The gnome hefts the giant tome situated on his back and then pushes his round spectacles up his protruding nose. He rubs the tip of his nose, knowing that he should really stop studying with his face so close to the books. The skin would sometimes rub off the tip during long hours of recording and study. Specks were moving on down the road, and he produces a spyglass from a loop on his hip. Through the lens, he spots a group of adventurers. He grins from ear-to-ear and gives a hoot, almost losing his balance due to the weight of the book on his back.
"These fellows look like they have purpose! It's time to find out what they're up to!"
The Crystal Scholar is a feminine Quasi-Soul with a passion for knowledge.
Forewords to the supplement I'm working on: Teleleli. Or, The City Never Dies; It Just Smells That Way.
Your Ultimate Source for all your Ooze Problems!
"To truly be wise, one must learn from all life."
(A sage and wise man for any oriental fantasy or modern day campaign)
An unsavoury character, yet immensely useful to know if you are in need of urgent medical attention, but want to avoid the eyes of the authorities….
Aher Wolfhound, called Wolfhound The Historian, a man crushed by the weight of the world’s cruelty
"Whatcha doin? What for? How you gonna do it? I just wanna know. I wonder about a lot of things. Don’t you wonder about stuff? You do? I can help you, if you want me to. That way we can both know."
In a shadowed alley near Bassage Market, the secretive master of the city's "resurrection men" studies mysteries of life and death.
This is fascinating. Scary, really scary, but fascinating.
Before there was the National Enquirer, there was Kaboo.
The Magistrate has something of a reputation for Solomonic wisdom and the determining of past events. While the magistrate is not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination, his reputation stems from his assistant rather than his innate abilities. Grisus is that assistant.
Fanboy turned expert, Toby is a unlikely contact, but one you want to have.
Two cynical and witty old pentioners watching the world go by and commenting on it.
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…
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.
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.
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman