Peterus Winecrafter is a Thirdman, "He who knows People". He finds people work, arranges meetings between people, and can make other arrangements for you.
All the good ones break off from the the guild.
“That was the second lynching this month. And last week they haven beaten some old sod that could barely crawl home.”
“Well, he was a drinker and bad to his wife, sir. It is really hard work they do, and not for much pay. But sir, we are doing wonderfully, all is going as planned and better!”
“Yes, the cathedral could be built months before expected, if we can keep up this speed. You are all doing great work, I’ll be sure to inform the Patriarch. Just take care no accidents happen anymore.”
Most established villages have their neighborhood hermit and Enders is no exception. If only the folks of Enders knew who they harbored, it may have been a very different story for old Noam.
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.
She wanted a Genii as her magical slave, but when the spell went wrong, she ended up becoming one herself…
This bundle of beautiful sparkling delight conceals a far darker side…
An evil priest with a believable character. His descent into evil is subtle, not “I’m gonna go worship this god of death and destruction!”
Human in a previous existence,one thing about this former Captain’s life has been left unchanged by its brush with the Black Tide.
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…
Looking for a charm to ward off evil spirits or the claw of a marsh dragon?
Need some willow bark for your headaches or a potion to cure a lack of virility?
Got a weird looking ring and you don’t know what it is?
Dural could be your man.
An old, wise and learned wizard, he tends to forget more about the world than most people have learned, most often the most basic things.
A socially inept and ugly human monk, with a smattering of arcane skills, on a quest of vengeance to find his mentor’s killers.
A burned and withered female elven ranger, with a hatred of giants, a love for animals, and a desire to seek out and thank the man who saved her life and disappeared just as quickly.
Raven man is half raven an half man. He has bird feet and wings.
Larkin thought that she was just like the other girls in her village. Her mother was a local crofter, but her father was an incredibly wealthy man who was seldom around but cared very deeply for her mother. Now her mother has passed away, her father hasnt come back, and things are starting to happen to her, things that are neither natural or explainable…
Patrick Greenbottle was once a normal halfling with a love of potions. Now he has been transformed into something much more.
Madness is in everyone but is only shone through the ones who expose it and hidden by those who fear it- Demitri
All of his life Fflam lived in the shadows of greater and more terrible demons than himself. One day he would show them all…
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.