A race of humanoids from the icy Northern tundras. Often born with a higher proficiency in magic, especially with fire-type spells to help them keep warm. Typically used as battle-mages in the military because of their innate ability to use more destructive spells. Typically shorter and with thicker hair.
Appearance Relatively tall compared to most Tundal people, Martox stands at 5'7" with a more athletic build. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and he often keeps a 'messy' look to the hair on top of his head with his beard being trimmed to look more scholarly. He carries a sling bag on the his back to hold extra books and any other goods with him which also has a sheath of sorts for him to put his staff in when not in use. On his left leg is a bag which he holds his personal journal, any money he has, and any food when he has it. Under the bag on his leg he keeps a concealed steel dagger. His clothes are light, making it easier for him to move freely, with patches of leather over vital/more commonly hit parts on his body to help guard against attacks. On his left side his rank in the military is sown into the leather, a staff to symbolize that he is a mage superimposed on two yellow chevrons pointing down to the ground.
Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip.
The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red.
Traits Skills -Master in fire magic -Proficient with ice magic and lightning -Novice in illusion spells and with necromancy -Knows one self healing spell and one friendly healing spell -Good at sneaking and stealing -Skilled with staff fighting -Good with people
Flaws -Slight temper; While he won't blow up to minor things that happen to him, he will hold grudges -Despite wanting to be a great mage he doesn't know much healing magic -Not very strong; He mostly relies on his magic to help him out, but he's more nimble than tough -Lazy; He likes to take a lot of breaks and take shortcuts whenever possible
Personality While Martox is typically considered friendly and kind to people he meets once, he's often considered cocky or arrogant to people that know him longer than a few days. Despite this, he's very critical on himself. He wants to be a great mage, and sees his shortcomings as a handicap. But, he also uses this to further improve himself. He has a lot of drive to do good and to better himself, even though it doesn't show often because of his laziness. After the battle with The Necromancer though, it's clear that most of that cockiness has left him, though traces of it still obviously remain. He is more devoted to do the right things in life, trying to free himself of his guilt after helping The Necromancer.
Background
Martox was born in the Northern Tundras in a small village of about 20 filled with other Tundals. There he was raised to use his magic abilities to primarily keep warm and to hunt for food. But Martox wanted to know more about magic and more about the outside world than just staying in the village like most of his generation would be content with. When a caravan came through one day, heading down to the main city, Martox, only 16 at the time, quickly hid among the cargo in the back of the wagon. When he arrived at the city, he didn't plan on what exactly he was going to do, just that he wanted to expand on his magic knowledge. After asking around the city for a while he was pointed in the direction of a prestigious mage that was said to often take in pupils who wished to learn. Eager, Martox rushed to the old mage and requested to be his apprentice. But Martox was too young and didn't have any money on him so he was sent away. After that, Martox struggled to scrape up coins to afford food and inns. He went hungry for many nights before he took up the art of theft. He would primarily try to steal at night and, after a few years and getting caught several times, he started to get pretty good at it. Taking food was an easy chore for him. At 20, he had plenty of friends and even started to work for the local blacksmith as a fire tender. He often attributes the only reason that he wasn't in jail was because of his charm. He continued to work for the blacksmith and to steal food, to save as much money as he could, for about 5 years. When he was 25, and with a purse full of coin he again went to the wizard. Who, this time around, took his money and started to train him in the art of magic. The wizard started teaching him more destruction type spells until Martox became proficient at them. After that, Martox started to learn illusion, which he thought would help him steal more easily, and the very beginnings of healing. But, before he got very far along with learning those, he was caught for stealing again. But this time, it wasn't one of his friends in the guard that had caught him. So he was left with a choice. Join the military, or go to prison for 5 years. While the second option appeased to his lazy side, the first option seemed to suit him better. It would give him a chance to further his magic training and he would be fed with a warm bed to sleep in every night. In the military, Martox was actually very happy. But, instead of being able to continue the training he was working on, he was made to work on his destruction skills more. Eventually, he was able to work his way through the ranks and actually became a pretty well respected mage in his unit. Martox decided not to leave after just his 5 years of required service. He continued for another 2 years, placing him at 32. After that, he had a good bit of coin and was incredibly good with his destruction magic. Martox desired to work his other arts further though, so with a half-heavy heart he left the military and began to travel. Training with who he could, when he could on his illusion skills, ignoring his healing. After traveling a bit, he had heard news of a powerful necromancer. Instead of immediately thinking the worst of this mage, Martox was excited. What he had heard, instead of dangerous or evil, was a teacher. Someone who could train him in the art of necromancy, something Martox had never been able to learn and always wanted to, another magical art to put on his resume. So he went in search of The Necromancer, picking up clues here and there of him. Eventually, Martox had found him, before his rise to power and before his armies had been risen to fight against the living. Martox requested to be his apprentice, and that he would pay any price The Necromancer demanded. Instead of coin though, The Necromancer just asked that Martox gave him undying loyalty. Martox obliged, knowing that he would do whatever he felt like doing in the end regardless. So The Necromancer started to train Martox slightly, but using him mostly for other things. Martox was never asked to go into a village and kill any people, so he never knew of The Necromancers true intentions. When Martox was eventually taught to raise the dead, he did so for the Necromancer, unknowingly helping him increase the size of his army for the future war. One day, while raising dead and studying to better himself in the skills he knew, The Necromancer came to him and requested for him to follow. So Martox did. When they arrived to their destination, Martox had finally seen the army being conjured. Appalled and taken by surprise, Martox demanded that The Necromancer explain what the massive undead army was for. So he explained his plans to destroy the world and how he was going to kill every living thing in his path. The Necromancer reminded Martox of his vow to be loyal, and offered immortality to him by making him into a lich. But Martox refused, and even attacked The Necromancer. But he was quickly dispatched. But, before the killing blow could be dealt, The Necromancer was distracted by a militaristic attack. In the few seconds Martox had, he ran away. When Martox had heard of a team of Heroes being assembled, he knew he would have to join. Some of The Necromancers massive armies were his doing, but he didn't want to go back there. It took him several weeks before he joined the team, joining only a week before they were planning to attack. There, he met another wizard named Concara who was more than willing to help him learn more magic. Martox kept secret that he was once in The Necromancers apprenticeship. Two days before the team planned to attack, Martox came out and told the group that just a month before he was helping The Necromancer build his armies. At first, Martox was attacked and subdued. But he explained that he didn't know what The Necromancer was planning and that he could help them attack, giving them weaknesses and other things that would help in the battle. Eerily, the team allowed Martox to help them. Concara still accepted Martox and trained him as if nothing had happened. They became very close in that week, and Concara explained that it didn't matter what Martox's past was. Just that he was there doing the right thing now, and he knew that Martox just had a strong desire to learn any magic he could. When it was time to move out, Martox was noticeably nervous. He did not want to return to The Necromancer and fight him again, he had almost lost his life once already. But he pushed past his fears and went with the team to fight. Martox fought valiantly in the fight beside Concara. Both of them taking out hundreds of undead, eventually making their ways to the last lines, inching closer to The Necromancer. When they finally pushed through and Martox encountered The Necromancer, he obviously recognized him. The Necromancer had quickly hit Martox hard blowing him back and then fighting Concara. Before Martox could get back though, Concara was downed. The Necromancer looked at Martox and grimly smiled at him before firing an icicle through Concara's chest. Before Martox could react though, The Necromancer fled to deal with the other heroes attacking on other fronts. When Martox got to Concara, Concara smiled and handed him his staff, Ignis et Ice, before passing away. Martox then spent the next ten years training and bettering himself in magic. Though he still never focused much on healing. He traveled a lot and tried to do as much good as he could. But he started to stray away from necromancy spells until recently. He never totally forgave himself for helping The Necromancer come to power.
Items Quite a bit of coin, one magic book on necromancy and one on illusion, his journal filled with teachings and runes, and Ignis et Ice, a staff which increases the range of his spells significantly and increases the power of ice and fire magic spells.
Unknown. Died far before the Rise of the Necromancer.
Gender -
Male
Race/People -
Undead Vanguard. Formally Human.
Appearance -
Traits:
Skills -
Trained Swordsmen - Very capable with almost any sort of blade, but prefers his own.
Magic Resistance - Due to the nature of his existence, Oryx is mostly unharmed by most spells and illusions. Can also sense other beings with magical properties or magic users.
Purifier/Healer - Reborn as a balance against The Necromancer by the gods, Oryx can heal his allies and cleanse those corrupted or poisoned by evil magics just with a simple touch. Can keep recently killed beings from being corrupted by dark magics. Though unable to close an open wound completely, Oryx can cleanse the wound and stop bleeding for a short time of he focuses.
Magical Regeneration - Oryx is able to repair his own body due to his magical powers. Broken bones and charred remains can be save with his own gifts, but the process takes time and concentration.
Faults -
Weakness to Fire - Being only made of dried bone and cloth, Oryx is very weak to flame and can be set ablaze quickly. Fire spells are especially potent.
Inexperienced Healer - Despite his godly gifts, Oryx is not the best with his powers. Many a friend during the war against The Necromancer was lost due to his inexperience, which he has worked on over the years since. The loses still haunt him.
Horrifying Appearance - Despite his kind nature and need to help others, Oryx's appearance usually brings distrust and hate from those who are new to him. Many see him as a pawn of the Necromancer still roaming the lands, but in actually he is very much the opposite.
Personality -
Oryx is a kind fellow of jest and merriment. With a heart brighter then the sun and the soul of a good man, this undead man is always the one to try and lighten a mood or raise spirits. (Not literally.) Personally hates the thought of being a tool for a higher power, but accepts his fate.
Background -
Oryx was reborn in the ancient battlefield of Ghyth with many others, all of them dazed and confused. All of them were undead, glowing with a holy blue light and only able to remember their names. Hundreds more in hundreds of other ancient war-zones awoke the same day The Necromancer raised his demonic army of the Undead. The old gods of Domhan saw the need for a balance at this moment. A being of almost godly might needed to prove his worth against those with true power.
Known as The Undead Vanguards, many including Oryx found that they could walk amongst the living again and help in fighting The Necromancer threat. Priests and monks saw them as walking avatar of the gods, while many townsfolk turned them away in droves due to their occult nature.
Oryx found himself along many of heroes by happenstance, traveling town to town healing the weak and purifying the newly killed from the Necromancer's evils, though not one-hundred percent competent with his new powers. War once again took it's toll on Oryx, though he could barely remember his old life as a human. Many died under his care, leaving scars of regret to fester under his jester-like being. In the battlefield, Oryx was know to rock enemy forces with his broken blade and repel the greatest force with a shield almost as rotten as his bones.
Items
Blessed Broken Longsword - A tool sanctified by the very gods themselves, Oryx's blade looks worthless by a fool's eye, but in his hands it is a weapon of the finest caliber. Extremely effectual at ending the existences of dark beings and corrupted beasts.
Blessed Ancient Shield - A broken ancient shied from a far off time, Oryx's shield was also blessed like his sword. Able to take hits from armor-piercing arrows and the darkest blast of energy, his shield is something of an oddity to the every man.
Water Canteen - Even though the need for food and water has long left Oryx's needs, it has been nothing but useful to put out his own body should he catch ablaze. Also helpful when others are thirty, or a friend's wound needs to be cleaned
Misc -
Though not the only one of his kind, very few Undead Vanguards remain after the war was won. Many were slain in the battlefield, unable to defend themselves against the Necromancer's hordes. The death of a Undead Vanguard usually enacts a chain-reaction in their very core. A massive explosion of godly might will erupt from their bones, wiping out any dark forces nearby and keeping those pure safe.
Most Undead Vanguards that meet usual are silent to each other with the same understanding. There was not need for brotherhood or pride for what they are. There is no need to harp on their lost pasts. They are all the weapons of gods. Despite this, most Undead Vanguards retain their personalities as living beings but lose most prior of their living memories. Undead Vanguards range from all know beings, but the majority are human or elf.
(I don’t like taking pictures off the internet of folks, so I rely on description)
Desalith is tall, roughly in the higher average on the terms of elves. His body is weathered from use of magic and his age, although he can still pass off to be in his 50’s when on a good day. When he is tired, his age is more apparent - He looks to be more in his late 60’s and 70’s. He has grey hair on top of his head with a small beard and fuzzies around his face. Overall, he has kept himself up well, so he looks clean (save for the fuzzies on his face that he refuses to take off). He walks around usually in his robes provided by the order he is in and has light brigandine armor underneath, just in case.
Traits
Skills -Lightning Affinity: He is very good at controlling matter in the form of energy, and can with ease make bolts of energy (large ones require more concentration and energy; he stays with ones roughly the size of basketballs or short streams of electricity). If the weather is right, he can make lightning bolts with a high amount of concentration (he is not strong enough to make them come right out of thin air).
His power manipulates the air around him for the most part. The longer the range, the more energy it takes.
Manipulating the weather is beyond his means, but if circumstances are right he can direct lightning bolts to specific areas. The more opportune the area, the easier (it is harder to strike against bricks than an enemy wearing full metal armor, for example).
Orbs: He is also very skilled at creating Orbs for various purposes. The most basic attacking ones and defense ones are his specialty, but he can also create elementally based ones (an orb of ice) and utility ones (for scouting) as well. These also are created by manipulating the energy around him, but some orbs are easier to make than others and others impossible (he won’t be making balls of ice fly around in a hot desert, or ones that rely on nature to function in a wasteland).
Energy Efficiency: Extensive training has made him able to use shortcuts to operate his spells (at the expense of capabilities depending on area, as described above). These “shortcuts” allow him to cast with lower energy cost. Along with this comes his ability to know when something will be too much for him (based on experience as well).
Mind Self-Control: He is extremely difficult to breach due to specialty training from his order for protecting the sanctity of his mind.
Flaws Despite the powers he has, he is not good with brute force and in a fight requiring such brute force in his spells, he will not survive without outwitting his opponent. The efficiency of his spells mean that he is limited based on situation, and is a bit less effective in all out spellcasting than, say, an ice mage that has not dedicated as much time as him finding “shortcuts” to make his spells cast easier. His human blood cuts down his life expectancy and overall energy. Both are limited, and his age means he is not as flexible or good in reflex as he used to be. Sleep is essential; too long periods of no sleeping make his powers useless. The Tellandoric blood in his veins also reduce his overall affinity with normal magic, since Tellandor magic is very incompatible with the norm.
Personality He is somewhat reserved to others, but friendly enough to be normal in most eyes. He is hard to make friends with, but when he does, he sticks by them. He isn’t one to hold long grudges but is more than capable of hating someone who greatly offends friends or Desalith himself. He is open to almost every culture, being aware of his own mixture.
Background
Human Roots
Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon was from Syrim. The town his grandfather was born in has long been lost to evil, but it was fairly prosperous for its modest size in the past, being on the coastline along a profitable trading network. It specialized in fishing. It is now referred to as “the Doom Town” for an extremely high concentration of dark magic; it is speculated that it was touched by a being more evil than the Necromancer.
The speculation comes from the fact that any who enters the town immediately begins to doubt their companions, friends, family and themselves. Those who have been lost to it are nothing but wandering shells that attack anyone who does not wallow in their misery.
Elven Roots
All other known family members are of pure elven blood. The roots are in a country of elves that ruled the Northern forests for many centuries before splitting up following a revolution. Since then, Desalith’s family line has been based in Arakdin.
City of Arakdin
Arakdin was founded by a division of northern elves who revolted against their king, and joined the noble elf Natashia to start a new, open town in defiance of the war to control the northern forest. The town is open to all cultures and has a majority mix of humans and elves, with some other races having presence there. It is a trading city of good size, and specializes in exotic goods and fishing. It is not far from the academy of the Järjestys Magi. It is roughly 200 years old. It is lead today by Vesivial, an elf of somewhat shady reputation but also high political influence.
Family History
Desalith’s grandfather, Harthon, was a hunter from a northern town called Syrim. He met Desalith’s grandmother (Natashia) during the wars between humans and elves over authority of the northern forests (eventually won by elves, which pushed humans further down south). It was the single greatest scandal in elven history when the relationship between the man and the elf was discovered - love between two enemies. This love resulted in all future men of the family having a portion of human blood, Natashia being banished, a sect of elves splitting off to live scattered in human society (Natashia was part of the nobility, with a sizable following, before being disowned by her father, a close advisor of the king). Harthon was known to be a friendly man, just a hunter caught in war and saved by Natashia, who had lead the raid that caught him.
Natashia and Harthon had a son named Julius. His life and that of his parents were relatively quiet, although the family founded and became the roots of a mixed race community by the sea called Arakdin. Julius married a pure blooded elf who was the daughter of a family of elves that followed Natashia after the split, and had Desalith.
Early Life
Desalith was born to relative luxury, his family being the undisputed highest rank in Arakdin. He grew up being the one person who was capable of magic in his family. He discovered this when he accidentally electrocuted a group of three brigands tried to rob him… in public, where just about the entire city saw it.
At the time, people who displayed tendencies of magic were expected to join an order or academy to learn how to use the powers right. Pulling some strings, his family managed to secure him a spot in the esteemed school of the Järjestys Magi. After Desalith left left, he did not return home, even when he had the opportunity. Although he had a comfortable life before then, he found it a boring one where his parents honestly didn’t care.
Joining the Magi and Battling the Necromancer
He went through 5 years of certification to become one of the order’s Ritari, a rank that indicated him to be a fully qualified and trained wizard. He spent many years exploring until the rise of the Necromancer.
Desalith met up with the group of heros taking down the Necromancer when he became involved in one of their missions. He helped the group out; there was no excuse not to fight an evil as great as the Necromancer. He joined them and fought all the way to the final battle.
The final battle changed him, in ways. The Necromancer had tried to attack Desalith’s mind and in that attack exposed some of his darker secrets; secrets with Desalith had no way to understand and interpret. They have haunted him in his nightmares ever since. he anchored down in a small town for ten years, when he set out for the reunion.
The Järjestys Magi
The so called “Order of Mages” is a very old and established organization that has trained and sent out many professional wizards into the world. Its mission is to teach as many people as possible safe and proactive use of magic while optimizing the abilities of its students. It is open to almost all races; excluded ones are demons, dragons, and some other special races/evil based races. Entry is extremely difficult; it requires pulling strings or an obvious display of qualification as decided by the leadership. There are two levels of order certification - Ritari and Masteri.
A Ritari is one who goes through what would be normally known to be advanced training. They are professional wizards who are trained based on their skillsets. Dropout rate is moderate; those who don’t pass this training are simply known as trained wizards who do not have the luxury of the Magi’s support. Those who do pass, in addition to receiving a very useful education can have the advantage of being known as certified. After training, their duty is to be peacekeepers who work on their own terms and are expected to take out threats of evil. The Necromancer was easily strong enough to defeat many Ritari who went after him alone.
A Masteri is a special qualification that takes 10 years of additional training. It is brutal and can result in death during training, and is only taken by the most dedicated of students. There are currently only 6 Masteri who have completed the course on record (one of whom is the leader of the Order). There were rumors, which have been aggressively denied, that the Necromancer was trained as a Masteri.
Items
He carries a single staff that would otherwise look like a normal log; however, it is charged with energy and is critical for him to focus and draw energy from so he isn’t relying on just himself or the reserves of potentially unfriendly surroundings.
He wears dark robes (think of, for lack of a better example, something Gandalf would wear) that do not have a hood. They are worn with use but pretty well kept up with.
Other
(Might have more, just getting something up for the night)
Race/People: Half-Giant, which is (as one would imagine) a half-breed. Specifically, of a full-blooded Giant and a Human.
Appearance: The most immediately noticeable thing about Cewri is his size. Being Half-Giant, he towers over most anyone he meets at an imposing seven-and-a-quarter feet. His skin is the peach that one might expect from humans from some parts of the world, but his eyes are the color of burning embers. Unclothed, he is covered in scars both large and small, both pale and grotesque which might have been cleared away with magic were it possible to do so (read on to see the reason why it is not). His wardrobe is either simple garb or his armor, always overlaid with a faded green traveling cloak. Atop his head is his short, dark hair, almost always concealed by a hood or a helmet.
Traits: Skills -An innate resistance to magic. -Training in the use of a broadsword. -Years of experience in using his size to his advantage in a fight. -Fluency in Giant, and passable skill in most major languages. -Cartography and Geography
Flaws -His resistance to magic makes it all but impossible for him to receive magical healing or other aid. -An inability to use, or even learn to use magic. -Because of his size and bulk, his agility is sorely lacking.
Personality When he isn’t entrenched in a thoughtful silence, Cewri is a warm person, universally. While he would not name someone a “friend” quickly, that is borne more from valuing the term highly than it is from excessive caution. His deep, bellowing laughter is frequent, and can be heard from clear across a dwarven feasting hall. Since final fight with the Necromancer, he has been given to occasional bouts of deep melancholy.
Background:
Cewri’s tale begins with the Giants of old. Once, their grand cities and fortresses covered much of what, to them, was the known world. Exactly what led to their downfall—be it a cataclysm, a great war, or simple decline—is unknown to the broader population, but their ruins are scattered about the landscape. Those Giants who do still exist do not even approach the grandeur of their lost civilization. While even they have lost much of the knowledge they once had, they remember their fierce gods, their martial practice, and how their glory came to an end. They live far away from most other civilizations, usually in clusters of villages spread out over remote landscapes.
The Giants’ reclusive nature, however, does not prevent contact with the wider world—as Cewri’s mere existence shows. His conception was one of pure lust, a peasant woman and the exciting, gargantuan stranger she met on the edge of the fields one day. They never met again after that, never knew each other’s names, and probably didn’t even know they could conceive a child together. But they did. The pregnancy was ordinary for a human, so no one actually believed her stories about Cewri’s father, and he was the size of an ordinary infant when he was born. As he grew older, however, the truth revealed itself.
The farm on which he lived was in no way out of the ordinary, asides from its relative prosperity, and was considered part of a nameless village—much like any other. Other farmers would congregate their on market days, and numerous tradespeople made their home there. It was nestled along one of the main roads passing through Carnelia, a human kingdom of some prestige towards the north of what was considered human territory.
The most immediate occurrence happened when he, adventurous-but-fragile toddler that he was, broke an arm. The farm was prosperous enough, so they called on a nearby mage to heal him. When he tried, though, he met with a significant amount of resistance. As it turned out, Half-Giants are naturally resistant to magic, in all of its forms, a trait derived from full-blooded Giant’s near total immunity—though this does have its work-arounds for those so inclined (as an example, while almost no mage could use their magic to set a Giant on fire, they can still catch flame from foliage underfoot that has been set alight by magical means). This, on its own, revealed nothing, because an innate resistance to magic—while uncommon amongst humans—was the sort of thing one would hear about from time to time, in stories passed along by travelers coming through town. With significantly more effort than initially thought necessary, Cewri’s arm was healed. That mage made sure to charge extra to heal him from then on.
As the years passed by, Cewri’s heritage revealed itself in his physical changes. He built up far more muscle mass than the other village children, and he surpassed even those several years older than him in height. By the time he turned fifteen, he was the size of a fully-grown human, and could eat twice as much. This lent far more credence to his mother’s story, but that in turn revealed him to bastard-born. One would expect people to start turning their noses up at him, but he was capable of greater physical feats than anyone else to have ever come to the village in living memory, and he had known everyone there for years, so they ignored that fact. Well, his mother’s husband was upset, but that was not directed toward Cewri, since he had the most to gain from the Hal-Giant’s strength. And since Cewri adored his mother, his great capacity to render both aid and harm protected her as well.
Then the village was attacked. All told, the bandits were not particularly competent, not helped by the seven-foot-and-change Cewri’s mere presence sapping their morale, and their raid was a resounding failure. It did manage, however, to tot take the lives of some villagers, including the husband of Cewri’s mother. With his death, ownership of the farm passed to Cewri’s elder half-brother, who had never like the half-breed. In his jealousy of Cewri’s strength and long-nurtured spite, the now-farmer cast Cewri from his land. Cewri would later learn that his mother died shortly after. Her demise was assigned to the grief of losing both her husband and one of her children, but one knowledgeable in such matters would doubtless say differently.
So Cewri began to wonder. He was the only person to believe his mother’s stories about his father, and the Giants had fascinated him since childhood. Despite grieving over the loss of his old life, he decided not to be consumed by self-pity, and instead set out to learn about his ancestry. The open road was a harsher place than Cewri had imagined, but he made do. His world changed when he met a man from far to the south named Athklotep. As it turned out, Athklotep was a wandering scholar, and specialized in the Ancient Giants. He took Cewri under his metaphorical wing, and toured the young Half-Giant around the out-of-the-way ruins of fortresses, temples, and crypts to large to have been built by anyone but the Giants, taught Cewri to read the Giants’ language, and showed him all sorts of ancient wonders. Travel was harsh, of course, and so Athklotep taught Cewri how to fight. Cewri being so taken with the Giant half of his heritage, Athklotep commissioned a weapon for which the Giants are known: a two-handed blade longer than any man I tall, the pommel and cross guard engraved with swirling patterns in the style found in the old ruins.
Of course, all good things must come to an end. While exploring an ancient tomb, recently discovered and already renowned for how well-preserved the bodies there were, the Necromancer’s spells raised the long-slumbering Giants, their forms still wreathed in flesh from their embalming. Athklotep fought them off, commanding Cewri make his escape. He did so, and with a roar, Athklotep plunged into the risen hoard, where he died.
On the trail of the Necromancer’s misdeeds, a party of heroes had—by a stroke of pure luck—found themselves in the village that Cewri had fled to. He told them of the risen Giants, and all agreed that it could be the work of none other than the Necromancer itself. Cewri agreed to lead the heroes to the crypt, and there they made a horrifying discovery: the risen Giants retained the near-immunity to magic they had in life. If it had not already been clear, the immense power that it would have taken to bind the Giants to his will proved to everyone just how powerful the Necromancer truly was. The adventurers cut their way through the undead, the mages discovering along the way discovering some ways they could work around the Giants’ resilience. In the deepest part of the crypt, they fund something that shook Cewri to his core—ringed by Giants stood Athklotep, the rot of death having not even set in yet. He did not speak—could not speak—but it was clear that the Necromancer had raised the scholar as well. And so the battle began, and while his new companions fought the Giants around them, Cewri found himself locked in combat with his former mentor. The scholar’s speed and skill had been notable even in life, but something about the Necromancer’s magic had amplified his abilities, making him that much more dangerous. Covered in wounds from the fight, Cewri found an opening, and with a cry of mixed grief, rage, and triumph, he brought his sword down on a chink in his mentor’s armor between the shoulder and neck. The armor shattered, and the sword cut halfway down Athklotep’s chest. Cewri would swear from that day on that just before Athklotep’s body grew limp, a small smile graced his mentor’s lips.
Ultimately, the fight was won. The following day, they made several sweeps of to crypt, to make sure no more undead remained. They found not a single corpse—risen or unrisen. Behind a hidden door, though, they found an ancient set of armor. It was clearly designed for a small Giant—or perhaps an important Giant’s half-breed child. Whichever, it fit Cewri perfectly. It had been inscribed with runes designed to improve its ability to protect its wearer, but the magic within had long since faded to protect against nothing more than rust. The more academically inclined of the group, Cewri included, were shocked—the Giants’ immense resistance to magic, as it was understood, should have made it impossible to use magic as well. Cewri claimed the armor, and made time to cremate Akthlotep’s body—cremation used to prevent the Necromancer from taking their loved ones from their tombs. Once all was done, it was not even a question whether Cewri would join the heroes, his skills were known, and his thirst for revenge was obvious.
So they fought on. Cewri’s resistance to magic, while nothing compared to a full-blooded Giant’s, tripped up many of the Necromancer’s few living servants, and his size and strength were a benefit in almost every fight. Then the fight with the Necromancer came. His resistance to magic served him well against the vile creature as well, but the Necromancer’s power was not to be underestimated. With the vilest of mages slain, the time had come for both immense joy, and the time to finally grieve. Cewri was made to wait a week longer, as he fell into a deep sleep. The Necromancer’s magic was able to seep into him during the fight, and the same forces that helped him resist its harmful effects kept it there and doomed any attempts to forcefully dislodge it to failure. His sleep was haunted by terrible nightmares for years, but none worse than that week. He has never spoken in detail of what he saw, and never shall say more than thus: “I was taken to the realm of the dead, where I saw such things that made me weep and shriek like I was a babe again.” When he woke, his companions were overjoyed—having feared that, even though the war was over, they might lose another friend to the Necromancer.
Having sworn an oath to remember the dead, Cewri set off to find living Giants. He did not believe that he would find his father, and was convinced after his “Week of Nightmares” that his blood-father was dead. So he wandered for several fruitless years, questing for his elusive half-kin. To keep track of whence he had and hadn’t been, he purchased many maops, and even made several of his own, charting lands hitherto unexplored by known civilizations. Eventually, as he neared his third decade of life, he saw a gargantuan shadow fall from behind him. He spun around, and for the first time since the crypt he was dwarfed by another being. But this was no risen corpse, this was a true Giant, eight feet in height, and rippling with muscle. Her—and this was a female Giant, which would be clear to anyone who saw her—skin was like polished granite, and her eyes like fire. They stood there in silence, both prepared for a fight, but Cewri was, for the first time in years, truly giddy. He spoke aloud in common, and she replied in a rough, guttural language that could only have been Giant. Cewri took a stick up from the ground, and called upon his memory of what Athklotep had taught him to write in the Giant’s tongue. The Giantess was surprised, and wrote back.
He told her a summarized version of his quest, and she agreed to take him to her home. It was a village, surprisingly similar to the one that Cewri had grown up in. There was a much less pronounced high differential between male and female Giants than in the smaller races, and the women were just as bulky as the men. At first they were wary of him, but over several days they grew to trust him—or at least, trust that he was honest about his seeking them was no more than a quest for knowledge. He was disappointed to learn that much of the ancient lore of Giant-kind had been lost to time, but much more remained than could be gleaned from the ruins. First and foremost, they taught him to speak Giant, which he took learned quickly. They taught him of their gods, to which Cewri has found himself now devoted to. And he learned that the magic of the Giants of yore was done by calling on spirits and having them imbue objects with power—but the ceremonies behind this, like so much else, have been lost.
His quest completed, he took a new mission upon himself: find all the villages of Giants that still exist. He knew that they preferred their isolation, which stemmed from blaming the smaller races for their decline. Indeed, to hear them tell it, they had been scattered to the wind by the invading armies of multiple lands, some of which actually still existed. Nevertheless, he had to know what the different Giants knew, to piece together as much as he could. By this time, the Necromancer’s magic had faded, taking Cewri’s Nightmares with it. Life was undeniably good for Cewri Iorwerth,
Then, as he journeyed to remember those who died fighting the Necromancer, the Nightmares returned.
Items: -A Broadsword longer than a human is tall, regularly cleaned and sharpened. -An ancient set of armor engraved with swirling runes that, as of the present, protect against only rust. -A faded green traveling cloak.
Celeste is a woman of normal built. She has fair skin, shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes. Her face is of the honest, likable kind that makes you trust her even before you have spoken with her. Her body is untouched by scars or marks, almost pristine to look at. She is usually dressed in simple, durable clothes and almost always wears an arming jacket. It is uncommon to see her without a sword strapped to her belt. When travelling or preparing for battle she usually wears leather armor reinforced with steel plates.
Traits: Celeste is skilled with most one-handed weapons, especially with swords. She can hold her own in a fight against several opponents. Her formost strength is however her fearlessness and complete devotion. She will stop at nothing when her mind is set on completing a task. In addition, Celeste has an almost eerie sixth sense. She is good at reading other people, knowing what they will do or say before they do. She has never been ambushed or surprised by an opponent.
Her one fault is her good nature. Celeste wants to see the good inside everybody and can be naive at times. She assumes people are truthful and tries to be merciful whenever she can. It is never the easy way with Celeste. She will always do the "right thing", even when it seems hopeless or even impossible.
As a person, Celeste is terribly likable. She is kind, honest, and genuinely interested in other people. She listens to people and remember the little things that are important to them. Facing a choice, Celeste will always see to the happiness of others before her own. Tempering this is her sense of justice and her belief in the greater good. Celeste is a warrior and is adamant about protecting the weak from the strong.
Background: As a baby, Celeste was given away to a monastery. Her parents were too poor to take care of her, and the monks and nuns were known to take in such children and give them a good life. Because of this she never knew of family life and was never spoiled or treated badly. The monks and nuns of the monastery instilled in her the sense of justice and righteousness that she still lives by today. As she was a strong and active child, she was chosen to become part of the militant branch of the monastic order. Her training was harsh and punishing, but she endured and emerged as a tough holy warrior.
Having completed her training she spent several years in the service of the order, keeping the peace and dispensing justice in the lands surrounding the monastery. It was around that time that the infamous Necromancer came to power and started terrorizing the world with his dark forces. A band of travelling adventurers came to the monastery one day, looking for respite and aid. Celeste spent some time with them and found their cause to be righteous. She spoke to the heads of her order and was permitted to join the adventurers in their quest.
The struggle against the powerful Necromancer was harsh, and Celeste had to watch as her newfound friends perished one by one to the horrors they faced. It was extremely taxing on her, having to fight against sorrow and doubt as well ass the murderous minions of the vile sorcerer. The final battle was pure madness. The lowest moment for Celeste came when one of her friends was turned against her by dark magic, forcing her to slay him in self defence. The Necromancer was in the end undone by their concerted effort, but the victory didn't come without a sense of loss. It was tragic to Celeste that an individual as resourceful and powerful as the Necromancer would choose to kill and destroy instead of using his incredible strength for the good of others. She could not understand it, and wept also for all the unnecessary violence and death that had been required to right this wrong.
She returned to the monastery and spent the following years in silence and prayer, before answering the call and venturing to the old mountain cabin for the reunion.
Items: Her sword, forged by the master smith of the monastery.
Always wears the cape/robe but often puts his hat on his hip.
The middle crystal being ice with the swirls going around the crystal being red.
