him grasp what is real.

"Fear is a challenge. If you let it win, it will arrest your mind."

Fear can only be quelled by confrontation. For Zasheir, it is the fear of death, of being made unreal. A rather morose dedication, the monk partakes in memento mori; a token kept on his person that reminds him that one day, he will die. This takes the form of a necklace of small fish bones strung around his throat, and a pertinence to carry some sort of small animal corpse on his belt, usually a mouse or rat.

"And if insight is needed, one need only partake in the labours of the underworld-"

Zasheir is a heavy user of narcotics, preferring hallucinogenic ones- dreammist and traveler's dust are his preferred substances, but the rarity or price of the two compared to opium in Calimport sometimes give him little in the way of choice. Zashier believes the visions given by their use offer him insight, or at least act as a way for him to exercise and train his judgement of what is real and what isn't.

Short History:
Zasheir adh Jelal was actually born Druzir Zasheir yn Nazkim el Lorkhan, the son and future inheritor of his father's drudach in the sabban of Pahlemm, itself within the Caravans Ward of Calimport. He was raised amongst all the fineries the villa of a lesser noble could afford; he was taught business and logic, how to hold and use a weapon, and even debate and administration. Zasheir does not look upon this time of his life in a positive light- he believes he was blinded by the gilded trappings and silken regalia, but also realizes that he couldn't possibly have known better. He exuded charisma and guile as he stepped into his father's role after his passing, and had his chance encounter with the thugs from the Muzad- the undercity- never happened, Zasheir probably would've continued on this very path until his eventual death.

Fate had other things in store for the young nobleman. At this point in his life, Zasheir had grown complacent with his station; he ate some of the finest foods, enjoyed delicious wines, and had filled his family's coffers to the point that his children's children wouldn't have to worry about finance. Zasheir was worried only about he and his own; what life was worth living if it wasn't spent enjoying every second of it? His family cherished him and his pursuits, he was respected by his amlakkar, and he was even awaiting being wed to the most beautiful woman he had laid his eyes on. He was a man who wanted for nothing.

It was a beautiful night when it happened. Zasheir was taking a side street from Pahlemm's khanduq back to his villa when a silk-robed stranger bumped shoulders with him. On any other night, Zasheir would've been quick to check his pockets- one didn't grow up in Calimport without learning to be wary- but Selûne had been graceful to that dark sky, and a business-weary Zasheir wished for nothing else than to lose himself in the warmly lit halls of his home, and to immerse himself in a comforting bath. His mind was set on pleasure, then, and only the rustling of chainmail in front of him broke his stupor. It was a young half-elven amlak, one Zasheir wasn't familiar with, accompanied by Magistrate Khalid al Anachtyr, the magistrate who held jurisdiction over Pahlemm. He was a bookish and grim looking fellow, that night even moreso. Zasheir remembers the light of the moon catching the spectacles on the end of his nose as he shook his head like a disappointed parent. "How could you," he had said, "when you've been the grace of your family name." Zasheir was confused as the amlak stepped forward, a pair of irons in one hand. Confusion turned to bewilderment as the guardsman withdrew a small vial of red crystals, each no bigger than a grain of salt. Traveler's dust. A glance behind was fruitless- the man who had bumped into him was nowhere in sight.

The following morning, the story broke that Pahlemm's well had almost been poisoned with traveler's dust, but the saboteurs had been apprehended. Shockingly, Druzir Zasheir was on the list, and apparently he had spearheaded the plot. His case was passed from the magistrate to the vizier of the ward, and was found guilty. Bargaining for his life, Zasheir managed to negotiate himself into slavery instead, and at the age of 35, was hoisted across Calimport in irons and interred into the Shackles Ward.

For a time, he resented having nothing. He was filled with anger and wroth at those who had taken his things. Those feelings slowly morphed into a resentment of Calimport as a whole, a city that was corrupt to its core. Zasheir resigned to quiet rebellion- his ownership changed hands several times, each one unimpressed with the meek slave who only barely did what was asked of him and never anything more. He became a regular at the House of Nine Blessings for punishment, and fervently wore his cuts with pride as a symbol of his malicious compliance. This was Zasheir's life for the next decade; the physical tasks he was forced to do strengthened his body, and he retreated into his own mind, growing his willpower from his persistence to endure, knowing some day he would find the opportunity for revenge.

Fate would throw him another curveball, however. One night, whilst again being perused by potential buyers in Katar's High, a scuffle created an opportunity for the ownerless slaves to escape into the Muzad. Finally presented with the fruits of his patience, Zasheir bit, and fled into Calimport's undercity, narrowly avoiding recapture. He chose to reside here until his scars healed- to make them somewhat less recognizeable- and adopted the pseudonym 'Lumal' to reflect his opinion on both others and himself. He was eventually offered a job as a runner, and transported narcotics through the Muzad, earning himself a tidy little profit, even if he had few places he could truly spend it. Zasheir, now called Lumal, made several close connections during this time, people he still considers to be true friends. It's hard to be deceitful on an empty belly, he would learn.

During one run transporting traveler's dust, he and a wizardly companion accidentally tripped a magical trap and summoned a guardian djinn. They had been taught to simply discard evidence if caught, and Zasheir obliged, though luck and a gust of wind from the djinn had a crystal catch in Zasheir's eye. At the same time, his mage companion banished he and the djinn- discarding evidence, after all- to the elemental plane of air. This would come to be the single most life changing moment for the Monk, and as he describes it, he finally saw clearly for the first time. He claims the djinn spoke to him about how perceptions and emotions are mere illusions; how man's yearning for pleasure and insistence on good impressions were often their own undoing. Though he was there for mere moments, when Zasheir was shunted back into the Material Plane he claims his life truly began. It was the first time he felt a spark of something within, something of true power and value.

He quickly spent all of his collected money on narcotics, searching for more insight he believed they brought. With each bout of drug-fueled enlightenment, Zasheir felt he was closer to a truer understanding of something. When he realized that that something was himself, he cemented his coda in his mind. Vanity, pleasure, and fear had brought him nothing but bad judgement and resentment and should be avoided- however, he was but a man, and the imagined realm of his mind would only work against him and towards those baser impulses. Thus, for perfect clarity, he had to fight these senses by imposing and embracing their opposites- revulsion, discomfort, and confrontation.

Zasheir now works odd jobs to afford his habits, and in searching for insight took up monastic training. The "spark of understanding" he had felt was actually him controlling his ki for the first time, and over the last several years spent listlessly wandering Calimport (mostly the Shackles Ward) made a little bit of a name for himself as an accomplished warrior under his pseudonym of Lumal.

Skills and Abilities:

• Hand to Hand Combat - Coinciding with his monastic training and the awakening of his ki, Zasheir has trained himself in the art of unarmed combat, in which he has grown very proficient.
• Ki - Zasheir has learned to control and evoke his ki, allowing him to easily accomplish staggering physical feats for someone his age. His most noticeable use involves him physically shaping it around his arms, acting almost as an extension of them.
• Drugs - Zasheir is encyclopedic in his knowledge of the mind-altering fruits of the undercity. He knows most of their effects, where to get them, and how much they cost. Most of this knowledge comes from experience, barring the excessively dangerous ones.
• Endurance - He is a peak physical specimen. Through sheer willpower and use of his ki alone, Zasheir can withstand gruesome amounts of pain and not falter; if anything, he seems to enjoy it.

Weapons & Armor:

• Hand Ropes - Zasheir fights with no weapons, instead relying on his fists, feet, elbows, and knees. He wraps his hands and forearms with rope, knots placed strategically at the knuckles.
• Ragged Trousers - They are supremely dirty and worn, the only item adorning the rope belt being his pipe. He usually keeps them tucked into his boots.
• Leather boots and tunic - Both of these were given to Zasheir by a kindly Chultan merchant who mistook him for a beggar. He remains committed to not washing either of them, however.

Accessories & Miscellaneous:

• Ring of Water Walking - He keeps it strung amongst the fish bones of his necklace. A useful parlor trick that earned him some coinage was to simply stand on the top of a full bucket of water.
• Rope of Climbing - 10 ft. Each five foot half is what he keeps wrapped around his hands.
• Pipe - Zasheir stole it from a den in the Muzad.
• Very simple and functional wooden canteen, small enough to fit in the pocket of his trousers. He also stores his coins in here.

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Name: Barboda Teff

Age: 35

Gender: Male

Height: 6 ft

Race: Human

Class: Fighter

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Short History:

Barboda grew up in Baldur's Gate with a middle class family. His mother died during childbirth, but he grew up an only child to his father, Ganjo Teff. Ganjo was a bounty hunter and was often not home. Barboda would be looked after by kind neighbors when he was younger but as he grew up, he would be left alone quite young and learned to be very self sufficient. Barboda loved to hunt at a young age and would get paid even at a young age for his work. He didn’t really talk to many others and was quite the loner as a child. He’s never had a friend besides his father. When his father actually was around, he trained him hard from a young age and led a tough-love parenting style. They bonded a lot through these experiences.

Then tragedy struck. Ganjo Teff was hunting a wizard as his bounty one day but then the wizard was too strong and overcame him. Barboda was fifteen when Ganjo passed. It was a young age for a boy to become alone in the world. He grieved for quite some time but then he knew he couldn’t just live his life alone and he no longer had his father as a friend. At the age of sixteen, he joined a group of bounty hunters to make ends meet and find companionship. He’s been in the same group since then, rising through the ranks of the group and making a name for himself as one of the highly regarded bounty hunters.

Barboda never had a wife as he’s not interested in having a relationship or family due to the work he does. He prefers to focus on his work, but did make time to spend with allies here and there. Barboda has been able to stay well-off, making money on bounties, and hasn’t really ever tried to go on quests with a group. He’s gotten a little bored of the same routine. He heard about an opportunity in Calimport and made his way over.

Personality:

Barboda is not the kindest nor the friendliest of individuals. He is calculating and does not value useless discussion. He prefers to focus on logic and tactics. He is always analyzing his surroundings and is extremely observant. Barboda is extremely patient and does not annoy easily. He will most likely just ignore statements that he does not find important and just switches the topic.

Though Barboda is not a friendly man, he does play well with others. He will do what needs to be done and has no problem working together. He focuses on details at the moment. During situations, he does retain a positive mindset. He is stubborn and hard to dishearten. When it comes to morals, he will kill for the right price, but usually won’t unprovoked. He has a very neutral persona.

Barboda is brave and helpful. He will help those if it suits him or furthers the mission at hand. He’s very intelligent and knows how to read a situation. However he isn’t the most empathetic nor charismatic. He can read a person well but in the way a predator reads their prey, not too keen on emotions.

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Weapons & Armor:

See photo above for armor (This armor is mithril plate)

For weapons, he has a long sword and crossbow. (His Sword and Crossbow are imbued with magic that causes them to do slightly more damage than normal.) (See photo).

Accessories & Miscellaneous:

Backpack
Rations
Waterskin
Rope
A Bedroll

Skills and Abilities:
Barboda’s main fighting style is archery with the use of his crossbow He has the ability to imbue his arrow with a range of abilities: Piercing Arrow, Bursting Arrow, Seeking Arrow and Banishing Arrow. He can also curve an arrow to another target if it misses its intended target. When he is in close range with an enemy it poses no disadvantages to him even if using his crossbow. He has trained so much with his crossbow he could be considered a sharpshooter. When he shoots a spell caster that is focusing on a spell they are more likely to lose concentration on that spell and so the spell has a higher chance to fail. He also is less likely to be hit or come under the effects of a spell.