Dyelli Beybi

Chronicles of Minadra

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Chronicles of Minadra

...

Ardashir approached the table. In doing so, he overheard the strangers introduce themselves. Aderynel, the sylph, sought history; Hagen, the soldier, sought adventure; Quintus, the Arventian, had taken an oath; and Tárwen, the elf, gracefully but definitively declined to say just what she sought. Arda smiled briefly, and walked up next to Vashra, the beastman.

"Ardashir of Navavasta," he announced, "if I have arrived in time to join in introductions." He smiled a bit ruefully. "Pardon the interruption." A handsome man, this, and that smile said he knew it: warm olive skin and bright green eyes, a bit boyish despite his beard, with a swift flashing grin and a faint scent of agarwood and dried limes. Arda held out the bottle of Arventian red, and placed it on the table. "In my defense, I come bearing gifts."

Then his leaf-green eyes settled on Aderynel. "Word around town is that you found something in the mountains," Arda remarked. He reached into his burnoose and retrieved a small stone seal, half chipped away; the Mitradaevaka's gloved finger traced the runes around its rim. "I believe you said that you are a historian, Aderynel. So am I. I can read these runes. If they resemble those you found up in the mountains, then I think we could help each other. What do you think?" With a quick turn, Ardashir glanced around to include Aderynel's other companions in his question.

@RevNorv

"A pleasure to meet you," Aderynel spoke for the group, reaching over the receive the stone from Arda. She paused, then gave a rueful smile and a shrug, accompanied by a slight unfurling of her wings, shrugging with those limbs as well, "I'd like to say yes, but I really don't know."

"I'm a Northerner," she added. The sing-song accent while speaking Arventian was a bit of a giveaway though not everyone would be able to discern it, "The Giants never made it across the Stormsund Straights, as far as anyone knows. Their ruins are a thing of the Southern lands and, I will confess, I have never seen them or felt the need to study them. This was my first encounter with anything built by them... what I would say about these letters were they were very big, as if carved by someone wielidng a chisel I would struggle to lift."

"The other possibility, from what you've described is a Gundrukan vault," Tárwen chipped in, "But that seems less likely. I could give you a long explanation as to why I think that, but you'd get bored... the short version is they aren't known for completely forgetting the existence of a place."

Quintus, the more taciturn of the group took his moment to chip in, "I trust you know how to use that?" he motioned at Arda's scimitar.

"Oh yes," Aderynel gave a small laugh, acknowledging her earlier oversight, "I guess I should probably ask what your interest in these ruins is?"

Jair son of Rensar

---

...

“Sounds like you already have one guide,” he said, his voice even as his gaze flicked briefly toward the man who had called himelf Vashra, then to the rest of the company. “I won’t pretend to know all of Morgador… but I’ve ridden near every other corner of this realm once or twice, at least. If you’re heading into mountains or ruins, you’ll want a man who’s done more than follow roads.”

He rested one hand lightly on the back of a vacant chair, the other on his belt where the worn leather met the hilt of a well-traveled blade. “Jair, from the steppe lands,” he added simply, "my mare waits outside.”

@InfamousGuy101

"And greetings to you, Jair. I'm Hagen from the Strommark," Jair received the attention of the larger of the two warriors at the table, "We're not heading for the Morgador, just the mountains and, from what I can tell we don't have much need of a guide since our skyborn friend knows the route, and I'm pretty sure all of our little group has travelled offroad before. We have an Decurion from the Regnum, a skyborn and a low elf and one of the scalefolk and of course yours truly."

He didn't include Arda in the list, mostly because he didn't know much about him yet, but there hadn't been anything about his appearance, in Hagen's view, to suggest he wasn't capable of a journey across country... "Though I will not turn away another sword, especially since we know there are creatures of darkness in this ruin. What are you looking to get out of this little expedition?" he asked.

Chronicles of Minadra

oh yeah, details like that that are just basic equipment are fine to add! If you wanted to add a magical inspector gagety doodad then I'd be worried

Chronicles of Minadra

I hope nobody minds, I added Tárwen has some Turakindian because it doesn't make sense for her to be out looking for a Turakindian artefact if she can't read the labels

Empire of the Clouds

Later, that Evening...

As the ship passed into Mitteland, a flurry of wireless communications came from below, eventually culminating in permission being given for the ship to dock at Elvesland where there was a Zeppelin mast and a ground crew to make the process of landing considerably safer than it was without one.

This meant adjusting their course to the South-West, but it was the sensible thing to do. The ship had taken fire and really needed to be inventoried for damage before they went on any further. This would also be a good chance for those not wanting to fly back into war at Grendell, to disembark.

With the sun setting on the horizon over the streets of Elvesland, the bronze domes of her temples and cathedrals catching the last light, Arkadios called over the speaking tube to bring everyone together. He waited for everyone to arrive before giving his announcement, "So, the Mittelvolk have invited those of us who wish to come, to a dinner hosted by one of their Junior Princes, tomorrow night, to celebrate our heroic efforts against the Calarian invasion." He told the group, "You don't have to come, but if you do be on your best behaviour. I've informed them that we will need the proper attire to meet the dress code - they are sending out a tailor."

"Before that though, tomorrow morning, their military commanders want to meet with us. So we'll need to be ready for that. If anyone feels compelled to join that meeting and has a good reason to be there, let me know."

"Can I come?" Zoe asked.

"Young Lady, I'm not sure what you think you'd add to that discussion," Arkadios raised an eyebrow, "Though obviously we are very grateful that you shared the location of the Treasury."

Zoe gave a shrug, leaning back against the Zeppelin window.

Paradise Lost

Velia had secured herself back into her seat. Her knee bounced up and down nervously as she considered what to do, "How about this... suggest they seal the shuttle and cargo bays off then launch, venting those spaces. Then we dock with them and jump out of here."

---

Meanwhile in the civilian loading bay someone yelled 'Bugs!'

The effect was an immediate stampede that nothing short of weapons fire would halt. There was yelling, screaming, injuries from the crush. And amidst all of that, there were actually Metacer launching themselves at the rear ranks of civilians, dragging them back onto the station amidst screams of pain and terror. And there was nothing anyone could do except fire directly into the civilian force.

"Seal the door, seal the door!" one of the guards yelled. It was the one that had been named 'Aspen' earlier, her voice etched with a note of panic.

Chronicles of Minadra

"We're not heading all the way to the Morgador," the Sylpharim replied, "So I doubt we'll encounter many of your people... but I'm not averse to you joining us and a share of whatever treasure we might encounter," she paused momentarily before adding, "Aderynel, at your service. I am a historian so am mostly interested in this place of scholarship."

"Hagen," the taller man introduced himself, with a wry laugh, "And I have to admit, Vashra, I only half-understood what you said. I am here because it looks more interesting than managing a farm."

"Quintus Laeca," the shorter man replied, subjecting Vashra to an inscrutable stare as if trying to measure the worth of him, "I'm here because I've taken an oath."

"And I'm here for something very specific," the tall, Firindorian woman declared, without actually saying what it was, "If we find it, I will claim it, otherwise I have no interest in anything else you find... oh and I'm Tárwen. We don't see too many of your folks outside of the Morgador. You would make the first now I come to think about it. A pleasure to meet you, Vashra."

Chronicles of Minadra

theme music

Chapter One: One Night in Ealdormuda

It was one of those summer days that seemed to stretch on forever. The air was heavy with the scent of the sea and the faint sweetness of things growing too fast. Though as evening fell the call of the gulls and the merry chirping of the sparrows and finches faded as they found their roosts for the night, leaving only the steady, rhythmic crash of the sea waves.

In a particular inn, close to the harbour, a group was gathering: a strange group by most people's reckoning. There was the Sylpharim woman with the amber hair and the striking gray-blue eyes, slight, and unimposing were it not for the huge black wings behind her back. Then, there was the Firindorian woman, taller than most men, with leaf-shaped pointy ears and a youthful face that belied her advanced years. Then there were the two men, both foreigners, one of whom spoke none of the local language.

"I'm sure it's Turakindi," the Sylpharim woman assured the others, "I stepped across the threshold before being ambushed by troglodytes. The scale of the building was quite unmistakable... plus I had the opportunity before the troglodytes showed up to take a look at some of the statues and inscriptions. I can't read Turakindi, but I do know what it looks like."

"I trust what you are saying, Aderynel," the Firindorian woman assured her, "What I'm most interested in is why you believe it hasn't been entered before you?"

One of the men, the taller one with the dark hair gave a chuckle, "At the end of the day, she doesn't... but who cares? It's not on any map, so that means it hasn't been properly explored. It goes deep underground. There are troglodytes and other dangers. Who knows what lie in the deep places no person has gone since the Turakindi sealed the place up? I, for one, am excited to find out."

"The place is well hidden in the mountains," Aderynel explained, ignoring his outburst to address the Firindorian's question, "If there is a path to it, it was lost to nature millennia ago. From what I could see the entrance was covered by rockfall aeons ago. Further rockfall revealed it and, in the process, brought one of the massive doors down, which allowed me to enter. I can't say with certainty, but I think I was the first person over that threshold since the Turakindi left."

"Good enough for me!" the tall man announced with a grin.

The Firindorian woman took a moment to consider this, leaning back in her chair, "From what I know of the time, and I have spoken to some of the ancient wood elves who lived through that time, the Turakindi did not imagine the cycle war would devastate them in the way that it did. They built vaults to safeguard things for later, not imagining that their people would slowly fade from the world with the passage of time. It is a sad but inevitable truth that all things pass and fade away. The Sidfir were the first people and they, for the most part, have passed through the Vale of Mists, never to return to these lands again. The Turakindi have faded into history with the same, sad inevitability... which is all to say that I can imagine them creating a vault with the thought they would return to it, only to never return," she nodded, "Like Hagen, I am excited to know what lies behind those doors."

She turned to the shorter man, "Quintus?" she prompted.

He was a tanned figure with a mop of dark hair that marked him as a Southerner, though, unusually, he had blue eyes. He gave a small shrug to her question, "I'm sworn to you, M'Lady -"

"Tárwen," she corrected.

"I'm sworn to you, Tárwen," he said, with a slight smile and nod to concede she preferred to be referred to by her given name, "I go wherever you go."

"Yes, yes," Tárwen waved that away, "But do you want to go?"

Quintus gave a small shrug, before replying, "An ancient ruin infested by the Host of Darkness? I was, and remain in spirit, a soldier of the Regnum. It is our duty to cleanse such places."

"I'm not sure how much cleansing we'll be doing as the four of us!" Hagen declared, "Let us hope some others have been intrigued by young Aderynel's call to arms!"

Chronicles of Minadra (High Fantasy RP Concept)

@Blubaron45

No worries, I've kept the launch period fairly slow... its a crazy time of the year for everyone!

Chronicles of Minadra

Aderynel

Character Description

Name:Aderynel ferch Modrena
Species: Sylpharim
Race/Nationality: Northerner
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Languages:North Sylpharimese, Arventian, adequate South Sylpharimese and some limited Eahamish

Appearance: Aderynel is average height for Sylpharim (5'2''), though her wings add extra height when they are folded and it is easy enough to pick her out in a crowd of taller races. She is a slim, shapely creature with soft hands unusued to heavy labour or martial pursuits. The keener observer will note that there are often tell-tale black ink stains on her fingers, pointing to the fact she writes for a living.

Aderynel is a fair woman with greyish-blue eyes and long hair that has been described as amber or dark blonde. She takes pride in her physical appearance and is usually well presented, her hair well combed or worn in a tidy bun (particularly when flying). Her wings are black feathered and attractively glossy, though this particular detail is lost on most non-Sylpharim people.

Aderynel favours colourful, plaid patterned clothing, of the kind typical in her native homeland and usually wears tall, sturdy boots to assist with landing.

appearance

Personal Effects: Aderynel travels light but, currently, has a reasonably purse of money, mostly made up of Arventian denarii, which are regarded as a solid currency with no history of debasement. She currently has a wardrobe with a few dresses, some in her native plaid and others in the plainer style of Eahamn.

Perhaps surprisingly, she has no jewelry or other expensive trinkets on her person though she does have a journal, ink and quills kept in the room she is renting and a selection of 'essential' cosmetics (including oil for her wings).

Similarly, she doesn't carry any weapons save for a utilitarian seax, which she is capable of defending herself with if necessary.

---

Background:

Role: Historian
Backstory: Aderynel grew up in the, often chaotic, society of the Sylpharim people, in the great city of Bryncaer, nestled amongst the snow-capped peaks of the Bodeira Mountains. Unlike the peoples from the world below, Aderynel did not grow up with any sense of having a particular place in the world other than that which she could carve out for herself.

Her parents were fighters, but she much preferred books and writing and, as a 14 year old girl, was showing enough aptitude for reading and research that she was taken under the wing (metaphorically speaking) of the respected historian, Cynfelyn. Cynfelyn was an old man, already in his 60s, but quickly bonded with his young apprentice, who's energy for learning seemed to give him a new lease of life as well.

At the age of 20, Aderynel graduated from her apprenticeship, finding a junior, stipended position at the University of Bryncaer. The university was a respectable institution (at least amongst the Sylpharim) where one could learn the arcane arts of Cuivethir and Súlendur along with studying the many more mundane arts, such as History.

Despite having achieved a good position, especially considering her age and (lack of) experience, Aderynel began to quickly feel a sense of dissatisfaction set in. While she enjoyed researching the ancient history of her people, she longed for better lodgings than the drafty, cold room she inhabited in the university. She longed for a better-paid, more prestigious position, but she was still very young and there were many eminent people ahead of her in line for when those positions became vacant.

Late in the year of 4016, however, an opportunity presented itself. Every four years the citizens of Bryncaer, aged 25 and over, gathered to elect a Lord Mayor and 4016 was one of these years. The incumbent Lord Mayor, Maelgwn, had been in place for the last 12 years, though Aderynel was drawn to the impetuous, handsome, young Blaenfael as a candidate.

After attending several symposiums hosted by the Blaenfael, Aderynel began to strike up a friendship with him and, by all accounts (other than Aderynel's own), became somewhat infatuated by him. When Blaenfael approached her with documents indicating that Maelgwn's ancestors had conspired to allow gurzat to infest the Bodeira mountains, and offering her a sum of money to write an article on the subject, she was horrified and immediately agreed, accepting Blaenfael's coin. In a moment of rash foolishness that was generally atypical of the young Historian, Aderynel made no attempt to verify the documents, writing up a defamatory article on the Lord Mayor which was read-out, to considerable public outrage, shortly before the election.

Nevertheless, Maelgwn still won the election by the slimmest of majorities. In the aftermath, Blaenfael slipped out of the city. Alarmed by his sudden disappearance, Aderynel looked at the documents he had given her again, this time with more suspicion. To her horror, Aderynel quickly began to find inconsistencies that pointed to a forgery.

The next day, armed with the documents given to her by Blaenfael and her notes on the subject, Aderynel set off for the magistrate's court, though on passing through the square in front of the building, by sheer good fortune, she happened to stop for a moment by the notice board. Here she discovered, to her horror, an arrest warrant posted for her.

In a blind panic, Aderynel fled back to her room, collected her meagre savings, the money given to her by Blaenfael, and what few possessions she could carry and fled by wing, with the law hot on her tail.

For the past few months, Aderynel has been working in the city of Ardbenn Solas, eeking out a living as a scribe for a local merchant, though she longs for the opportunity to clear her name, restore her honour, atone for her sins and return home. Ideally, without ending up in a pillory, or worse.

Over this time she has picked up quite a bit of the South Sylpharimese language (it is not too different from her own). While the Southern Sylpharim tend to remain aloof and apart from humans, the Northerners do not, and Aderynel is no exception to the rule, often coming down from the mountains to spend time amongst the Eahimingas people, whom she quite likes (and who are quite curious about her). She has even begun writing a travel journal, cataloguing the many differences between the Eahamingas and the Pellmorwyr people she grew up around.

It was on one flight between Ealdormuda and Ardbenn Solas, that Aderynel stumbled across something quite exciting...
Character Intro: roleplayerguild.com/posts/5628026

Sir Hagen

Character Description

Name: Sir Hagen son of Griffon
Species: Human
Race/Nationality: Stromfolc
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Languages:Stromish, Eahamish, Arventian and Ledoseveran - all quite fluently.

Appearance: Hagen is a tall (6'2''), lean, muscular man. He has dark brown hair and a dark eyes and usually has a short scruffy beard, having no particular desire to actually grow a beard but, similarly, no inclination to regularly shave. He has a long, oval shaped face with a straight nose and a strong chin. His face is patterned with a number of scars from previous battles lending him a rugged look that some (though certainly not all) might find handsome.

Hagen is capable of dressing well and has the coin to afford fashionable clothing, though he is more commonly found wearing hard-wearing, simple tunics and hose.

appearance

Personal Effects: Hagen carries a large round shield painted red with three golden bees (his personal sigil). Hagen carries a beautifully made steel spatha he has named "Gurzats' Bane" with a scabbard decorated with Ledoseveran designs. a pair of wicked throwing axes and a seax (just in case). In battle he wears an old, but well-maintained steel habergeon and a steel spangenhelm with, spectacle and cheek guards guards, bronze ornamentation around the bands and a red, horse-hair crest.

---

Background:

Role: (Foot)Knight errant
Backstory: Hagen is a knight of the Strommark, hailing from a small coastal village on the country's Western border. He was born to this role (the younger son of one of his Lord's leading knights), spent his childhood training for it and is intensely proud of his martial heritage. Growing up on tales of adventure, Hagen was eager to grow up and join his Lord's retinue, imagining a world full of daring adventures.

His parents did not neglect Hagen's education more broadly and he is literate, able to write with a quill (and fashion his own from a feather), numerate and was taught to understand the tongue of the Eahamingas (whose villages they visited frequently) along with Arventian.

Unfortunately for Hagen though, the Strommark has been a peaceful place fir centuries, gradually growing wealthy off trade along the West coast of Minadra. Hagen spent some time onboard ships, guarding his Lord's cargo, though, while there were stories of pirates and sea monsters, in his two years aboard, Hagen saw nothing more dangerous than a shark off the stern. When stories of a wyrm from the Grey Mountains terrorising villagers circulated during a time on shore, Hagen was eager to volunteer to help rid the land of the beast.

After fruitlessly searching for it for the best part of a month, the local sheriff discovered that the story stemmed, in truth, from the attempts of a local farmer to get away with a murder. Arrests were made, though while Hagen had found no creature, the quest had awakened his sense of adventure and he requested that his Lord release him from his oath of fealty so that he might travel to the Kingdom of Ledosever and join the defense of the free peoples against the darkness.

His Lord agreed and, at the age of 20, Hagen took a ship North to the frozen lands of the Northern kingdom.

Here, Hagen did find adventure, pitting his strength against roving gurzat, entering the cauldron an unbloodied, though well trained youth, and emerging again, many years later as a seasoned, deadly veteran.

By the time he was 35, and thinking about returning home and his own legacy, Hagen had acquired comfortable amount of coin from bounties. Being a frugal man at heart he had spent little on anything other than his weapons and armour in the intervening time, though those investments (particularly his helm and shield) had made him a recognisable figure in any battle line: a figure that, when sighted, spread hope amongst his friends and fear amongst his foes.

Imagining it might be fun to build a homestead and raise animals back in his homeland, perhaps find a wife, Hagen travelled back to the Strommark intending to help his father with his manor for some time, to get an understanding of what he might need to do. Rapidly though, he discovered that he found everything about farming incredibly boring and longed to travel in search of adventure once again.

Hearing rumors of lost Sidfir artefacts in the forest West of the Vale of Mists, Hagen decided to investigate, taking a ship bound for the South of Eaham where the Mitradaevakan traders come to ply their wares - as close as any ship from the Strommark comes to those strange woods.

Character Intro: The inn was a cheerful place with a roaring fire at one end that took the chill from the cool night air, "So there we were, three of us against a score or more of gurzat led by one of those big, hulking thaurindor creatures. I can tell you now, that we gelt at that moment like our doom had come upon us."

"Couldn't you have run?" one of the patrons, an older, balding man asked.

Hagen shook his head, "Retreat would have been my first option when so outnumbered, but those creatures were between us and where we'd tied the horses and over distance those creatures do not tire easily. With the mountain to our back, the best we could hope for was to scramble up and try to give ourselves the high ground. We found a spot between two boulders where it would be hard to flank us and made our stand. gurzat aren't the most cunning things and they came at us straight, like a wave of fell fury."

He paused for dramatic effect. The dozen or so people clustered around him seemed to be enjoying the story and Hagen enjoyed telling it. Within the safe comfort of the tavern, with the crackling fire and a warm mug of mulled wine, they seemed a lifespan away from the small skirmish on the Ledosever border. And here, in this comfortable setting, there was nothing to truly fear, "But we had chosen our place well and they struggled to use their numbers to their advantage. Still, it was a hard fight. I felled three of the fiends, though a took a beating in the process," he tilted his head to one side, tracing the shape of a long scar on his cheek, "That's how I got this one. Blade bounced off the guard by my eyes and slid in between that and the cheek guard. Though at that moment the pain didn't really register, I just ran the creature through and kept on fighting."

One of the women in the group, he noticed was a sylph... you didn't see them much in Ledosever, though he remembered encountering a few of the winged folk during his childhood.

"I said gurzat aren't the most cunning creatures. They also aren't brave and while they might well have overwhelmed us in a few more moments, they fell back down the mountain to regroup. They might have run if it wasn't for the thaurindor, physically shoving the foul creatures back."

"What does a thaurindor look like?" that would came from the woman who was acting as innkeeper.

"Big," Hagen chuckled, realising it wasn't the best description, "They look a bit like us, but with less hair in places they should have it and more in places they shouldn't. Their faces are twisted, like they are half-beast and their skin is all manner of unhealthy shades. They look much like the gurzat, but they're bigger, stronger, faster and much more vicious. Bigger, stronger and faster than any man I've seen." She nodded thoughtfully and he continued, "If it had attacked us first, the fight might have gone differently. Well the damned creature stepped out in front to bellow some war cry. It sounded like a wounded bull. But at that moment it lowered its shield and a threw one of these."

Hagen patted one of the axes he had on the bench next to him. The edge of the axe gleamed in the firelight. Freshly sharpened and oiled you could imagine the damage the weapon could do, "And by luck more than skill on my part, it struck the thaurindor clean in the face, dropping the monster like a felled tree." He paused again, hearing a gasp and a few chuckles from his audience, "And that was enough for the gurzat, I think there were eight of their dead on the field and the thaurindor and both I and my two companions, were still standing if bloodied. They fled," he grinned wryly, "So before they could realise their mistake, we ran back to the horses."

There was a murmur of approval. A couple of people clapped, "Tell us another, Sir Knight!" one man called.

Hagen raised his mug in gracious thanks, "Later, later, good ladies and gentlemen, at least give me the time to enjoy this mug of wine before I spend my voice regaling you with another story!"

People began to shuffle away, to acquire food or drink, though the sylph didn't. Boldly, she sat down across from Hagen, switching to fluent Arventian but with that melodic lilting accent that placed her as one of the Northern tribe of her people, "I think I caught some of that, but my Eahamish isn't so good... I gathered you're on some personal quest to find some ancient Sidfir artefacts?"

"Aye," Hagen nodded, "Thought I'd put together an expedition while I'm here. Maybe charter a ship to take us down the coast," he gave her an appraising look. He knew sylph women could be fighters but she didn't look like one. She didn't have the build of someone who spent their life with weapons and he caught ink stains on her fingers. She looked... bookish, "You want to sign on?" he asked, trying to keep the edge of incredulity out of his voice.

"Oh goodness, no!" the sylph laughed, "There are potentially Sidfir ruins out in that forest. It is a strange, dangerous place that few venture into and you would be walking about blindly, hoping to come across something," she paused, before adding, "But what if I told you there was a known, and unexplored ruin but a few days from here? Turankindi and infested with troglodytes and Eruherion knows what else!"

Hagen thought about that. For all of about three seconds. He smiled, "Full of troglodytes you say? Well I suppose you could do with a knightly escort. Sir Hagen," he introduced himself, "Though don't worry about the 'Sir' bit. Hagen is just fine."

"Aderynel," she introduced herself, extending a hand across the table.

Quintus Laeca

Character Description

Name:Quintus Laeca
Species: Human
Race/Nationality: Arvenses
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Languages:Arventian. That is all.

Appearance: At 5'8'', Quintus is not a tall man, though neither is he regarded as particularly short. He has dark brown hair and, unusually, for one of the Arvenses, steel-blue eyes. He has a square jaw and wide nose that can give him a somewhat brutish look. While Quintus tries to remain clean-shaven, as is the fashion amongst the Arvenses, he often has visible stubble, especially when travelling in the wilderness.

Quintus is usually found in a simple inky black tunic, though he will change into more colourful tunics with Arvensian geometric designs embroidered on them if the occasion calls for it. When not wearing a helmet, Quintus prefers to wear a fur cap.

appearance

Personal Effects: Quintus has a horse and is well equipped for wilderness survival.

Along with two hard-wearing plain tunics, Quintus carries a formal, dark blue tunic with geometric designs picked out in white. He also has a fur cap he is quite attached to and a brown woolen cloak.

Like most travelers he caries a thick woolen blanket; a tinderbox and; some basic tools for cleaning, maintaining and repairing his clothes, weapons and armour.

Quintus prefers to go into battle with a compound bow. He carries this, along with an extra bow string and a dozen arrows. Additionally he carries a simple steel spatha, a hatchet (mostly for cutting wood) and a seax (mostly as a utility knife).

In battle he wears a chain habergeon and a ridge helmet.

---

Background:

Role: Archer
Backstory: Quintus, as his name might imply, is the fifth son of a Provincial noble family from the Eastern borderlands of the Regnum Arvenses. Quintus was not expected to inherit the family estates and was, rather, groomed for a life in the military, given the necessary education and, at 18, the money needed to afford equipment and a commission as a Decurion in a local cavalry regiment - the 'Equites Sagittarii Loricati'.

The Loricati were a slightly unusual regiment of armoured horse archers, put together b the local Governor to hunt down gurzat raiding parties. They were stationed outside of the Regnum, along the Sea pass, guarding it from marauding gurzat from out of the Windy Mountains. For the most part the work was not the most interesting, riding patrols from out of one of the series of small fortresses along the lonely, misty coastal road.

Quintus spent a lot of time in the saddle, a lot of time taking part in archery contests at barracks. The monotony was very occasionally broken by an actual fight, usually with a gurzat warband though they typically turned tail and fled upon sighting the Cavalry.

After 10 years in the Loricati, Quintus chose to resign his commission, imagining himself making a career as a bucellarius (mercenary) amongst the skeropalian cities.

Before setting out for Skeropalia though, Quintus decided to take a few weeks to visit his Uncle in Segestica. It was on the North Road, heading to Segestica, that Quintus happened upon a Firidorian maiden named 'Tárwen'...

Character Intro: The North road was a lonely place, a dirt trail that moved between small villages, the forest creeping in on the right, stony pastures grazed by scattered flocks on sheep to the left. Clouds skipped overhead, dark, dismal and promising rain in the near future.

Quintus glanced upwards at the sky, wondering if, perhaps, he should call it a night the next time he encountered an inn somewhere even though it would likely be with several hours of daylight to spare. Better that than caught in the downpour.

From somewhere up ahead he heard a woman's voice yelling something. She sounded... frightened? Perhaps fear mixed with an edge of excitement? He paused, reigning in his horse and hopping off to string his bow, bending the limb between his legs to attach the string before hopping back on.

The wind carried her voice again and he spurred his mount forward into a canter. Around 100 yards ahead the road bent around a copse of trees and there, as he rounded the corner, Quintus saw her. Tall, clad is an olive green dress and waving a large stick at a trio of vicious looking harpies - feathered eagle type creatures with huge wings, vicious claws and emmaciated human-like torsos. Their faces were something between human and bird, large predatory eyes gleaming with malice.

One dived at the woman. She yelled something in a language Quintus didn't understand and abruptly the staff blazed with a blinding light that caused Quintus to shield his eyes. It had even more of an effect on the beasts, with the diver loosing control, crashing into a nearby tree with a crunch, tumbling to the ground where it lay unmoving.

Without even needing to think, Quintus nocked an arrow, spotting another diving towards the woman from behind. He drew and loosed, his arrow striking the creature in the chest. It gave a horrid screech, crashing down beside her horse. She looked up, blue eyes registering Quintus' appearance as the third beast, sensing the odds were no longer in its favour, beat a hasty retreat across the sky.

Quintus grunted, as he tracked its movement. Too far, too fast. He'd never hit it. Instead he placed the bow back in its saddle holster and jumped down. The harpy he had hit was still moving though it was bleeding profusely. He drew his sword, putting the creature out of its misery before retrieving his arrow, "Well that was a bit exciting wasn't it!" the woman declared, switching from whatever she had been speaking before to Arventian.

He looked up at her. She was young, blonde... and had the distinct pointed ears of one of the fair folk that meant she might be nowhere near as young as she appeared, "You have a strange sense of fun m'Lady," he said with a slight chuckle, "Those things would have torn you limb from limb."

"Well it's a good thing you were on the road as well," she declared. There was a familiar smoothness to her tones and the way she emphasised the first syllable of her words... she was Firindorian. A proud, hostile race... at least according to the stories. He had seen them around, traders and emissaries. Heard their voices, though none had ever spoken to him before, "Say... you aren't headed Westwards are you."

"Aye," Quintus nodded, "Visiting a relative in Segestica."

"Oh good!" the woman declared, "We can travel together... at least for a while," she paused, eyeing Quintus up and down, "A soldier?" she asked.

"Formerly a decurion," he confirmed as he mounted his horse again, "Now seeking to find my own way as a bucellarius."

"Is that so," the woman cocked her head to one side, "Well if you're happy to take Elarion coin, then I might have work for you... we can of course make your visit first! I'd rather arrive late that never."

The Kingdom of Elarion had a negative history with the Regnum Arvenses. But Quintus didn't much care for that. He'd been willing to travel into Skeroparalia to work there... though he would prefer to spend Elarion coinage outside of the Regnum if he could. He gave a short laugh; this hadn't been the plan, and she hadn't said how much she was willing to pay yet, but he was willing to talk, "I have no problem with your coin or your company, Elarion... just as long as we're going further afield so I can actually spend it without getting suspicious glances from the merchants."

She gave a light laugh in response, "Eaham work for you? ... oh and it's Tárwen."

Tárwen

Character Description

Name:Tárwen daughter of Elenarë
Species: Firindorian
Race/Nationality: Elarion
Gender: Female
Age: 125
Languages:Firindorian, Sidfirian and Arventian, all fluently. Can also read Turakindian reasonably well but will pronounce it wrong.

Appearance: Even amongst her own people, Tárwen is a tall, shapely woman, though at 5'10'', she stands as tall as most human men. She has deep gray-blue eyes and long honey-blonde hair which she usually wears loose. She has a slender nose, a cleft chin and pointed ears which mark her as one of the 'Fair folk'. All of this, combined with her fair complexion mean that Tárwen could pass as one of the Gwylfinn, rather than the 'fading' Firindor people.

125 years is not a huge length of time for the Firindor and Tárwen is still considered to be in the prime of her life.

Tárwen favours practical clothing in forest greens and browns and rarely wears either ostentatious colours or jewelry. This is fairly typical of the Firindor who tend to prefer muted, discrete tones, complimenting the natural stealthiness of the fair folk.

appearance

Personal Effects: Tárwen has a horse. Everything she carries with her fits into the saddle bags.

She has a handful of dresses in a variety of muted colours, a brown woolen sleeveless jacket and a thick grey-green woolen travelling cloak. Hard wearing leather boots complete her clothing ensemble.

An accustomed traveler in the less inhabited parts of the world, she carries a thick woolen blanket; a down pillow; a tinderbox; tools for cleaning, sewing, etc.; along with a selection of cosmetic products (including hair brushes) for when she needs to present herself to people of significance.

Tárwen carries a small seax as a utility knife rather than a weapon. Instead she carries a 5' long hornbeam staff, which as well as serving as a walking stick and more than adequate bludgeon, also acts as a magical conduit.

---

Background:

Role: Mage
Backstory: Tárwen is the youngest daughter in a family of three. Her father is a miller and belongs to the local militia. Her mother is a weaver. Tárwen initially intended to work as a weaver with her mother though during her 40s (while she was still far too young to be considered marriageable), she spent quite a lot of her spare time with a young man from the Elarion Mage's Guild.

While the relationship didn't last into adulthood, Tárwen was discovered to have considerable aptitude of her own and was brought under the tutelage of a mage named Curuwen. Curuwen was a good teacher and over the 75 years since Tárwen entered the guild she has become reasonably proficient, though mostly in the art forms more associated with the Fair Folk.

Tárwen is an expert illusionist and can cast spells to hide an area from people though this takes time and effort to enact. In a pinch, she can make her cloak appear as if it is a part of the natural surroundings, hiding herself and potentially another person with her.

She can produce light from her staff, which can be blinding, particularly to creatures from the Hosts of darkness who typically despise bright lights.

She is also an adequate healer if someone is injured. She can save people from mortal wounds, speed up the healing of those with less severe injuries and slow (if she's doing a particularly good job) or sometimes even stop the spread of disease from cursed injuries.

In 3975, 42 years ago, when she was still an apprentice, Tárwen travelled Curuwen and several other Elarion mages to a Conclave in Segestica which was hoped would be the beginning of a rapprochement between the Kingdom of Elarion and Regnum Arventia which had been frosty since the War of Gallus Nasica, which had been fought before she was born.

While the Conclave was a failure, Tárwen drew the notice of the Valindorian mage, Calanthor, who discerned in her a willingness to set aside the petty concerns of her short lifetime and that of her Kingdom for the greater good of the Graced peoples of Minadra - something he found many of the people of the Age of Steel lacked. He brought Tárwen into his confidence and the pair began a correspondence over the next few decades, discussing everything from the art of sorcery to the strange animals of the lands south of Varadaban.

Over the course of her letters with Calanthor, Tárwen became fascinated by the lost Gulcenedril artefact, an ancient device constructed in the first days of the Age of Steel, designed to allow the King of Caryandor to speak to the Turakindi Kings in the South, raising the alarm quickly should the Host of Darkness ever reappear.

While the first part of the artefact remained in Caryandor, the half belonging to the Turakindi had been lost in the last days of their Realms, though Calanthor assured her it had not been destroyed - it was someplace dark, though aside from that, nobody knew where. Since completing her apprenticeship some 20 years ago, Tárwen has launched several expeditions, with the people of Stormfjellheim, to explore the ruins of the Morgador in search of the Gulcenedril. Though they have located some interesting treasures, the Gulcenedril has never been amongst them.

In early 4017, Tárwen received an unexpected letter from Calanthor, asking her, in urgent terms, to meet him in Ealdormuda. While his reasons were not explained, Tárwen recognised the urgency of his tone and quickly packed a travelling bag, setting forth on to meet her friend. While Tárwen has travelled extensively in the Morgador and Taurethil forest, she has not made any forrays into human lands aside from the Conclave of 3975 and the trip is an adventure she was looking forward to.

Character Intro: Tárwen shifted on the bench she was sitting at, enjoying the warmth of the fire against her back. She kept her hood up. She wasn't sure the last time one of the fair folk had stepped foot in Eoham, but the locals were certainly curious about her; her ears were hard to hide. Almost inevitably they would conclude she was Sidfir, which she was not, which led to further interest. There wasn't any problem with the interest people showed her, it was not malicious, but sometimes it was nice to have a quiet evening with a mug of mulled wine.

Besides, some old soldier was regaling the crowds with war stories. She couldn't speak a word of the local language, so didn't know what they were, but she recognised the scene. Quintus, her bodyguard on the road, had taken himself to their room for the evening. He probably would have enjoyed the story... though he didn't speak the local language either.

She cast an idle eye across the other people in the inn... one of the Skyborn. That was unusual. While she had encountered the Skyborn before, in her limited experience she had believed they preferred the company of dwarves to humans. She took a sip from her mug of wine, realising it was the last of her drink.

She put the mug down, considering if she should, perhaps call it a night... but the night was young. But the night was young and while she doubted she would be swept up in any eager revelry tonight, Tárwen had no desire to take to her bed prematurely. So she waved to the innkeeper with her mug and a bright smile, signaling for another.

A few moments later, there was a scatter of applause as the old soldier signaled the end of his story. People seemed to be moving away from him, though the Skyborn sat down next to him. Tárwen paid them little mind, thanking the innkeeper as another mug of wine arrived.

A snippet of conversation from the other table drifted across. They were speaking Arventian. Then another. Turakindi ruins? This far West? Instantly her interest was piqued.

She hesistated a moment, she was meant to be meeting Calanthor here, in this inn... though he was a week late. What could be holding him up? The thought that anything might have happened to the old mage did not cross Tárwen's mind. There were few, if any, mortal beings more dangerous than Calanthor.

Turakindi ruins. She heard the skyborn say it again. If there were more ruins this far West that nobody had known about until recently, that would explain why the Gulcenedril had proven so hard to find. Could it be wherever this skyborn was heading? She considered what to do for a moment more, then resolved to approach her. Lifting her staff in one hand and mug of wine in the other she stood up, , crossing the few feet to where the pair were talking.

The old soldier looked up as she approached, raising an eyebrow in enquiry, "Hello!" Tárwen greeted the pair cheerfully, in fluent Arventian, "I apologise for intruding on your conversation but I couldn't help but hear you mention Turakindi ruins."

The skyborn turned to her, peering up at Tárwen with thoughtful blue eyes, "Yes, but you know that kind of place is dangerous."

Tárwen nodded, "I'm well aware. I am prepared for danger," the old soldier's eyebrow climbed a little higher, she noted, "I hadn't realised there were ruins this far West."

"Not many had," the skyborn replied.

"Are you sure you are prepared for danger, girl?" the soldier asked, "As much as I'm sure scholars and the like would love to get their hands on whatever is in those ruins, I only have the one sword arm."

"Girl? Oh," Tárwen glanced around furtively, then leaned forward, "I imagine my friend, that I'm probably older than your parents," she swept her hood back, letting the points of her ears show, "Tárwen of Elarion," she introduced herself, "I am from the Mage's guild, waiting for a friend in this city. Though he is late and your ruin could, potentially, hold something I've been looking for."

"What?" the skyborn asked.

"The Gulcenedril?" Tárwen looked between blank expressions, "It's a device to communicate over vast distances. The Turakindi made it. We have one half, the other is lost and nobody knows how it was made, making the first half a useless trinket. I would like to see if these ruins hold any clue as to its whereabouts." She saw the pair glance at each other. They still weren't sure she would be useful... "I can also heal wounds and produce light in dark places. And I've travelled in the Morgador before... I am not one of your mages who spends their whole life pondering the nature of magic in an esotericist community surrounded by servants. I am quite capable of surviving in the wilderness. And I come with a bodyguard. Arvensian fellow, called Quintus, quite handy with a bow."