Dalme is one of the various travelling Tinkers plying their trade in the villages along the back roads. One can hear his cart from a arrow shot away, clanking and clinking, his wares: pans, pots, utensils, plow shares, cow bells, and other metal bits, banging against the side of his cart. The rest of his goods are kept inside his house cart (mugs, plates, fabric, ribbon, and other things) along with his anvil and fire bellows. He tells news, shares jokes, and does a bit of trading. He is everything a tinker is expected to be…. and unfortunately much more.
Life as a street urchin is a pathetic existence indeed - and Me’fiante has it worse than most. In a back-alley underworld filled with trickery and subversion, the ability to sense lies is often more of a curse than a blessing.
When one has missed the chance for adventure, one finds it very difficult to get along with one’s heroic peers. Phineas Rowcome, the renowned Halfling scholar, nurses a deep jealousy for those whose lives are filled with excitement…
Dimble Stumpwater is this worlds last best hope for expedient library book returns
With her gray hair in a grandmotherly bun, and wont to wear grey dresses with lace and floral brocade, few would suspect the kindly Mistress of the bakery and part time apothecary of being a child of dark magic…
A pale comparison of a former man. Obviously someone who has a terrible past.
Do you know what this means? asked the healer, staring earnestly at the boy from beneath his bushy white eyebrows.
Xander shook his head, his lip trembling.
The healer’s felt a rush of sympathy for the child. he reminded him of Shalleah somehow. 13 years was such a young age to die.
“You have but three months left.” he said slowly and softly. Each word rang solitarily through the room, and though they were whispered they had more impact then anything the young boy had ever heard before.
A young man, disowned by his family, traveling the world in an attempt to redeem himself with his musical talent and his prowess with a sword.
“The abominations that walk this earth when they should lie quiet in their graves must be destroyed, and I am he who shall do this! So it sayeth in the Book of Fury!”
Charles Champagne is most likely to be encountered as an invaluable friend to the heroes, or at the worst a charming diversion. After all he is essentially a force for good, with one very disturbing exception…
The author of many stories, he is blessed by the gods without even knowing it. His stories have more power than most others….
A mysterious prophet who speaks in riddles.
“Everybody knows that!” -Mantra of knowitalls everywhere.
Everybody must be the wisest person in all of Creation, because he seems to know everything!
Known throughout the land for his miracle elixir. Worshipped by the poor, envied by the rich, the miracles follow him as he travels, or so he would have everyone believe.
A disembodied hand enthralled by an evil wizard to fetch books for him.
Yes, it’s the wise old man you alway knew you’d meet.
A less-traditional NPC, a magical creature, formerly a tree. Might function as a druid or hermit.
A mighty tree it was, giving shelter to wanderers and many birds, until one night two dragons battled on the sky, right over him. Their motives are unknown, but the loser fell to his death on the tree, and that, broken and burned with the acidic blood of one and the fiery breath of other become what it is now.
A shaman like man appears out of nowhere and asks if any of the PCs have ever heard of him.
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...