Characters
Aethra Tiefling Druid @Feyblue
Ulreik Human Fighter @Cu Chulainn
Danyl Feytin Human Rogue @Yankee
Nathaniel Brightwood Catboi Bard @Asura
Snowing Timber Tabaxi Ranger @webboysurf
Niala Tabaxi Ranger @BCTheEntity
[CHAR] Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld
- Romance
- Tabletop
- Fantasy
- Advanced
- Slice of Life
- Medieval
- Small Group
- GM mickilennial
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Zeroth
Aethra Tiefling Druid @Feyblue
Ulreik Human Fighter @Cu Chulainn
Danyl Feytin Human Rogue @Yankee
Nathaniel Brightwood Catboi Bard @Asura
Snowing Timber Tabaxi Ranger @webboysurf
Niala Tabaxi Ranger @BCTheEntity
Who I Am
Nathaniel is the quintessential bard: charming, eloquent, and always just a little dramatic. He believes in living life to its fullest and without regret, his formative experiences teaching him a painful lesson in its fragility and transience. Such a belief has led him to a life of hedonism, something he is rather unapologetic about, though he never allows himself to devolve into uncouth debauchery, if only out of pride. For all the stories and songs he espouses of great heroes and mighty triumphs, Nathan is something of a cynic. He understands how the world works in actuality, and that there are never enough heroes to rescue every backwater from every owlbear. Perhaps that is why he's dedicated his life to singing their graces: to uphold the illusion that help is always just a horizon away.
My Story
Nathaniel's birth was something of a scandal in Ardenfeld at the time—while most children in the town were born of couples from the town, only one of his counted themselves among the populace. His mother, Sabitha Brightwood, served as the local tailor, and his father had been a passing adventurer of some sort. To hear it told, his father had been a brave man, who had left his lover and son to continue on his heroic journeys, saving damsels and battling evil witches and all the other tales that were spun to keep curious children from ruminating too much on the circumstances of their birth, or why gossipy hens seemed to whisper whenever he wandered the village markets. In the hindsight of adulthood, Nathan realized the truth of the matter, that he was the product of a simple fling, but as a boy, the stories had inspired him. He loved them, loved telling them, and when he was big enough, he wanted to travel the world like his father did, and come back home with first hand accounts.
Unfortunately, fate had conspired to crush that dream, in a way. Ardenfeld fell, and with it, Nathaniel was left without a home. He was shuffled off, like so many other surviving children, to the orphanage at Sarinan. Like most, he did not adapt well. To have his world view so thoroughly shattered left him melancholy and despondent. What happened at Ardenfeld wasn't how the songs went. The bad guys were never meant to win. The heroes always came and put them down and the townsfolk would cheer. He spent most of his days moping about the premises, taking what little comfort he could in practicing with the lute he had received for his eighth birthday, something to occupy his mind.
That proved to be his salvation. During a paltry show of charity, the seneschal of the local lord noticed the boy plucking at his strings. The lord, as it was explained to him, had always been a patron of the arts, and kept his court well-staffed with musicians and storytellers. The tune Nathan had been diligently plucking away at since arriving at the orphanage was a favorite of the court, and perhaps out of pity or an eye for potential, the seneschal offered to let Nathaniel return to the court with him, that he may practice his skills in a more productive environment and make something of himself. While most joy had left his heart since, the opportunity to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the orphanage was more than enough for the young half-elf to agree.
From then forward, he lived as a courtier at the lord's pleasure, serenading knights and ladies-in-waiting alike, honing his craft over the years. He traveled from castle to castle with his lord, seeing the world and indulging in all its beauty. Until the tenth anniversary of the sacking.
Going Forward
As far as Nathaniel is concerned, he has already gone forward. He's filled the void left by the loss of his home with song and stories and women and the world. His desires remain rather ethereal, shifting to-and-fro with his whims, a never-ending string of distractions to keep himself from plunging back into the melancholy that permeated most of his early youth. The return to Ardenfeld is an event he had tried long and hard to push out of his mind, kicked further and further down the road until he could no longer avoid it. In truth, he almost decided not to return, to simply allow the others to imagine he had disappeared entirely. Ultimately, though, honor won out over reason. He had made a promise to return, so return he would, to prove to them all (and in actuality, himself) that the shadow of the tragedy no longer hung over him.
webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love
Member
Seen
4 hrs ago
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Who I Am
Timber was always, pun intended, a straight shooter. He always wanted to do the right thing, and was so bad at lying because he would always snarl and show the teeth on the right side of his face. He was always loyal to his friends, trying unsuccessfully any time his friends got in trouble to take the blame for them. Of course, given everything that has happened since Ardenfeld, Timber now has a very difficult time trusting anyone beyond his friends. Since his home and family were slaughtered, everyone Timber has met has always been trying to use him for one thing or another. That being said, Timber has learned that the best way to handle these people is to never let anyone know what he was thinking or feeling. The more you keep your cards close to your chest, the easier it is to get by in this cutthroat world. While Timber works for criminals, he finds he has a code that he is willing to bend to help distance himself from the more nefarious criminal activities that occur in the world. While willing to transport illegal goods in exchange for payment, he tries not to steal anything himself unless absolutely necessary... and so long as he's stealing from someone who doesn't deserve to keep what is being stolen. It may be because of the complexities in civilization that Timber tends to identify himself more with the laws and will of nature. The only place he ever feels truly free or safe are in the forests on the way to Pallaviel, where he can slip through the trees off the beaten path as if he were a fish in water.
My Story
Timber knew from an early age that he loved the forest. He loved to gather berries with his father to preserve into jams, or to sneak about with his mother as she was on the hunt for dinner. It was a nice, quiet life in Ardenfeld. Timber was naive and loyal to all the others as best as he could be, being on the younger end and only 8 at the time of the raid. He would do anything for his friends, especially if it meant he would take the brunt of any scoldings or punishments. He hated seeing them in trouble. It was his job to be the one in trouble.
No one ever claimed Timber, and he couldn't really blame them. He was a scrawny weak kid in the orphanage, and was timid and unsociable to strangers. The last strangers he had seen took everything from him. He only had his friends, who one by one left him as well. So when time came to leave the orphanage, Timber decided he would try to make his way in the forest. He ended up wandering, gathering just enough to keep himself trudging on. It was winter, and the snow chilled him to the bone. He was weary and dizzy and just a few months older than 14 when he found a dying fire in the woods, a clear sign someone was camping. There was a bedroll that seemed to be stuffed and covered by some traveller. The traveller had even left some rabbit cooking and burning over the fire. It was a shame to be wasteful, so Timber crept up and devoured what he could. As he finished his small feast, he turned his gaze to the bedroll and saw a middle-aged man pointing a hand crossbow at the boy. This man, known as Dain, couldn't bring himself to shoot the starving boy. But there was no way the smuggler was going to let some wandering tabaxi spill the fact that he was using the forest to smuggle things in and out of Pallaviel. So, a deal had to be made.
Timber didn't have much of a say, as Dain kept reminding him. Timber owed Dain a life debt for saving him from starving in those woods. Dain worked on behalf of a criminal organization known as the Crimson Claw that specialized in the procurement and transport of illicit goods. And so Dain took to teaching Timber all he knew about travelling carefully through the forest to smuggle goods. And beyond this, Dain taught Timber how to survive in the wild if the law ever seemed to be catching wind of their work. They would smuggle art pieces or small relics throughout the land, usually running them up to Pallaviel where they could be fenced to the elite. But Dain and Timber didn't just smuggle. When Timber was seventeen and already proficient with a bow and his swords, Dain accompanied his apprentice on a more volatile task. They tracked and hunted down a former member of the Crimson Claw who was trying to make off with a valuable painting. Of course, Timber and Dain knew the forest like the back of their hands, and Dain forced Timber to take the shot. As Timber watched in horror at what he had done, Dain looked pleased.
"We are even, Timber. You're one of us now. Don't ever forget it."
For the last year, Timber has only worked a handful of jobs for the Crimson Claw to keep himself afloat. Dain has been letting Timber work on his own, giving Timber assignments here and there and moving into the roll of a fixer within the organization. Timber has been preparing and gathering basic supplies to get ready to make his way back to Ardenfeld, and preparing himself to face his friends again.
Going Foward
Timber is ashamed deeply for his past actions. He has been forced into service to the Crimson Claw because of his perceived debt to Dain... but now is bound to the organization by blackmail regarding his murder of a former member. The relationship between Timber and the Crimson Claw is purely professional, and Timber very much is hoping for a way out. He does not want to turn to the Claw, but has always found himself relying upon their support to keep himself afloat for the past four years. Regarding his friends, Timber wants nothing more than for them to not know what he has been involved with. He has not made direct contact with any, but would almost certainly put out feelers about their whereabouts and well-being indirectly through his contacts. He wants to ensure that they succeed in their futures, and he has a deep yearning desire to hunt down and stop the bandits who ruined their lives. Timber doesn't think about his own future too much, but does see the best outcome as one where he is free from the bonds of the Crimson Claw and living in the forest like he was always meant to. He fears nothing more than being under the Crimson Claw's thumb for the rest of his life. But despite being considered "even" by Dain, he can't help but think his debt will never be considered unpaid. And that's not something Timber wants to think about for too long.
Feyblue Lord of Floof
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
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D&D Character Sheet
Who I Am
Though she is known as something of a cryptid to the locals still inhabiting the area around the ruins of Ardenfeld, the so-called "Witch of the Argent Vale" really... doesn't live up to the hype. Spoken of in hushed tones, she is reputed to be a horned demoness who preys upon those who go too close to the old village, searing them to the bone with hellfire. In some tellings, she is a vengeful spirit -- a village maiden who gave herself over to the dark powers to survive the disaster, now driven mad with agony by the very flame she bears within her. In others, she is simply a fiend called forth by death and destruction that needs to be cut down. Still others claim she's nothing but an old wives' tale, while others claim to have caught glimpses of her with their own eyes; a fleeting horned shadow in a black cloak seen watching from afar, her eyes burning like embers amidst the shadows of the forest.
Despite these fanciful stories and poetic descriptions, however, the truth of the matter is significantly more mundane. Aethra is simply a sheltered, reclusive individual who, seeing how feared she is, withdraws from any and all human contact. And, sure, perhaps she might have used her powers to create eerie, flickering fires to scare off people who got too close to her camp, but she never actually attacked anyone!
In any case, she is painfully shy, and though she hides it well, dislikes being looked at and doesn't really know how to talk to anyone with two legs. She doesn't become a blushing, stammering mess when forced to interact with others, mind you -- but even if she keeps her composure, she seldom says more than a couple words unless they're practically forced out of her. This may give the impression that rather than being shy, she's simply without feeling, or actively hateful of others. But though she never forgets an insult -- a scornful glance, or a derisive remark about her horns -- she does not hate people for acting this way. Rather, interacting with them simply makes her sad, and so she'd just rather not bother. Needless to say, this also makes her somewhat neurotic about her appearance, to the point that she usually wraps her forked tail around one of her legs and hides it under her skirt, and keeps her head down in dark places to avoid having the fiery glow of her eyes seen. Only her horns are too large to adequately hide, but even then, she does the best she can, draping a hood over her head at all times to hide the point where they actually connect to her scalp. Maybe she hopes they'll be taken for some form of decoration or garish accessory, rather than an intrinsic part of her person?
She's much more comfortable with animals, however -- especially when she thinks she's alone -- and can often be seen conversing quite cheerfully with various creatures she encounters, using the magic taught her by the spirits to communicate with and befriend anything she thinks won't judge her too harshly for being different. While her unnatural heritage does sometimes thwart these attempts too, most animals don't think twice about her horns, tail, or gleaming eyes -- after all, in this sense, she's quite similar to them.
Despite her cold exterior, she's also quite childish, displaying no small measure of awe or even fear in the face of very simple things. Big cities are utterly foreign to her, having lived first as a country girl, then as a hermit. Fanciful baubles and trinkets catch her eye quite readily, and she has a tendency to fiddle with almost any unusual or interesting thing she encounters, displaying an almost magpie-like attraction to shiny objects. And, thanks to her deprived upbringing, her standoffish attitude can oftentimes be defeated with the help of tasty food, especially sweets. Wild berries, roasted fish, and the occasional morsel of meat are all well and good, but given her insatiable curiosity and voracious appetite, she just can't resist.
My Story
Born as a peasant girl, the girl now christened with the fanciful appellation "Aethra" originally bore the much simpler name of "Mary." Her father was one of the village of Ardenfeld's foremost hunters, and was a gruff-but-gentle man who doted upon his daughter extensively. Her mother, on the other hand, was a wanderer from elsewhere -- a gypsy of sorts of unknown heritage who had ended up in Ardenfeld on her travels and cared for her father when he was, coincidentally, injured during a boar hunt. Ultimately, she decided to settle down there and marry him, and though her origins were originally regarded with some measure of suspicion at first, the other villagers quickly stopped caring. The family didn't have any outlandish customs, nor did the foreign lady have any particularly alarming physical traits. They got along well with the community and all did their part, and so quickly became just as ordinary a sight as anyone else.
Her parents loved her very much, and she would often help her mother around the house with chores or errands. She learned to cook, the basics of mending clothing, and other common household skills -- as well as a few small tricks her father taught her, such as how to carve and play a reed flute. They would wile away the hours sitting on their back step, with Mary clumsily tooting away on a small, shabby instrument of her own creation, and her mother singing along from inside. The memories are bright and warm, like a flame -- but they have since flickered and faded as the years drag on, until only embers of those warm, happy days remain. Aethra remembers little of that time now, for her peaceful childhood ended when she was only eight years old -- and after that, she tried her hardest to forget.
Her father's voice, telling them to run.
His hand, clutching an old sword.
His back as he rushed out of the house.
Her mother's grip on her hand.
A stifled cry as that grip went slack.
The fire, all around her.
The pain, the heat, the choking smoke -- and then suddenly, nothing at all.
Someone had pulled her from the flames and carried her to where the other children were hiding. Miraculously, she was mostly unharmed. Her skin was burned in places, leaving scars upon her back that persist to this day -- but she survived. Initially, this was seen as simple good fortune; but when a fire mysteriously broke out in her room at the orphanage, too -- from which she also emerged almost entirely unscathed -- people began to grow worried.
It was around this point when the dreams began. Nightmares, visions of fire and death and bloodshed -- landscapes left barren and lifeless by war. Whether it was the trauma of the attack or some kind of vision of things to come hardly mattered to her at the time, however -- because the more immediate concern was that the flames in her dreams persisted when she awoke. Opening her eyes to find fire in the palm of her hand would set her screaming, only for it to disappear when people came rushing in to check on her. She thought she was losing her mind... and others thought she was possessed. These fears only became more founded when one morning, after a particularly bad nightmare, she awoke to find that her hair had become white like an old woman's, her ears pointed, her teeth sharp, her eyes like blazing embers, and, worst of all -- horns and a forked tail had grown upon her during the night. She panicked, and this in turn once more drew people to come running to her room -- only this time, the evidence didn't just go away.
She was locked in her room, priests were called to conduct an exorcism, and Mary, not unfamiliar with what happened to monsters in fairy tales and already quite aware that she was feared by those around her, was certain that she was going to be killed. In her panic, she broke out of her room and made a run for her life. Though several people caught sight of a horned girl fleeing the city, the search parties that followed lost her trail in the deep woods, as she instinctively began to follow old hunting paths that led her back to her old home.
Arriving amidst the ruins of Ardenfeld, she found an unexpected sight. The fallen houses, the charred landscape, and the ravaged ruins that had haunted her dreams had long since given way to verdant greenery. Vines, flowers, trees, and shrubs had completely overtaken the former town, leaving nary a trace of the hell she remembered from her nightmares. There was a certain tragic beauty to it -- one that burned itself into her memories even more strongly than the trauma of that fateful night.
She wandered aimlessly through the ruins for longer than she can really remember. For a while, she occupied herself with searching for familiar places or items -- old, burnt dolls pulls from the wreckage of her house, a broken reed flute found trampled in the village lane, or a book of fairy tales she couldn't read that the headman's wife had once read aloud to the village children during the harvest festival. She gathered all these mementos in one place, and then, not knowing what else to do with them, with her tiny hands she set about burying them as a kind of memorial to what once had been.
The final trinket she found, however, she couldn't bring herself to bury. It was the broken-off handle of a shattered sword -- an heirloom that had never been meant to see combat. It must have failed its user in his hour of direst need, or surely -- surely, he would have been able to save them all. If only the blade hadn't broken, her father never would have lost his noble fight. Yet, even though he must surely have been defeated without a weapon, she couldn't find any signs of his body. Perhaps it had just burned to ash along with the others, but maybe... just maybe. Hope rekindled itself in her heart, not because she truly believed it to be possible, but quite simply because she needed something to believe in. So, she held on to this ruined keepsake, promising that she wouldn't bury it until she was certain her father was dead.
It was in this state, however, that someone -- or rather, something -- found her. On the first night, it came as a great wolf, from which the young girl hid in terror. Since it could not find her, it left -- but returned upon the second night in the guise of an owl, circling high overhead to search her out. When it found her hiding place, it left, and then returned upon the third night as a white deer -- a doe, but bearing horns like a stag. It came to her hiding place and asked of her...
"Why do you linger here, mortal? This land has already been lost to your kind, and none here yet live."
She, unsure of how to respond, answered only that she had nowhere else to go.
"Why do you not go among the living? Among your own people?"
She shook her head and said that she could not go back, for she was not welcome among them.
"And why is that?"
Because she was a monster. A bringer of fire and destruction -- and so, she only belonged in a place like this, where there was nothing left for her to destroy.
"Tell me, Little Flame, what do you see around you?"
A graveyard.
"Nay. I prithee look again, for you will find not a graveyard, but a garden. The end of your people need not be the end of this place. For the birds will build their nests among your fallen homes, and their songs shall be a lullaby to those who sleep beneath the soil. Look, Little Flame. Look and see. Even atop these graves you have dug, flowers will one day bloom."
It was beautiful, yes... but she wasn't any less lonely for knowing that. And, if that was truly the case, then she had no place here, either -- for she would only serve to destroy what nature hoped to build.
"Then, what if there were another like yourself here? Another with no place and no purpose, save to wait for and tend to what comes after the flames?"
If there was such a person, then she wouldn't want to hurt them. It would be better for her to stay alone.
"Ah, but that person needs you more than you know, Little Flame. There is a place not far from here where few tread -- a blighted, sorrowful land where the trees can no more grow, where the grass withers and fails, and from which all creatures shy away. That place was once her home, as this was once yours. And if you were to burn the rot away, then that place, too, might become a beautiful garden. I'm sure that she, and all those who once shared that home with her, would be happy."
It beggared belief that the strange power she had been granted might be used for such a purpose... but ultimately, she accepted. If that person showed herself, and could accept her as she was, then maybe she could do some good for someone who shared a similar sorrow to her own.
And so, on the fourth night, the one who came to visit her was not a wolf, or an owl, or a deer -- but rather, an old woman with a kindly smile, who introduced herself as Mithra. The girl said that she had been named Mary, but all those who knew her by that name probably hated her by now. And so, the woman gave her a new name: Aethra. A little flame, but one which could offer much to the world by burning brightly, be it in the seclusion of the wilderness or for all mankind to see. It was a name weighted with expectation, but made light by hope and joy -- for finally, there was someone who would walk with her and talk with her, and tell her that she wasn't mad and that neither the world nor her place in it had yet come to an end.
In the years that followed, she learned much under Mithra's tutelage. They lived together amidst the wild, with Aethra tending to the chores that were appointed her by her new mentor, and Mithra teaching the young Tiefling to control the flames within her, and to suppress them if need be. She learned that her powers could be used to heal and to create life in addition to simply destroying it... but also that there was a place for destruction, just as there was a place for new life to take the place of the old. Within an ever-snowy northern forest of rotted, whitened trees, hidden in a secluded valley unknown to mortal men, she worked tirelessly to perfect her craft, so that she could at last fulfill her promise to Mithra, and create for her a garden amidst this wasteland.
But there was another promise that weighed heavily upon her mind -- and as the time came to fulfill it, Mithra ordered her not to break her word, reluctant though she was to leave. And so, her two tasks became one. She would go back to the home she had left behind once more, and tend to the garden there. She would make good on her promise to speak once more with her old friends, even if they hated her or didn't recognize her after all the changes she had gone through. She would travel the world outside the Argent Vale once more, and once she had learned everything she could learn from seeing all the hopeful beginnings and fiery ends that life had to offer... she would return to Mithra, and share the fruits of her knowledge, creating a beautiful garden amidst that lifeless valley.
And yet, throughout all of this, still she is haunted by the dreams of all that she has seen -- and all that may wait for her in the world beyond. Something dark and terrible looms upon the edge of her awareness, and all that Mithra has taught her may not be enough to prepare her for it. If that day comes where her flame fails her as her father's sword failed him, or where the essence of life she strives to uphold slips from her grasp as her mother's hand slipped from hers... what will she do then?
Going Forward
At the moment, Aethra would say that she simply wants to make her mentor and surrogate grandmother Mithra proud of her, and to fulfill her promises. However, that's not entirely true. In part, her real goal upon this journey is to try to prove, both to herself and to those who once called her a monster, that her power really can be used to do great things, and that she's not the bringer of destruction she once feared she was. In seeking this, she'll also have to contend with the difficulty involved in changing people's perceptions of her, and her own wavering confidence in her own abilities as she wonders what, precisely, even is the right way for someone like her to live.
Secretly, she also perhaps holds out hope that her father might have survived the attack and still be alive somewhere... and that maybe, just maybe, some of her old friends who might still remember her from her childhood as Mary won't hate her when they see what she has become. Finally, she's also curious as to why she was cursed with the flame she bears to begin with, and from whence her daemonic heritage springs -- hoping that, perhaps, if she understands the roots of her own nature, that may bring her closer to triumphing over it, and over people's perceptions of her as a result of it.
But even leaving aside her plethora of emotional issues, the fact remains that Aethra is horribly sheltered and ignorant as to the workings of civilization and society as a whole, and she has a lot to learn before she is ready to truly save -- or destroy -- anything. Where her path and her reunion with the other survivors can take her, who can say? And what further trials fate has in store for her, only time will tell...
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Yankee God of Typos
Member
Seen
2 hrs ago
Who I Am
Despite everything he's been through and the current company he keeps, Danyl is an optimist at heart. He doesn't hold any blind faith in deities, and he knows that realistically some dreams can't become reality, but Danyl believes that with enough dedication and work most things are possible... and, sometimes, that work was of the underhanded kind. Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to achieve a dream - or even just survive. It is with this mind set that Danyl justifies his life as a thief, working among men that have much more storied rap sheets than him. Danyl isn't the type to hoard wealth, and anything he doesn't use to keep him fed from day to day is put back into his Guild - if not slipped into the pockets of those in need.
His charity is not entirely altruistic, Danyl just has some issues surrounding gain and loss, as one might expect. He tends not to keep much of anything, let alone money, for fear of growing attached and then losing it. People are harder not to get attached to (and harder to just give away, as it were). The flip side means that Danyl fights tooth and nail to protect those he is close to. Two extremes, but to him it makes sense - either put the thing you love close enough to keep or cut it out of your life entirely.
In regards to people, it's a wonder that Danyl didn't close his heart off to others. Or maybe it's a flaw. He's grown a lot, learned a lot of hard truths, but he can take a joke and crack one too. He maybe be a bit blunt and rough around the edges, but he can still smile. He takes others at face value, and expects the same in return - even if it's just because he's practically an open book. Hey, he's a thief not a spy. He is also a young man, and like many he can be bullheaded. With a temper and a tendency to be stubborn and stick to his guns, Danyl has butt heads with others in his line of work, but seeing as it's not exactly smart to make enemies it usually doesn't last for too long. Danyl isn't the menacing type, but anything serious is subject to the classic philosophy of 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.'
Mostly, Danyl is just a regular guy. He's young and headstrong with a bit of a temper and one hell of a want for vengeance, but he's also hard working and trust worthy, though some might not think it due to his current 'profession.' He's a man that tries to put distance between himself and others and fails, and he always keeps his promises.
My Story
WThe Feytin family was a large and happy one. Town grocers; a thickly built husband, a plump and vibrant wife, and three healthy children with one more on the way. They lived in a large home that was always in need of some kind of repair, with an even larger garden that the whole household tended to. The patriarch held friendships far and wide through his dealings with merchants, and proof of his bonds filled the family home in the form of knick knacks and tapestry that enchanted his wife and children. It was a well loved and well lived in homestead, nestled deep in the hamlet of Ardenfeld.
One day it all went up in a blaze. For a long time after that Danyl, a boy of nine years at the time, wished that he had burned up too. The fire spread quickly through their house, collapsing pieces of the second floor and blocking the doors out - his older brother had fallen with it, the debris pinning him there. His parents had split up, his father trying to find a safe way down and his mother pushing his younger sister and he toward the second story window. One at a time she lowered them out of the opening as far as she could before letting them drop to the grass outside. Sister first, while the fire grew and cracked the wood it was engulfing, sending showers of hot splinters over him. Looking back it was strange, how some pieces of this memory were so clear while others were dull and spotty. Danyl remembered crying and fussing at his eye where something had gotten into it, his mother yelling out of the window at his sister to go somewhere safe, and then the flames suddenly grow brighter - and then he was outside on his back, where the cold earth did little to help his seared skin. Then, he was yanked up by his arm and hurried into a secure hold with other children from the village. His mother must have thrown him from the window when the fire got too dangerous. He had no idea where his sister was, could only hope she was safe somewhere. His consciousness drifted in and out, and behind his eyelids drifted visions of his family, the flames, and the symbol of the bandits who had put their home to torch.
Life at the orphanage could have been worse, but for children grieving the loss of their homes and families suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar city and made to live with unfamiliar people, it was a whole lot of awful. Every mention of the mere word 'orphan' just dredged up bad memories. Like many Danyl's attitude soured in the wake of the tragedy, but he tried to keep a spark of hope. The Ardenfeld survivors were together, and they had made a promise to meet again at that town. At least they would always have each other.
Until they didn't. Some were adopted, some ran away, and some aged out. No matter how they left, it felt like a loss all over again. For Danyl, he knew he wouldn't be chosen for a new home. During the walk to Sarinan and in the subsequent confusion of the establishment taking on so many new kids at once, his eye had gotten worse. Irritation, redness, blurry vision. By the time healers had gotten around to taking a look, it was too late to repair it. Eventually his vision in that eye would go completely, and no one wanted to adopt a child that had something wrong with them. As expected, after five years of making and losing friends, Danyl was released into the streets of Sarinan with no where to go and no possessions besides a raging fire in his heart. He was a teenager let loose, a mess of emotions. Sadness, worry, frustration, and a mounting anger. He'd gotten over his want to join his family in the next world over the years, and now his thought process was that he didn't live now in spite of everything, then his family died for nothing. So he did live, scraping by begging in the streets of Sarinan.
There was one stroke of luck for Danyl, in that one of his father's merchant friends passed through town a few months after he'd been released and living in the street. The man had no plan to look after the boy, but he could at least give Danyl a ride to the capital city, where surely opportunity awaited.
That opportunity, it turned out, was being picked up by a Thieves' Guild. They called themselves Palla Orchids, a slightly facetious name, and they fancied themselves as 'noble thieves' stealing only from those that could afford to lose. Upon recalling the day they'd met the guild's captain, a one Victor Mason, would say that while people watching one day he noticed the face of a new street urchin, with an ugly looking eye that cause common folk to turn away from him. It interested him that in being so determined not to focus on the boy, either out of disgust, pity or courtesy, passerbys tended not to focus on other things - like their coinpurses. This was common with all kinds of beggars, especially the marred, but this beggar was a kid. One they could make use of. So, Victor approached Danyl, put some coins in his cup, and offered him a deal: turn up his sob story, keep everything that kind people gifted him, and anyone that distracted themselves by not looking he'd lift the purse off of and donate some of the profit to Danyl. It wasn't very moral but it worked, and that night Danyl returned with the captain to The Orchids's base.
It wasn't a large guild, and their headquarters was more like a criminal hostel, but it became like home for Danyl after a little while. With some polish Danyl made a decent thief and burglar. The guild's motto of only stealing from wealthy folks was something Danyl repeated to himself a lot early on, helping to get over the initial aversion to stealing. Many of the older men subscribed to another motto that struck a cord with Danyl as well: why should 'they' have everything, wanting for nothing, experience no hardship, while 'we' have to fight to survive? It made sense. Plus they were taking money and trinkets, not lives or homes. Really, it was nothing compared what these people could be losing. So Danyl spent the next couple years living with the guild and developing his skill.
The guild would only ever be like home though, because most days he felt no where could ever really be 'home' again. Yes, after so many years he was still hurting. Victor, a shrewd man, could sense that even though Danyl hardly ever talked about his younger years.
"Hey, Danny," he called, waving the teenager over to him. "It hurts, huh?"
Danyl furrowed his brows, confused at first. "Huh? ...oh, what, the eye?"
"...er, yeah."
"I guess." It did hurt from time to time. In the mornings upon waking up it would throb until the afternoon brought it's distractions. In certain weather it would ache and itch. During a bad memory it would be particularly painful. Thinking about it now, Danyl reached a hand up to feel around it. The skin around the socket was dry and taut, but the organ itself had always been the issue. Milky red sclera, collapsed iris and pupil, it wasn't a pretty sight. Now that his brain was focused on it, pain began blooming again. He tried not to give it away, but all of the Orchid could tell when Danyl was hiding something. He must have had some kind of tell that they all kept to themselves. "...yeah, it hurts."
Victor nodded, a grim smile coming to his face.
"I figured. You carry 'round things like that they're always gonna hurt. Only one way to make 'em stop hurting."
This perked Danyl up, and he looked at Victor with a hopeful, if surprised, expression.
"You can make it stop?"
"Well..."
Victor produced a blade, one of many stashed on his person. He twirled it in his hands for a moment before catching it and offering it handle-first to the boy.
"It might hurt a little more at first, but the easiest thing to do is just get rid of whatever's painful, right?"
After they cut out Danyl's bad eye, true to Victor's word once the wound healed over there was no more pain, not even of the phantom kind. It worked, and it was a turning point in Danyl's psyche. It's what started his habit of giving things away, so he could get rid of anything before it was otherwise lost to him. It also was a revelation. If he could get rid of the source of the pain in his heart, eventually that would stop hurting too. He was sixteen when he thought the best way to do that would be to get revenge on those bandits from so many years ago.
The rest of his years were spent right there in Pallaviel, living and working as a member of the Palla Orchids thieves' guild. He eventually became a lieutenant, because he only concerned himself with a few things during that time: providing for himself, providing for his guild, and keeping his ear to the ground for any leads or rumors about a certain bandit group. It wasn't much, but it was life. Eventually, ten years had passed, and Danyl had prepared a small pack with which to make the journey back to the ruins of Ardenfeld. It had been a long time, and though he hadn't kept in contact with any of the other survivors, he still intended to return. Danyl prided himself on never breaking his promises - even ones from childhood. If he was nervous he would never admit it, even if his whole guild could tell. This was one of the few important things to him left, and no matter how it went he would see it through.
Going Forward
For Danyl, there is no moving forward until he can cut out the part of him that hurts. Obviously cutting his heart out would kill him, so he has to remove the next best thing: the bandits that caused the pain in the first place. He lives his life day to day, supporting himself and his guild, while always keeping and eye and ear out for leads. Once he completes his goal, he... doesn't know what he'll do. In his heart of hearts he's afraid to think about the future. He knows what he wants, but he isn't sure if simple hard work can get him there this time. A warm place to live, people he can trust. He thought he'd had that with the Orchids, but there's been friction lately between the guild's members, a lot of doubt going around. A change of pace for Danyl might be in order soon, but the guild had been his life for the past half a decade. Before them he was a homeless orphan, after them would be be the same? Or, now that he's a capable adult, could it be possible to stop surviving and start living? Even enjoy life again? Only time will tell.
Cu Chulainn
Member
Seen
3 mos ago
Who I Am
The strong, silent type. Given his (former) profession, it would only make sense that Ulreik is someone who prefers actions to words, as what he lacks in rhetoric and wit, he has in work ethic. That said, it's not like he holds any sort of pride over his work, as he is completely modest with what he does. After all, why would someone be proud of digging graves? It is an honest job, if macabre, but it's not like he's anyone special for doing it.
Believing that he is cursed due to his tragic upbringing, Ulreik prefers to keep others at a distance. It is why he ended up tending graves in the first place. After all, he believes it's better if he hung around the dead over the living. It's because of this that Ulreik has made little friends aside from his fellows from Ardenfeld. In place of interacting with others, however, Ulreik has dedicated much of his focus to improving himself and getting things done. A determination developed by someone who spends too much time alone.
My Story
Even before the attack, Ulreik's life was already filled with tragedy. His mother had died during childbirth, leaving himself and his father on their lonely little farm on a hill. It didn't help that every time it was the day of Ulreik's birth, something bad would happen in the small ranch of theirs. When he turned two, their cattle had gotten sick and were nearly all killed off. When he was four, a terrible famine struck their farm just before the month of harvest. At seven, their barn had been struck by lightning. It was coincidences like these that caused Ulreik's father to call him a cursed child, regretting that he was ever born.
On his ninth birthday, Ulreik's father had sent him to Ardenfeld, a town only a few paces away from the farm, to run some errands. In truth, he had only sent the boy out so his presence wouldn't cause another travesty to happen. Of course, this was the same day of the attack. During the siege of the lowly hamlet, Ulreik had blacked out in the chaos. When he had finally come to, he was surrounded by the other surviving children of his age, mere minutes after the highwaymen had sacked the village.
Believing himself to be truly cursed, Ulreik broke away from the other children as soon as he was able to, running back to his home. It, too, was ablaze. Their crops had been stomped out, their animals dead or taken, and their barn all but destroyed. Ulreik had found his father's body, already bled out, nestled atop the small mound that was his mother's grave. It was such a sight that had finally broken the idea to the boy's mind that he was actually cursed.
When the older survivors had found Ulreik, he was clutching a shovel almost as large as he was, standing in front of two makeshift graves.
Ulreik's time at the Landeil orphanage was as expected. The more superstitious folk shared the same beliefs as the boy's father, believing Ulreik to be a child that would only bring tragedy and death. Many of the other children in the orphanage saw this and used this as enough of a reason to pick on the poor boy. Much like his father's abuse, this bullying was merely another form of penance that Ulreik believed he deserved. Of course, this didn't mean he wouldn't fight back.
At the age of thirteen, Ulreik was kicked out, having gotten into far too many physical altercations with the other children. With nowhere else to go, Ulreik had gone back to the only place he had known, back to his father's ranch. When he returned, Ulreik was surprised to see that it had turned to a new graveyard. What was once a place where life is cultivated had now turned into a land where the dead would have their final rest. Ulreik would soon find the place where his mother and father were buried, now a part of a mass grave dedicated to those who lost their lives during that fateful day in Ardenfeld.
Believing that the dead should at least have some form of memorial other than merely being buried together, Ulreik had made his way to the groundskeeper's abode, finding it empty but unlocked. Procuring some tools and a pair of planks, the boy would fashion a makeshift memorial, listing the date of the attack as well as a few harrowing words.
"We have not forgotten."
When the graveyard's groundskeeper, a wizened halfling, had returned, he would see the boy resting near the mass grave, tired boh from his work as well as his journey from Sarinan. The halfling dragged the boy back to his home, waiting for him to awaken. When Ulreik had come to, the halfling first scolded the boy for using tools not belonging to him before complimenting him on his handiwork. Introducing himself as Osmund, he gave the young Ulreik an offer soon after finding out that he had no place to go: help him tend the graves in exchange for room, board, and maybe a wage if he does a good enough job.
And so, Ulreik began his work as a gravedigger, tending to the very same lands his father had done years before. He would learn many things from Osmund, from boarding up a grave template to properly sawing out a casket. He also learned other skills from the halfling's past life as well. Osmund was not a stranger to death even before he became a grave tender, having served in the Pallaviel military as a scout. Keeping his larger build in mind, Osmund drilled Ulreik in many of the basic sword techniques taught to fresh recruits. Ironically, it was a place of death that Ulreik would truly find the most growth for himself.
Many years would pass, and soon, Ulreik's nineteenth birthday would come closer and closer. Having spent much of his coffers on a set of hand-me-down armor, a battery shield, and an old sword, Ulreik would prepare himself to face his curse head-on.
Going Forward
Beyond potentially getting revenge on the bandits who had slain his father, Ulreik truly desires to overcome his supposed curse. He wishes to rise above it, and to not let it control his life any longer. That being said, he's not quite sure how to go about it. There is always following Osmund's steps and joining up at Pallaviel, himself... But they wouldn't want a cursed recruit, now would they? Maybe he could also become a scout, staying on the outskirts of the battle rather than in the heart of it? Or perhaps he should just be a simple sellsword, dedicated to no cause but his own, so that his curse would not drag down anyone else...
In other words, Ulreik has not completely thought this through. At the very least, he'd like somewhere where he could belong, somewhere where his curse wouldn't trouble the lives of others. The dead make good company for this, but aren't quite the best when it comes to striking conversations with. That being said, he does not wish to merely abandon his past. If he ends up working as a gravedigger again, then so be it. He will continue to carry the memories of all those who have fallen. After all, he has not forgotten.
BCTheEntity m⊕r✞IS
Member
Seen
2 hrs ago
Who I Am
Niala's experiences and training have led her to become... aware of her strengths and weaknesses, as it were. On the one hand, she is generally polite, respectful, and driven to solve problems simply. On the other, she is loathe to make new friends after losing so many in her time, self-sacrificing, and hyperfocuses on her goals both short-term and long-term, at times resulting in unhealthy obsessions with them. If she were to be honest, she'd fully admit that her driving force right now is not her religious beliefs, but her will to see the bandits she lost her home and family to buried for their crimes - any distraction is taken poorly by her, and she reiterates this beratement upon those around her in turn.
My Story
Before the attack on Ardenfeld, Niala Berine was a sweet, if quiet child. Not too forward-thinking, but honest and true, and capable of lifting the logs her father would chop to fuel his forges over her head even at seven years old. Certainly, she'd make a good apprentice and successor to her father's work as a smith, something both parents encouraged her to be proud of.
Then came the bandits. Houses were burned, parents were killed, including Niala's own. Of course, Niala found herself scarred mentally by the attack, developing a phobia of fire to the extent that even a lit candle could rouse fear. When she did sleep, it was never restful: she'd relive the moment her parents died before her, and each morning she would awake - distressed, as many of her fellows were, but equally... enraged. Hateful that she could not do more. Hateful of those who had hurt her.
The exact sort of mindset the Temple of Tyr were seeking when they visited one day, not a year after the orphans had been taken in. The Landeil Family Orphanage was all but glad to be rid of mouths to feed, especially to such a prestigious group as the temples, and Niala was brought in under the lens of Priest Markos, blind in emulation of his god, who looked into the souls of his faithful to see their worth. Niala's very first words upon learning that were "How can he see if he's blind?", a most amusing statement to Markos - though he also explained that eyes would not see what truly mattered. And what, he then asked, mattered to Niala?
Nothing much, she realised. Everything she'd had was in Ardenfeld. All that remained was a promise of vengeance against those who had taken her previous life away.
What followed for her was years of strenuous training: combat prowess; how to move in armour without overheating; how to divine and then guide the intent of those who would do wrong; and of course a great deal of indoctrination into Tyr's faith, as well as education into the general tenets of various other faiths both good and evil, lawful and chaotic. She would not falter - she couldn't, not if she truly sought the payback, a fire that Markos stoked in her to ensure her most potent fury could be unleashed once the time came.
Fire within he stoked - and fire without he set as her final test, enflaming her room to force her to overcome the fear of fire she had held since that fateful day. If she could not overcome it, she would be no paladin of Tyr... but with faith in heart, and blade in hand, overcome it she did.
She was ready. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she was blessed and knighted by the priests of Tyr, truly becoming one of his servants, and earning a new name to bring her into Tyr's eye: Niala Evenhand. With her knighting came freedom to pursue his will, and spread his message to the faithless... and as it happened, she had an appointment she still needed to uphold at The Lying Wolverine.
Going Forward
The fire that burns in Niala's heart is one of vengeance, and a desire to see the evils of the world cut out of it without mercy wherever they lie. The heart of this blaze is the event that cost her and her fellow orphans everything: the razing of Ardenfeld, and the bandits who performed such a heinous action. She cannot rest until they are dead... and whilst she was not unfond of her fellow orphans from Ardenfeld, she has been unable to contact them whilst in training. But, perhaps they too seek her goal?
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