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Daxos, many moons ago, was a scout and a spy for the underkingdom and as such he tends to earn his coin plying these same trades. As much as he tries not to, he isn’t opposed to slitting throats when the time comes or if the situation calls for a quick and decisive end to a problem.
Daxos Ironbow
Dwarf, Rogue Thief, Level 05
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STR: 13 (+1) DEX: 16(+3) CON: 16 (+3) INT: 13 (+1) WIS: 15(+2) CHA: 11 (+0)
HP MAX: 43 Armor Class: 14 Movement: 25 ft Spell/Save DC: N/A
Alignment: CN Defenses: Poison
Daxos Ironbow is a broad-shouldered dwarf wrapped in dark leathers and strapped with tools, pouches, and weapons. A crossbow rests across his back, a blade at his hip, and the faint smoke of a cigar often curls from his beard. His tattooed arms and worn gear tell of hard-lived years, while a slight limp hints at old scars. Sharp-eyed and ever-watchful, he carries himself with the air of a man who has survived too much to be taken lightly.
Daxos is sharp-tongued and quick-witted, with an eye that misses little and a tongue that often cuts sharper than his blade. He keeps others at a careful distance, rarely granting trust without cause, and tends to treat most social exchanges like bargains to be weighed and measured. To him, every smile hides a motive, every favor has a price, and every word is worth testing for its true value. While not unkind, his guarded nature and calculating outlook make him difficult to read, though those who earn his respect find a steadfast ally who values loyalty above all else.
The Ironbow family were never smiths, warriors, or statesmen like so many of their kin. Their craft was in shadows. For generations they served as spies, informants, and scouts in the underkingdom, trading secrets like coin and thriving in the murky currents of intrigue. It was in this hidden world that Daxos was raised, taught not to swing a hammer or march in a shield wall, but to listen, observe, and move unseen.
As a youngling, Daxos clung tightly to the one truth he thought unshakable: family was stronger than the outside world. He believed that whatever games of deception or betrayal his kin played, the Ironbows themselves stood united. That belief shattered when ambition, greed, and fear fractured the bonds he held sacred. A string of double-crosses and ill-fated alliances left him marked as a liability, and when blame was needed, Daxos was the one cast out. The sentence was merciless: excommunication, not only from his bloodline but from the mountain realm itself. Stripped of his name’s protection and denied the stone halls of his birth, he became an exile with nothing but his wits, his scars, and a lingering bitterness.
In the years that followed, the skills once meant for quiet service in the underkingdom became his tools of survival. Daxos honed his craft as a thief and scout, weaving through cities and wilds alike, always watching, always listening. He learned to see every interaction as a bargain, every alliance as temporary, every smile as sharpened steel behind silk. Yet, beneath the hardened shell of the exile, there lingers the memory of the young dwarf who once believed in family. It is this faint ember of loyalty—buried deep but never extinguished—that drives him to guard what few bonds he dares to form, even as the rest of the world is kept at arm’s length. Now, however, that ember flickers against the cold wind of pursuit, for Daxos has recently fled from a job that went very wrong. The who, the what, the where, and the why are best left unspoken—but the shadows he once navigated so easily now hide enemies on his trail, and the road ahead is no longer just about survival, but escape.
As a youngling, Daxos clung tightly to the one truth he thought unshakable: family was stronger than the outside world. He believed that whatever games of deception or betrayal his kin played, the Ironbows themselves stood united. That belief shattered when ambition, greed, and fear fractured the bonds he held sacred. A string of double-crosses and ill-fated alliances left him marked as a liability, and when blame was needed, Daxos was the one cast out. The sentence was merciless: excommunication, not only from his bloodline but from the mountain realm itself. Stripped of his name’s protection and denied the stone halls of his birth, he became an exile with nothing but his wits, his scars, and a lingering bitterness.
In the years that followed, the skills once meant for quiet service in the underkingdom became his tools of survival. Daxos honed his craft as a thief and scout, weaving through cities and wilds alike, always watching, always listening. He learned to see every interaction as a bargain, every alliance as temporary, every smile as sharpened steel behind silk. Yet, beneath the hardened shell of the exile, there lingers the memory of the young dwarf who once believed in family. It is this faint ember of loyalty—buried deep but never extinguished—that drives him to guard what few bonds he dares to form, even as the rest of the world is kept at arm’s length. Now, however, that ember flickers against the cold wind of pursuit, for Daxos has recently fled from a job that went very wrong. The who, the what, the where, and the why are best left unspoken—but the shadows he once navigated so easily now hide enemies on his trail, and the road ahead is no longer just about survival, but escape.
Likes
The quiet corners of taverns where he can see everyone but no one sees him.
The bitter taste of strong dwarven whiskey and the burn of a half-decent cigar.
The feeling of a well-oiled crossbow string and the weight of a sharpened blade.
Gathering information others think is unimportant—he lives for the details.
The thrill of a gamble, not for the winnings, but for the chance to read people’s tells.
Dislikes
Being underestimated because of his stature.
The stench of betrayal, especially when it mirrors the wounds of his past.
Overly cheerful folk who try to "fix" him with good intentions.
Nobles who flaunt their wealth or boast of “honor,” having seen the rot beneath it.
Deep silence—he prefers the hum of life around him, something to observe, something to learn.
Hobbies
Carving small wooden figurines during downtime, though he pretends it’s just to pass the time.
Playing cards or dice games, usually to practice reading expressions more than to win coin.
Collecting odd trinkets from his travels—buttons, carved stones, bits of broken jewelry—that “might be useful someday.”
Eavesdropping for sport, even when he has nothing to gain.
The Weird Stuff
He talks to himself quietly when planning or sneaking, muttering strategies under his breath.
Keeps a piece of dwarven iron ore in his pocket, the last relic of his mountain home, though he’ll never admit it means anything.
Occasionally taps his foot three times before entering a room—an old superstition picked up in the underkingdom.
Has a peculiar habit of flipping a dagger end over end when he’s thinking, but never drops it.
Quotes
“Every deal has a dagger hiding in it. The trick is knowing where it’s pointed.”
“Trust is just another word for leverage.”
“Family’s a fine thing… until it isn’t.”
“Gold spends fast, but secrets? Secrets can buy you kingdoms.”
When annoyed: “Save your breath. You’ll need it when you choke on your own lies.”
Interesting Tidbits
Despite his cynicism, he always pays his debts on time, even the small ones—his word is iron once given.
He’s secretly terrified of deep water; too many years in the stone halls left him uneasy around vast, open spaces.
While he distrusts nearly everyone, he has a soft spot for street urchins and outcasts, seeing reflections of himself in them.
Keeps a running tally in his head of every “favor owed” and “favor given.” He never forgets a debt, no matter how small.
The quiet corners of taverns where he can see everyone but no one sees him.
The bitter taste of strong dwarven whiskey and the burn of a half-decent cigar.
The feeling of a well-oiled crossbow string and the weight of a sharpened blade.
Gathering information others think is unimportant—he lives for the details.
The thrill of a gamble, not for the winnings, but for the chance to read people’s tells.
Dislikes
Being underestimated because of his stature.
The stench of betrayal, especially when it mirrors the wounds of his past.
Overly cheerful folk who try to "fix" him with good intentions.
Nobles who flaunt their wealth or boast of “honor,” having seen the rot beneath it.
Deep silence—he prefers the hum of life around him, something to observe, something to learn.
Hobbies
Carving small wooden figurines during downtime, though he pretends it’s just to pass the time.
Playing cards or dice games, usually to practice reading expressions more than to win coin.
Collecting odd trinkets from his travels—buttons, carved stones, bits of broken jewelry—that “might be useful someday.”
Eavesdropping for sport, even when he has nothing to gain.
The Weird Stuff
He talks to himself quietly when planning or sneaking, muttering strategies under his breath.
Keeps a piece of dwarven iron ore in his pocket, the last relic of his mountain home, though he’ll never admit it means anything.
Occasionally taps his foot three times before entering a room—an old superstition picked up in the underkingdom.
Has a peculiar habit of flipping a dagger end over end when he’s thinking, but never drops it.
Quotes
“Every deal has a dagger hiding in it. The trick is knowing where it’s pointed.”
“Trust is just another word for leverage.”
“Family’s a fine thing… until it isn’t.”
“Gold spends fast, but secrets? Secrets can buy you kingdoms.”
When annoyed: “Save your breath. You’ll need it when you choke on your own lies.”
Interesting Tidbits
Despite his cynicism, he always pays his debts on time, even the small ones—his word is iron once given.
He’s secretly terrified of deep water; too many years in the stone halls left him uneasy around vast, open spaces.
While he distrusts nearly everyone, he has a soft spot for street urchins and outcasts, seeing reflections of himself in them.
Keeps a running tally in his head of every “favor owed” and “favor given.” He never forgets a debt, no matter how small.
Daxos, many moons ago, was a scout and a spy for the underkingdom and as such he tends to earn his coin plying these same trades. As much as he tries not to, he isn’t opposed to slitting throats when the time comes or if the situation calls for a quick and decisive end to a problem.
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Daxos Ironbow Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level 05HP: 43 / 43 Armor Class: 14 Conditions: N/A Location: TBD Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A | |
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