Leofric was another, like Síobhra, who seemed to have invited himself with little discussion as to his intent. He had no gift of flight to take him away from the group for hours at a time but shared about as few words. Instead he lingered near the back of the group, following behind and affecting a sentinel-like disposition whenever the group paused to talk.
Which he did now.
His steel blue eyes squinted, and traced their way up the frozen cliffs, then ran along the slopes and distant peaks, and finally up into the sky itself. His brow remained furrowed as though constantly searching for some sign the whole mountainside was about to come down on them.
The man said little, and even less about himself. While it was obscured now beneath thick furs he wore, all present had enough chance over the trip to see the man's battlegear; there could be no question the man had been through several battles. The cloak he wore bore the faded emblems of a Jugkraian holy order that some present might recognize as one that had been defunct for nearly twenty years now amidst the Jugkraian civil wars.
Which made sense. The man seemed at home in the mountains. If anything the furs he wore made him look overdressed for these mountain paths. He'd purchased supplies from his own pocket, more than he needed for himself - unless he'd planned on being snowed in for weeks - upon his mule, the animal he called Zapas which he held by the reins in one hand while leaning against the battle-worn warspear he braced against with his other.
"I would listen to the Sylph." Leofric's voice was a low, deep thing, that seemed at home among the mountains and snow as he seemed to second Síobhra's opinion. "These mountain roads swallow the foolish and hasty first."
The woman was middle aged, ruddy faced, with long hair that was probably once blond now streaked with grey that fell over her shoulder in tangled braids greasy from days living on the land. She kept her hands raised as she was circled by riders bearing the Black banner even while she kept her hands raised. "I bear dhe message for your lady sirs! Ees sealed. Ya see, yeah?" Slowly she produced an envelope, sealed in red wax. "For your Lady Empress Coralie. I to bring eet to her."
To the aspiring Empress Coralie D'Ambois nee Hasikos,
I have served The People's struggle against the Empire with every fiber of my being, and would gladly die a thousand deaths before betraying it, or by inaction, seeing it betrayed.
Our Empress Ariana Hasikos, I truly believe, has the best interests of the people at heart but fear she has fallen under evil counsel. The people we set out to help and protect are ignored and neglected at every turn. Left to wallow in slave pits, worked like dogs in the fields - or worked to death in the quarries and mines. Those that should be our friends are made to be enemies. The Empire that kills, enslaves, and oppresses us is allowed to recover - unchallenged - from the blow we struck them at the cost of so much blood at Rodelkog. It is such fears, and my great loyalty to The Cause, that impel me to write you as I do now. I fear the days ahead will see evil counsel only serve to further weaken the opposition against the Great Enemy.
I cannot in good conscience allow it and, in truth, should the evil council that brought us to these desperate straits prevail in the coming days - I fear the men that provide such council will feel themselves secure and emboldened enough that I fear for the safety of myself and those who've placed their trust in me.
I perceive yourself to be no enemy of the beleaguered peoples of Inburia. Instead, I see a fellow Inburian, weakening our common foe: a potential friend and ally in our Great Cause. I hope to find in you a kindred spirit, with the grace and wisdom to see the mass of desperate Inburians before you, not as enemies to be crushed, but to perceive instead the opportunity that lesser minds miss.
You will likely be aware that most of my force is even now tied up in the occupation of Suen, as the same sage counsel that argued against exploiting our victory against the Empire after Rodelkog saw no profit in re-enforcing us in their race south to link up with your force. I possess with me now only a small force of partisans.
However, what we lack in numbers on the field of battle, we make up for in the eyes and ears of the people of Inburia. Such people know who fights for them. And who does not. It is by their good will that we have endured all hardships. It is they who supply us our strength, and supply us with all that we need, and see and hear. Wheresoever in Inburia there is an Inburian slave, or a serf beholden to their land: we have eyes and ears. Through their bravery, and diligence, we have known some small success and liberated many items, worthless to us, but you might find of value if they could be brought to market. The eyes and ears that inform us, we should gladly share with those who would call us allies.
Many of our number are desperate. You will likely have heard this. But they are dedicated and many would gladly lay down arms and return to the fields if they were allowed, and felt protected enough, to do so as Free Peoples. Such people would gladly and generously, support through their labours those who take up arms in the name of Liberating their fellow countrymen.
As a token of my goodwill you will find included with my letter, such documents detailing what we have been able to gather regarding the troops and dispositions of the Empress Ariana's forces. United as we are in conflict against a common enemy, I provide this information freely from one rebel to another: that we might better collaborate against the common foe.
It is also my counsel that you will find your present problems greatly reduced if you made your policy known to any you might encounter in the coming days who are confused on this point: that you support the cause of Freedom, that you oppose the Great Oppressors, and that regard any former slave, serf, or common person who holds similar views not as enemy combatants to be killed, but as friends over whom you would extend your protection - guaranteeing their freedom - and welcoming any who would take up arms in your service.
I believe you would find such declarations, firmly and repeatedly made, would greatly inhibit the mass of people from any thought of firmly opposing you. I would venture that a True Empress might find the bulk of the common people, having suffered as they have, have no wish of quarrel with anyone except the Great Oppressors whose innumerable crimes are beyond counting. Such people care little for the colour of the Wyvern that fights the Empire: only that they fight.
I hope in the coming days to see such obstacles as now preclude our speaking in person be swiftly removed that we might greet each other as friends and allies ought.
The Waystone Inn Interactions: Back Outside Again Outfit: Little Indigo Riding Hood
Lairëcúma looked up only to see an enraged man with a bloody hand stumbling forward, like some figure out of a distant nightmare. "Aaah!" she cried out she backpedalled right back out the door and spun out of Ransom's way... and disappeared back into the night.
Thereafter a faint, plaintive "Good bye Wayside Inn!" could scarce be heard beneath Ransom's angry challenge to the Tabaxi.
The Waystone Inn Interactions: ANYONE IN THE INN Outfit: Little Indigo Riding Hood
Lairëcúma remained in gracefully reposed immobility while Lathrom dismissed her with a nod. She seemed comfortable in the stillness that followed as snow flakes continued to land in her hair.
Lairëcúma's eyes searched the courtyard passing Edwina and Latrom, who seemed to have some private matter, lingering on Edwina's construct, looking the thing up and down. Lairëcúma smiled at the thing, at some inward thought - her face like one amusing some child before she turned on her heels and stepped into the Wayside Inn
The doors to the Wayside Inn swung emphatically open, and Lairëcúma stepped aside as a Tabaxi that smelled of smoke hastily brushed past her at the threshold. She opened her mouth to say something, but he was already gone - a puff of smoke rising from behind her the moment he was outside.
In stepped an elven womanwearing an indigo hooded cape. She paused at the threshold and dipped her head to brush the snow away from her golden hair.
"Greetings and salutations Wayside Inn..." She declared in a warm, singsong voice, to no one in particular as she looked up to survey what lay before her.
The Waystone Inn Interactions: Edwina @NoriWasHere Latrom @Cosmic Outfit: Little Indigo Riding Hood
The elven woman reached with two kidskin gloved hands and slowly eased back her hood to reveal a face whose dimpled lines told a tale of silent and receding laughter. She tilted her head at Latrom's comment, golden curls falling to one side like dancing springs as she stood, her brow arched in momentary concentration upon the young goliath before relaxing as though she had finally come to some determination of whatever thought crossed her mind.
"My, my, aren't you a precious soul? But you're right, maybe I shouldn't take my fun at others in their awkward moments." She paused quite deliberately on this point. "I just think, we all have awkward moments and when life sets us on our asses, we might as well have some fun with it while we can, yes?"
Not waiting for a reply, and hardly taking a breath herself the elf continued.
"Very pleased to meet you both by the by. You can call me Lairëcúma. Everyone else does. 'Bard by trade, disturber of public morals by choice!'" The elven woman chimed quite happily, performing a deep curtsy that seemed at once both a parody of the courtly act while seeming perfectly serviceable as one at the same time. "Let's get better acquainted inside though, shall we? I'm sure we'll become fast friends. I might even be convinced to perform tonight, but just now I could use some company while I recover the feeling in my poor bum."
The Waystone Inn Interactions: Edwina @NoriWasHere Latrom @Cosmic Outfit: Little Indigo Riding Hood
Two wagon wheels carved twinned ribbons of darkness in fresh fallen snow, tracing a winding trail off until the paired tracks became lost in one another amidst the distant darkness. The night's air and falling snow were punctuated by the gentle but emphatic Clop! Clop! Clop! and jingle of halter and harness.
The reins of the majestic white-maned stallion hung loosely from the gloved hands of his driver, a figure covered head to toe in a hooded cape of blue fleece. Sat astride the driver's seat of a two-wheeled wagon - its sides adorned with bright coloured sun and flower motifs - it rolled effortlessly past the entrance of the inn.
The driver's face was obscured but the slow craning of the blue hood - silhouetted from the inn's entrance against the distant tower - was clearly fixed upon the scene by the Inn's entrance. Unseen eyes tracked the collapsed form the goliath being kicked by the woman looming over him. The hooded figure gave an ever-so-slight tug of their wrist on the reins, their voice - her voice - ringing softly through falling snowflakes like whispering bells. "Addring. Ava."
The stallion drew abruptly to a halt, shaking his head while giving Edwina and Latrom aggressive horse side-eye. His driver unfolded from her seat, standing in deliberative stillness before descending to the snow. Her face remained obscured by her hood and the waning light, but was clearly observing the pair as she walked with a patiently measured gait alongside her horse, running her hand along his flank before leaning in and whispering something in the animal's ear that seems to settle the creature further into stillness.
"Marital troubles?" Though her face was still shrouded in shadow, one could almost hear the raised eyebrow on her face in the timber of her voice.
She/Her | 238 | High Elf | High Elf | 174 cm | Weight 110lbs | _______________________________________________ Subversive Elf _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "You’ll see what I’m about soon enough." ___________________________________
Classically Trained Elven Performer Calaríssë, or Lairëcúma, as she’s better known has an exceptional, classically trained performer. Gifted with an exceptional singing voice and has over her life has accumulated a collection and talent with an eccentric array of instruments, as well as being an excellent dancer, with an expansive knowledge of musical theory. The elven music masters don’t half-ass anything.
Charisma Call it presence, call it charm, poise, grace or a true joie de vive, but Calaríssë enjoys performing, entertaining and making others happy and her natural enthusiasm can be infectious. She’s great fun at parties.
Jack of All Trades Calaríssë is not only a bard who picks things up in her travels and experiences - but an exceptionally long-lived one. She’s not exceptional in most things, but has picked up an impressively broad, if inexpert, base of knowledge and skills over the years.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Don’t let her looks fool you, that’s no Lady."
Calaríssë cannot be mistaken for anything but a high elf, fair of skin, long hair like spun gold, possessed of an otherworldly grace like one that is not of this world but somewhere else, some higher plane of light and existence. Especially with unfamiliar audiences, Calaríssë often plays into perceptions of her being a graceful, delicate elven songstress. An illusion that quickly crashes upon any coherent interaction with the woman.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
"I. Am. An… Elf.
I am a High Elf! I know there’s so many questions, You might ask about myself! Why do my ears, Come up to here? Why does my bow cost more Than you earn in a year…?
(I don’t actually own a bow, So whoever asked that… huh?)
Why are elves so very serious? So aloof and so mysterious? What do I put in my hair, Why's my nose so up in the air? Why it’s a question for the masses, As to what’s crawled up our asses. And, by the way… Just how old am I?
(Too old for you… yeah, way too old)
So why are we so erudite? So unfailingly polite, So just ask, friend, do not fear, That is, after all, why I am here! I’ll spill the truth, our guarded lore, Our ancient wisdom, kept for… (Well, not actually kept. It’s just…) WE’RE JUST PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! (Oops! Did I say that out loud? Ha! It doesn’t even rhyme, does it?) BUT WE’RE PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! (Ha! That’s actually the chorus I guess…)
We don’t mean it cruelly, no no no It’s just mathematically so! A blink for us, a lifetime for you, Then - poof - you’re mulch: we move on through! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY!
So please forgive the vacant stare, It’s hard to care when you’re just… eh…
But what else can we say? It’s just another game we play. I know it may be rather shocking, But we’d rather you just stop talking,
(Maybe… write your name somewhere, So maybe later… We’ll remember you were there…) [Awkward silence] YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY!
It’s nothing personal, you see… Entropy just favors… me! Your gods are born, your gods expire, Ours got bored and then retired. You call us cold (Oh, that’s unkind) It’s just…
YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! So drink! Sing! Fall in love! Start fights! Invent a cheese! Fly some kites! CAUSE YOU’RE GONNA DIE SOON ANYWAY And when you’re gone, we’ll softly say: Oh, he was nice. I think his name was…
…
Aw shit…"
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Calaríssë’s goal in life is to learn, laugh, dance, sing and otherwise have a good time of it since she’s likely to be stuck her for another few centuries. She’s already well established in her craft and her only major ambition is not dying on some rock hurtling between the planes of reality.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Calaríssë is skeptical of ambition, seeing mostly the harm it does - people making one another miserable - where the common things in life: food, company, love, music, dance and beauty are everywhere around them. That ultimately the goal of any being in this world is to leave the world, and the people touched by them, better for their passing through it. That being said, her vengeance is a thing to behold.
SECRETS ⫻ Calaríssë has few ghosts in her past. Time, among largely mortal company, has covered over most of her most egregious youthful indiscretions. The closest thing to a secret she keeps is that her naturally upbeat outward positivity masks a deep cynicism in the world often only sees outlet in her music.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Calaríssë is quite flexible in her interests.
FEARS ⫻ Failing to live up to her expectations of herself. Failing to stand up for right or good. The nagging fear of whether this life she’s chosen for herself is truly all there is, or the best use of her life, her gifts and talents.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ It was supposed to be a six day gig before moving on. Entertain for a couple nights. Free drinks. Meet new people and share stories over hearth and fire. And now…
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ She’s The Bard
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Calaríssë travels with a fine white elven stallion named Addring, who despite being an excellent mount, is most often found harnessed to the small two-wheeled carriage that carries most of her belongings. This includes her prized collection of instruments. She travels with a trunk of clothing collected over the years that range from practical travel wear, to elaborate courtly fashion, to quite colourful and bizarre costuming. Calaríssë possesses no classic elven bow but while rarely seen, she does possess an exquisite ancient elven blade Isilfang forged by lost elven techniques, such that it glows faintly under the light of a full moon.
FLAWS ⫻
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Ha! Not much to say, I’m pretty much just your typical bard - leave me a coin and a drink and I’m happy!"
Lairëcúma the Bard was born Calaríssë Thalanriel, youngest child of the great high elven lord, Thalanor. Her early life was spent much like many young elves, running through the secluded glades of the elven forest city, being trained in the arts befitting a young elven lady. Her musical talent was spotted early, and she was provided tutors and encouraged as such pursuits were considered fine and proper for a young woman of her station, eventually securing herself a placement at a young age - for an elf - in the very demanding Coa i Quingo musical Guild, under some of the most renowned elven court musicians. There were high hopes for the young woman at this time.
This was a difficult period in Calaríssë’s life. As she grew older it wasn’t merely the strictures of her station, but elven life in general that disagreed with her and grated upon others. Calaríssë loved to meet new people, spoke openly with others and in short, possessed none of the graceful reserve befitting a high elf. Elven life was cloistered, there was a certain warmth among close family and friends - but being open, approaching others, speaking with any sort of familiarity: it bore ill upon her family and frankly, the other elves she approached seemed just as put off that their lord’s daughter would approach them so brazenly.
Her life within the guild itself was worse. That same need she felt, like the need for breath or life itself made the rigid forms and styles of elven courtly music feel too constrained. For Calaríssë, musical was about expression, about joy, about improvising new and varied tones that pleased in the moment - yet this was not the crystalline perfection her teachers expected and demanded. It felt like a slow suffocation, and her breaks from endless practice into variations was sternly rebuked as a corruption of the art. In the end Calaríssë feuded openly with her teachers and was eventually tossed out of the guild, despite her admitted talent - it wasn’t her talent that had failed, she was told, but her lack of discipline.
Calaríssë return from the guild was warm enough, but yet she could sense her family’s subtle disappointment as they tried to integrate their failure of a daughter back into courtly life. Tried to arrange suitors. Find some other pursuit to occupy her time - but it was always her failed, unwanted, and broken music that called back to her. Despite being advised, in good faith, to set aside this failed experiment and apply herself to other matters - she had such a long life to live, perhaps she might return to it someday - none of it appealed to her.
Calaríssë took to the woods often, and there - despite warnings of danger - came to encounter outsiders. Contrary to her people’s warning that outsiders were unpredictable, potentially dangerous, and certainly not to be trusted: Calaríssë found the mortal races she encountered far more kin to her spirit than her own people. People who within a few minutes of meeting a person might share a fire, and laugh and sing and talk about themselves and one another - and didn’t mind if a song was not sung a certain way, every note perfectly arranged according to principles of music theory. They didn’t care if she told off-key jokes, or made faces when she played.
This all became some scandal at court. Of course it wasn’t approved. Several times she was banned from the woods. Several times she snuck away anyway. Out of the woods even, into the surrounding towns, only for one of her brothers to appear and demand her return.
Eventually she fell in love with some player with a travelling acting troupe and what transpired was not pretty and terribly embarrassing to think back upon. All the worse for her family’s worse fears and protestations coming to pass. It was a disaster of course. The fair young man that had been her fancy, was far too fond of his wine - and his women - it turned out. The breakup was even uglier than when she’d run away from home.
It turned out there was a market for her talents, and the road promised the sort of musical and performance freedom - and acceptance - she’d long sought. Years passed, along with many personal and professional partnerships that grew up, as familiar names and faces grew old and faded away. Calaríssë became a distant memory.
Lairëcúma The Bard, was far happier, far more at peace with herself than the girl, Calaríssë had ever been. As decades shifted into centuries she began to see the trajectory of her life passing forward into the Great Beyond that awaited all elves upon their calling. She even returned to her family, finding welcome as the prodigal daughter returned - even finding some measure of acceptance, as a musician, from her former teachers who seemed interested in the things she had heard, and learned upon her great sojourn. But the road had called.
And that would have been that had she not stopped in Greyharrow. Six days, free room and drinks, and a steady stream of audience. It was familiar. What could possibly go wrong? And then the tower had exploded and now nothing she’d assumed was any longer certain.
"And, that's pretty much me."
BARD! ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "We bring for thee the finest entertainments, And I am pleased to be your humble servant…"
TYPE ⫻ Bard
MAGIC OR FIGHTING STYLE ⫻
In terms of fighting style, Calaríssë prefers to avoid combat if possible, remaining nimble, out-of-reach, taking opportunities where they come. Using her sword, Isilfang to ward off attackers while bolstering her allies. Despite abhorring violence, if it comes to it, she does not greatly prize an honourable fight and is entirely willing to fight dirty.
Bardic Music Calaríssë’s primary training involves weaving subtle enchantments into her music. Masters can create a variety of effects, but in battle Calaríssë can imbue subtle effects to bolster her allies, or disrupt her enemies.
When Calaríssë performs inspiring songs, her allies may find themselves just a little bit better than they might otherwise be. An enemy might find themselves distracted by her cutting remarks, or goaded into trying to shut up that stupid bard.
Minor Illusion Calaríssë can create a sound or an image of an object within 30ft that lasts for up to 1 minute.
A sound can range in volume from a whisper to a scream. It can be your voice, someone else’s voice, a lion’s roar, a beating of drums, or any other sound you choose. The sound continues unabated throughout the duration, or you can make discrete sounds at different times before the spell ends.
An image can be no larger than a 5-foot cube. The image can’t create sound, light, smell, or any other sensory effect. Physical interaction with the image reveals it to be an illusion, because things can pass through it.
Prestidigitation Calaríssë can create a variety of magical effects within 5ft: An instantaneous, harmless sensory effect, such as a shower of sparks, a puff of wind, faint musical notes, or an odd odor. You instantaneously light or snuff out a candle, a torch, or a small campfire. You instantaneously clean or soil an object no larger than 1 cubic foot. You chill, warm, or flavor up to 1 cubic foot of nonliving material for 1 hour. You make a color, a small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or a surface for 1 hour. You create a nonmagical trinket or an illusory image that can fit in your hand and that lasts until the end of your next turn. If you cast this spell multiple times, you can have up to three of its non-instantaneous effects active at a time, and you can dismiss such an effect as an action.
COLLEGE ⫻ Calaríssë studied her craft primarily at the Coa i Quingo, the very prestigious musical guild of the Valarínë elves, studying directly under the venerated Master Curufinwë Feanor. The elven music guild focusses greatly on emphasizing a musician’s core skills of performance and imbuing them with subtle enchantment effects. Of course, before being ejected from the guild for, more or less, refusing to adhere to the strictures of elven musical tradition it was Curufinwë who commented that she seemed spiteful of her gifts, eschewing beauty for ugliness describing her style as Lairëcúma - ‘the song mocker’ performing intentionally in ways meant to undermine rather than uplift.
CURRENT WEAPONS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ Dagger. Rapier wit. Also a rapier.
TRAINING ⫻ Calaríssë was taught both under her Guild and by her family according to high elven traditions, emphasizing things like languages - needlework for highborn ladies - as well as certain martial skills. These were never a great priority for Calaríssë but she was forced to train to high elven ‘minimum standards’. As such she’s proficient in mounted riding along with use of both sword and bow.
LIMITS ⫻ To use her bardic music ability, Calaríssë has to actually be able to come up with a song, on the fly. If she (or I) can’t, then obviously there’s no music or effect. Obviously it doesn’t work if she can’t speak or those targeted can’t hear her either. She also has to maintain concentration on what she’s performing - not always easy while in battle.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ Bardic Music: Calaríssë must be consistent during her performance, otherwise she runs the risk of the opposite effect happening. If she misses a note, plays out of tune, or has an otherwise lackluster performance, her allies may feel sluggish, her enemies may be invigorated, and she may become the target of capture, as her enemies wish to keep her around for her continued performance.
She/Her | 238 | High Elf | High Elf | 174 cm | Weight 110lbs | _______________________________________________ Subversive Elf _______________________________________________ Skills & Talents "You’ll see what I’m about soon enough." ___________________________________
Classically Trained Elven Performer Calaríssë, or Lairëcúma, as she’s better known has an exceptional, classically trained performer. Gifted with an exceptional singing voice and has over her life has accumulated a collection and talent with an eccentric array of instruments, as well as being an excellent dancer, with an expansive knowledge of musical theory. The elven music masters don’t half-ass anything.
Charisma Call it presence, call it charm, poise, grace or a true joie de vive, but Calaríssë enjoys performing, entertaining and making others happy and her natural enthusiasm can be infectious. She’s great fun at parties.
Jack of All Trades Calaríssë is not only a bard who picks things up in her travels and experiences - but an exceptionally long-lived one. She’s not exceptional in most things, but has picked up an impressively broad, if inexpert, base of knowledge and skills over the years.
Appearance ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Don’t let her looks fool you, that’s no Lady."
Calaríssë cannot be mistaken for anything but a high elf, fair of skin, long hair like spun gold, possessed of an otherworldly grace like one that is not of this world but somewhere else, some higher plane of light and existence. Especially with unfamiliar audiences, Calaríssë often plays into perceptions of her being a graceful, delicate elven songstress. An illusion that quickly crashes upon any coherent interaction with the woman.
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
"I. Am. An… Elf.
I am a High Elf! I know there’s so many questions, You might ask about myself! Why do my ears, Come up to here? Why does my bow cost more Than you earn in a year…?
(I don’t actually own a bow, So whoever asked that… huh?)
Why are elves so very serious? So aloof and so mysterious? What do I put in my hair, Why's my nose so up in the air? Why it’s a question for the masses, As to what’s crawled up our asses. And, by the way… Just how old am I?
(Too old for you… yeah, way too old)
So why are we so erudite? So unfailingly polite, So just ask, friend, do not fear, That is, after all, why I am here! I’ll spill the truth, our guarded lore, Our ancient wisdom, kept for… (Well, not actually kept. It’s just…) WE’RE JUST PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! (Oops! Did I say that out loud? Ha! It doesn’t even rhyme, does it?) BUT WE’RE PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! (Ha! That’s actually the chorus I guess…)
We don’t mean it cruelly, no no no It’s just mathematically so! A blink for us, a lifetime for you, Then - poof - you’re mulch: we move on through! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY!
So please forgive the vacant stare, It’s hard to care when you’re just… eh…
But what else can we say? It’s just another game we play. I know it may be rather shocking, But we’d rather you just stop talking,
(Maybe… write your name somewhere, So maybe later… We’ll remember you were there…) [Awkward silence] YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY!
It’s nothing personal, you see… Entropy just favors… me! Your gods are born, your gods expire, Ours got bored and then retired. You call us cold (Oh, that’s unkind) It’s just…
YOU’RE GOING TO DIE SOON ANYWAY! So drink! Sing! Fall in love! Start fights! Invent a cheese! Fly some kites! CAUSE YOU’RE GONNA DIE SOON ANYWAY And when you’re gone, we’ll softly say: Oh, he was nice. I think his name was…
…
Aw shit…"
MAIN GOAL ⫻ Calaríssë’s goal in life is to learn, laugh, dance, sing and otherwise have a good time of it since she’s likely to be stuck her for another few centuries. She’s already well established in her craft and her only major ambition is not dying on some rock hurtling between the planes of reality.
PHILOSOPHY ⫻ Calaríssë is skeptical of ambition, seeing mostly the harm it does - people making one another miserable - where the common things in life: food, company, love, music, dance and beauty are everywhere around them. That ultimately the goal of any being in this world is to leave the world, and the people touched by them, better for their passing through it. That being said, her vengeance is a thing to behold.
SECRETS ⫻ Calaríssë has few ghosts in her past. Time, among largely mortal company, has covered over most of her most egregious youthful indiscretions. The closest thing to a secret she keeps is that her naturally upbeat outward positivity masks a deep cynicism in the world often only sees outlet in her music.
SEXUALITY ⫻ Calaríssë is quite flexible in her interests.
FEARS ⫻ Failing to live up to her expectations of herself. Failing to stand up for right or good. The nagging fear of whether this life she’s chosen for herself is truly all there is, or the best use of her life, her gifts and talents.
WHAT BROUGHT THEM TO GREYHARROW ⫻ It was supposed to be a six day gig before moving on. Entertain for a couple nights. Free drinks. Meet new people and share stories over hearth and fire. And now…
WHAT DO OTHERS IN TOWN THINK OF THEM ⫻ She’s The Bard
EQUIPMENT ⫻ Calaríssë travels with a fine white elven stallion named Addring, who despite being an excellent mount, is most often found harnessed to the small two-wheeled carriage that carries most of her belongings. This includes her prized collection of instruments. She travels with a trunk of clothing collected over the years that range from practical travel wear, to elaborate courtly fashion, to quite colourful and bizarre costuming. Calaríssë possesses no classic elven bow but while rarely seen, she does possess an exquisite ancient elven blade Isilfang forged by lost elven techniques, such that it glows faintly under the light of a full moon.
FLAWS ⫻
Backstory ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "Ha! Not much to say, I’m pretty much just your typical bard - leave me a coin and a drink and I’m happy!"
Lairëcúma the Bard was born Calaríssë Thalanriel, youngest child of the great high elven lord, Thalanor. Her early life was spent much like many young elves, running through the secluded glades of the elven forest city, being trained in the arts befitting a young elven lady. Her musical talent was spotted early, and she was provided tutors and encouraged as such pursuits were considered fine and proper for a young woman of her station, eventually securing herself a placement at a young age - for an elf - in the very demanding Coa i Quingo musical Guild, under some of the most renowned elven court musicians. There were high hopes for the young woman at this time.
This was a difficult period in Calaríssë’s life. As she grew older it wasn’t merely the strictures of her station, but elven life in general that disagreed with her and grated upon others. Calaríssë loved to meet new people, spoke openly with others and in short, possessed none of the graceful reserve befitting a high elf. Elven life was cloistered, there was a certain warmth among close family and friends - but being open, approaching others, speaking with any sort of familiarity: it bore ill upon her family and frankly, the other elves she approached seemed just as put off that their lord’s daughter would approach them so brazenly.
Her life within the guild itself was worse. That same need she felt, like the need for breath or life itself made the rigid forms and styles of elven courtly music feel too constrained. For Calaríssë, musical was about expression, about joy, about improvising new and varied tones that pleased in the moment - yet this was not the crystalline perfection her teachers expected and demanded. It felt like a slow suffocation, and her breaks from endless practice into variations was sternly rebuked as a corruption of the art. In the end Calaríssë feuded openly with her teachers and was eventually tossed out of the guild, despite her admitted talent - it wasn’t her talent that had failed, she was told, but her lack of discipline.
Calaríssë return from the guild was warm enough, but yet she could sense her family’s subtle disappointment as they tried to integrate their failure of a daughter back into courtly life. Tried to arrange suitors. Find some other pursuit to occupy her time - but it was always her failed, unwanted, and broken music that called back to her. Despite being advised, in good faith, to set aside this failed experiment and apply herself to other matters - she had such a long life to live, perhaps she might return to it someday - none of it appealed to her.
Calaríssë took to the woods often, and there - despite warnings of danger - came to encounter outsiders. Contrary to her people’s warning that outsiders were unpredictable, potentially dangerous, and certainly not to be trusted: Calaríssë found the mortal races she encountered far more kin to her spirit than her own people. People who within a few minutes of meeting a person might share a fire, and laugh and sing and talk about themselves and one another - and didn’t mind if a song was not sung a certain way, every note perfectly arranged according to principles of music theory. They didn’t care if she told off-key jokes, or made faces when she played.
This all became some scandal at court. Of course it wasn’t approved. Several times she was banned from the woods. Several times she snuck away anyway. Out of the woods even, into the surrounding towns, only for one of her brothers to appear and demand her return.
Eventually she fell in love with some player with a travelling acting troupe and what transpired was not pretty and terribly embarrassing to think back upon. All the worse for her family’s worse fears and protestations coming to pass. It was a disaster of course. The fair young man that had been her fancy, was far too fond of his wine - and his women - it turned out. The breakup was even uglier than when she’d run away from home.
It turned out there was a market for her talents, and the road promised the sort of musical and performance freedom - and acceptance - she’d long sought. Years passed, along with many personal and professional partnerships that grew up, as familiar names and faces grew old and faded away. Calaríssë became a distant memory.
Lairëcúma The Bard, was far happier, far more at peace with herself than the girl, Calaríssë had ever been. As decades shifted into centuries she began to see the trajectory of her life passing forward into the Great Beyond that awaited all elves upon their calling. She even returned to her family, finding welcome as the prodigal daughter returned - even finding some measure of acceptance, as a musician, from her former teachers who seemed interested in the things she had heard, and learned upon her great sojourn. But the road had called.
And that would have been that had she not stopped in Greyharrow. Six days, free room and drinks, and a steady stream of audience. It was familiar. What could possibly go wrong? And then the tower had exploded and now nothing she’d assumed was any longer certain.
"And, that's pretty much me."
BARD! ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ "We bring for thee the finest entertainments, And I am pleased to be your humble servant…"
TYPE ⫻ Bard
MAGIC OR FIGHTING STYLE ⫻
In terms of fighting style, Calaríssë prefers to avoid combat if possible, remaining nimble, out-of-reach, taking opportunities where they come. Using her sword, Isilfang to ward off attackers while bolstering her allies. Despite abhorring violence, if it comes to it, she does not greatly prize an honourable fight and is entirely willing to fight dirty.
Bardic Music Calaríssë’s primary training involves weaving subtle enchantments into her music. Masters can create a variety of effects, but in battle Calaríssë can imbue subtle effects to bolster her allies, or disrupt her enemies.
When Calaríssë performs inspiring songs, her allies may find themselves just a little bit better than they might otherwise be. An enemy might find themselves distracted by her cutting remarks, or goaded into trying to shut up that stupid bard.
Minor Illusion Calaríssë can create a sound or an image of an object within 30ft that lasts for up to 1 minute.
A sound can range in volume from a whisper to a scream. It can be your voice, someone else’s voice, a lion’s roar, a beating of drums, or any other sound you choose. The sound continues unabated throughout the duration, or you can make discrete sounds at different times before the spell ends.
An image can be no larger than a 5-foot cube. The image can’t create sound, light, smell, or any other sensory effect. Physical interaction with the image reveals it to be an illusion, because things can pass through it.
Prestidigitation Calaríssë can create a variety of magical effects within 5ft: An instantaneous, harmless sensory effect, such as a shower of sparks, a puff of wind, faint musical notes, or an odd odor. You instantaneously light or snuff out a candle, a torch, or a small campfire. You instantaneously clean or soil an object no larger than 1 cubic foot. You chill, warm, or flavor up to 1 cubic foot of nonliving material for 1 hour. You make a color, a small mark, or a symbol appear on an object or a surface for 1 hour. You create a nonmagical trinket or an illusory image that can fit in your hand and that lasts until the end of your next turn. If you cast this spell multiple times, you can have up to three of its non-instantaneous effects active at a time, and you can dismiss such an effect as an action.
COLLEGE ⫻ Calaríssë studied her craft primarily at the Coa i Quingo, the very prestigious musical guild of the Valarínë elves, studying directly under the venerated Master Curufinwë Feanor. The elven music guild focusses greatly on emphasizing a musician’s core skills of performance and imbuing them with subtle enchantment effects. Of course, before being ejected from the guild for, more or less, refusing to adhere to the strictures of elven musical tradition it was Curufinwë who commented that she seemed spiteful of her gifts, eschewing beauty for ugliness describing her style as Lairëcúma - ‘the song mocker’ performing intentionally in ways meant to undermine rather than uplift.
CURRENT WEAPONS/TOMES/STAFFS ⫻ Dagger. Rapier wit. Also a rapier.
TRAINING ⫻ Calaríssë was taught both under her Guild and by her family according to high elven traditions, emphasizing things like languages - needlework for highborn ladies - as well as certain martial skills. These were never a great priority for Calaríssë but she was forced to train to high elven ‘minimum standards’. As such she’s proficient in mounted riding along with use of both sword and bow.
LIMITS ⫻ To use her bardic music ability, Calaríssë has to actually be able to come up with a song, on the fly. If she (or I) can’t, then obviously there’s no music or effect. Obviously it doesn’t work if she can’t speak or those targeted can’t hear her either. She also has to maintain concentration on what she’s performing - not always easy while in battle.
WEAKNESSES ⫻ Bardic Music: Calaríssë must be consistent during her performance, otherwise she runs the risk of the opposite effect happening. If she misses a note, plays out of tune, or has an otherwise lackluster performance, her allies may feel sluggish, her enemies may be invigorated, and she may become the target of capture, as her enemies wish to keep her around for her continued performance.
Ardashir smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "There are," he agreed simply. But though he spoke to Hagen, his gaze did not rest on the knight. Arda was watching another man: a powerful man in plain wool, seated at the bar of the inn. He was scarred of face and limb, and his hand rested on the hilt of a long dagger, and his hard-eyed glare was fixed on Markiel. The man drained his tankard of ale, but that ferocious glare never faltered.
Ardashir cast a warning glance at Aderynel and turned in his seat, moving his legs out from under the table so that he would be able to rise swiftly if necessary. His wide, open green gaze took the stranger in from head to toe. His left hand rested on the long hilt of the scimitar at his side. Like the stranger, he did not grasp his weapon's hilt; but his thumb stroked the pommel - a lion's head of gold, with sapphire eyes - in exactly the same way the stranger stroked his dagger's bindings. A message: I see you.
But with his right hand, Ardashir reached for the bottle of wine he had bought, and poured a fresh cup. This he raised toward the stranger. "If you are going to grace us with your attention, friend," Arda called, "then the least you can do is favor us with your presence as well." The Farseeker raised his dark eyebrows. "Your cup is empty. Will you not drink with us?"
Before the man could answer, a dwarf and yet another Sylph pressed up to the table, between Arda and Aderynel. Literally tugging on Aderynel's sleeve, the dwarf announced that she had overheard the group talking, and the Sylph asked whether anyone had heard of "something said to have been built" up in the Grey Mountains, "long time ago."
"At this rate," Arda remarked drily and to no one in particular, "I'd say that just about all of Ealdormuda seems to have heard of something along those lines." But his gaze did not leave the burly stranger at the bar, and his hands remained where they were: one offering a cup of wine, and the other ready on the hilt of his scimitar.
Neither the crush of new arrivals shovelling themselves into the restive locus people at the center of the tavern even registered in the man's face. Neither sound nor movement drew any hint of distraction from his eyes: his focus was absolute. Even Ardashir, returning the man's attention in kind, drew nothing.
The noble himself was oblivious.
The stranger appeared a man absorbed in some other world. As though he were not staring at Markiel, but through him, gazing off into into some distant realm of dream, or memory but not here.
When Ardashir finally spoke, there was at first no hint of acknowledgement though it was improbable the man did not hear him even over the din of so many speaking at once. As Ardashir moved, offered the drink, his eyes at last - briefly - flicked in Ardashir's direction, then back to Markiel. The first ghost of an emotion on his face to be seen was a flit of irritation at the interruption.
The man's eyes narrowed. His hand slowly coiled about the leather grip of the dagger. His face might've been taken for that of a man intent on cold-blooded murder, but the grip on his dagger was not that of a man drawing steel. It looked more the grasp of a drowning swimmer - white-knuckled and trembling - clinging to the weapon as though the feel of the worn leather was last thread holding him to the world.
Then, some movement of Ardashir's finally attracted his attention and whatever memory or demon had seized the man faded away like the passing of a dark cloud. His eyes cleared. His hand slowly fell away from the dagger's hilt. The tension in his muscled shoulders melted away and his eyes met Ardashir's.
There was recognition there, of what Ardashir must have seen, but no embarrassment, no warmth nor contrition.
The stranger's eyes noted Ardashir's hand on the scimitar as he rose from his seat, a slight sway to the way he unfolded his full physique from rickety bar stool. Nothing in his expression changed but the movement of his hand well away from his dagger appeared a deliberate peace offering. "Drink? Da." The man gave a brief nod. "I drink with you."
The man's Arventian was rough and rumbling and heavily accented in the lilting intonation a knowledgeable man might mark for a northern jugkraian accent. The man looked down at the offered wine Ardashir offered briefly, then craned his head to the barkeeper and pointedly asked the tavern keeper to refill the tankard from the casque: where he could see it. He shovelled an extra coin onto the bar for the trouble. The tavern-keeper set out the refilled mug and the man raised it in Ardashir's direction.
"I am Leofric Aelwinson." There was a slight hesitation to the man's introduction, his tone shifting from the expected Jugkraian form into something more like Ealdamundi, though the words seemed cumbersome and not without effort on Leofric's part.
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