Inspired by a secret muse, a humble man sketches heroes and battles for the folk of the Market Quarter.
Neither here nor there, the City of Shadows borders on the twilight of existance…
Yeah yeah, I know the Duke. Of course I do. P. Donkey Donque travels in some high circles, jester.
A villain with a taste for living art.
Send in the clowns.
A dashing Bard, who also happens to be a shared drug experience.
Failure. For most, it is an occasional streak of bad luck to be suffered. For others… well, it’s a living.
A harper is a harper no matter where they are.
Some cities have more spirit than others.
Gregory Merchant is an art dealer in Daggersford. He is well-versed in art, history, and art history, but rarely brings these subjects up other than in context of a sale. His sales technique is very low-pressure, and he is content to let people browse his shop. There are a few small statues available, but the shop focuses on paintings of various sizes, values, and significance. He seems perpetually distracted. Is it a ruse?
A result of the experiments of the world’s first bioengineer, as manifested by a needle and thread and a whole lot of blotting paper.
A lot of travelling singers have a flame or incessant longing in their heart.This woman’s heart holds something more as well.
How much life can the stroke of a brush place to a canvas? Perhaps art does imitate life, the Artist knows. The Artist is usually looking for new models.
A lovable old traveller with a voice that can make stories come alive.
A melancholy bard, with good reason.
Molk Peruda is encountered by the PCs on the second day of their journey west from the salt-choked port of Quyn, as they prepare to explore the jungle.
He appears a gaunt, wolfish man, with matted, dark hair that sprouts from his head in dreadlocks, contrasting with his well-oiled, blue-black, conical beard. His eyes are hidden ebon shards beneath thick arching brows, his nose, crooked, long, and reminiscent of a snout. His mouth is a thin, dark line, his teeth unseen even when he parts his lips to speak.
His skin is the color of tallow, surprising perhaps for a renowned jungle guide, yet his natural helm of dreads and the jungle's canopy keeps the sun from bronzing his originally pale flesh. On his back are tattooed three women from the waist up, side-by-side, each resembling the other but of different ages. This is a tattoo of Molk's mother, sister, and daughter. His wife (don't bring her up to him!) was killed by marauding Qullan years ago, and appears as her own tattoo on his broad but sunken chest.
His feet shockingly are turned around 180 degrees at the ankle, facing towards his back! A curse from a pernicious shaman. Molk walks feet backwards (he's used to it) and walks backwards, forwards. This can be very disconcerting and outright creepy to the PCs as he guides them through the rainforest.
Slung from his back is an archer's quarrel of treated wood carved to resemble a stalking leopard, in his hand a re-curved composite bow of horn and sinew, with a pair of vivid, red eyes, each one painted on the opposite side of the hand-grip. In a leather sheath at his belt, hangs a falchion, its pommel adorned with a curved bird's head and beak.