The young priest surveyed the daunting odds that faced his little band.  Drawing his black iron mace, his voice rang out.  “Truly, it has been said that one with a Pure Heart, striving for a goal that is Noble and Just, cannot fail of his purpose!  Onward for Truth and Justice!”

A Stalwart Young Priest
A young man of only 18 summers, Aethelstan was fostered out in his youth to be raised among the warlike Order of Saint Senren.  Living among the Senrenite Order, he grew straight and tall, well muscled and lean.  He wears his blonde hair cut short and is invariably clean shaven and fastidiously neat and clean. 

The Shaping of a Senrenite
Aethelstan’s pious father stood proudly at the front of the chapel on the day his son took the vows of the priesthood among the order that had fostered him.  A younger son, the young man had been fostered among the warlike monks before his eighth birthday and had applied himself studiously to learn the ways of the puissant men that surrounded him; it never occurred to him to consider anything else.

In the cloistered abbey, the young acolyte learned the secrets of herbalism, the history and doctrines of the order, the philosophies of justice and the ways of war.  He became a trained fighter, as comfortable on a warhorse’s back as he was wielding the chiurgeon’s needle.   As he grew, he realized that he was called not only to defend the righteous, but also to study the mystical truths that his faith revealed.  He began to have occasional visions, where his patron saint would try to guide the steps of the unworldly acolyte.

Facing the World
Aethelstan has been called to the path of the pilgrim, wandering the world to uphold truth, justice and the faith of Andur.

Raised much of his life among the pure and puissant members of the Order of St. Senren, Aethelstan is rather naive about the ways of the world.  He believes one thing wholeheartedly:  When a man is focused with all his heart on a worthy goal, keeping himself pure and faithful, he cannot be stopped. 

As can be surmised, Aethelstan has a lot to learn.  While he is skilled as a healer and is a trained combatant, he has seen very little of actual battle and the carnage that accompanies it.  He tries to act as a leader, but lacks the experience or the steady nerve that the role requires.   In combat, he is prone to hysterical outbursts, as he barely contains his panic.

Aethelstan also finds one other thing difficult to deal with:  While he is normally quite articulate, he has a difficult time speaking with women without stammering or making a fool of himself.  In the presence of an attractive woman, even making simple conversation can be a challenge to the shy cleric.  At times like those, he becomes acutely aware of his vow of celibacy…

The Visions of St. Senren
“In town, I was granted a vision of the wise and noble Saint Senren, attired as a Soldier of the Lord of Law.  The Blessed Saint warned me not to act rashly and reminded me that justice cannot be rushed.  I suggest that we press on carefully, letting those most skilled in stealth guide our steps.  We may thus ensure that we remain the hunters, rather than the hunted!”

Tempering his inexperience, the naïve young priest has occasional visions of Senren, his patron saint, visions where the saint, appearing as a grizzled soldier, advises against rash action and youthful folly.  These sendings lend him a moral certainty that his companions often find frustrating.  With the guidance of St. Senren, Aethelstan almost becomes a different person; he is able to remain calm and approaches danger calmly, confident that he will overcome any foe.

Aethelstan’s Equipment
Over his woolen robes, Aethelstan wears a stout jack of leather and horn and a carefully polished bascinet.  His jack, handed down from an elder brother of the order, is studded with the tokens of numerous pilgrimages and is easily recognized as the armor of an auxiliary of the Senrenite Order.  He wields a mace known as “The Justice of Andur”, a massive weapon of dark iron.  The Knights of the Order tend to favor the two-handed weapons known as “Swords of War”, but Aethelstan inadvertently fed his to an attacking monstrosity; he dreads the day when he will have to explain the loss to the Abbot. 

Aethelstan carries a battered and patched satchel, in which he keeps any equipment that he thinks he will need.  He tries to plan carefully when choosing his gear, but has a tendency to forget a few items he might need, such as food or a warm cloak when traveling.

Appearance:

Raised on meagre peasant food, Aerex has a lithe build and stunted growth, 5’4” in height.  The street life has also given him agility, however, and there is lean muscle under his fair skin.  His full head of close-cropped, coal colored hair is worn in a utilitarian style, combed straight back.  His face is pleasant, with bright azure eyes and an aquiline nose.  A small mole is noticible on his chin.  His stint in the city guard afforded him enough money for decent equipment.  He still wears his investigator’s uniform, a dun-colored cotton number with brass buttons on the jacket.  A standard-issue rapier is scabbarded at his wide leather belt, and a dagger is hidden in his high boots.  He wears a wide-brimmed floppy hat, far out of style but still his favorite garment.  A small bone pendant hangs from his neck by a thin leather string, a gift from his mother.

Background/History:

Born in the slums of the capitol city, Aerex was rare in that he shied away from the thieving and criminal ways of his peers.  Instead, young Aerex liked to watch, anything and everything.  He observed traders lying to and short changing their customers at market, he spied his peers cut the pursestrings from richer folk in the streets, he watched the nobles eloquently insult each other in their diplomatic tongue.  He soaked up all this information like a sponge.  One day, a gruesome murder of a priest took place in the alleys near his home, attracting the attention of the city investigators.  The constabulary rounded up the local peasantry for interrogation, to little avail.  No one saw the assassination take place and no one could think of a motive for killing the kindly old cleric.  Aerex, however, was dedicated to finding out who did the deed.  Though he was repetedly dismissed and sent home, he always kept near the chief investigators, listening secretly and appearing before them to give out some clue he discerned from the situation.  And indeed, the teenage Aerex’s tips and sleuthing led to the arrest of the criminal, who confessed in interrogation.  The peasants lauded the boy as a local hero, and the city investigators spoke highly of him to the captain of the guard.  The captain later summoned the boy to his office and asked him to enter the guard academy, an exception for one so young.  Aerex eagerly joined, to the chagrin of some criminal elements in his family.  Inspector Matare led many high profile cases, earning him a Badge of Honour from the local duke.  One particular case, however, showed corruption among the city guard and the mayoral staff.  Naievely, Aerex showed his findings to the captain of the guard, who immidiately dismissed him from the job and ordered him to stay away from any further investigations.  Distraught, Aerex left the capitol city for a local adventurer’s town.  Armed with police training and investigative skills, he hopes to make himself useful to band of heroes and find reward in his job once again.

Roleplaying Notes:

Class: Rogue
Attributes
Str: 8
Dex: 15
Con: 11
Int: 15
Wis: 12
Cha: 12

Weapon Skills
-Rapier
-Short bow
-Dagger

Other Skills
-Gather Information
-Hide
-Intimidate
-Search
-Bluff
-Move Silently

Appearance:

Kadarin is a rather non-descript young man of 20 years.  He is tall, slightly underweight and has the pallor of one who has spent too much time in front of books and out of the sun.  Generally quiet and unimposing, this is further reinforced by the drab grey robe he wears.  His bear head sports a crown of generally disheveled black hair, and grey blue eyes look out from under the disordered bangs.

Background:

Magecraft was not the vocation those who knew Kadarin would have expected him to follow. Born of a poor family, he spent much time on the streets, supplementing his family’s mean income however he could manage.  Blessed by quick hands and an even quicker wit,he taught learned slight of hand, and some other lessons, with some help from Ashala, an entertainer, and fellow street-rat. 

Raiding the garbage pits outside various businesses, he managed to assemble a lab, of sorts, in his parent’s root-cellar. There he performed many ‘experiments’ whose end product was generally dead rats and insects, though one incident left a stench in the cellar that lasted for days..

Real magic, Kadarin thought, was a door closed to him. 

Amused by his nephew’s skills, Kadarin’s uncle, a local ‘businessman’ with many links to organized crime, sponsored Kadarin into true magic studies.  With his uncle as a patron, he quickly excelled in his training.  He did, however, come out with a rather large debt with his Uncle.  When asked, his uncle simply said "Don’t worry, when the time comes, I’m sure you’ll pay me back.  We have plans."  He would not elaborate further, and Kadarin did not press the matter.

Now Kadarin is obsessed with settling accounts with his uncle, on his own terms.  He fears that the payment will cost him more than gold, as he knows his uncle is not a good man.  Kadarin wants to accumulate enough gold to cancel his debt before his uncle names his price….

Appearance
Moruz is a true image of a typical Ouzquin Dremorix. Standing at 5"10’, his skin is tanned and rough from a life under the sun. His frame is fairly thin, although it is heavily padded by muscle, and he has black eyes and hair. He wears a treated leather outfit, inset with multitudes of glass beads and baubles, shining various colours in different directions. Atop his head rests a circlet of silver, and inset in the center of the circlet is a small glass orb, about the shape of a chicken egg, but half the size. On this orb is an intrinsic pattern inlaid around the image of a black desert scorpion. The loving touch and detail on this orb is phenominal, and it is obvious that it would be worth a hefty sum of money. Usually slung on his back is a hand-crafted Ouzala, about 7"7’ in length and scuffs and marks suggesting it has been well used.

History/Background
A devout follower of the god Axtrami from birth, Moruz grew up to follow the ways of his people, the Ouzquin Dremorix. At the age of seventeen, he learned the way of war and fighting; studying diligently how to both survive and kill using the traditional weapons of his people. After fifteen glorious years in the Ouzquin Army, Moruz felt an urge to end this life of warefare, and to travel. Saying a fond farewell to his society, he left the desert, leaving behind his reputation and earned honor to instead travel the lands, learning of other cultures and earning a living by sharing both his trade of glass-making and himself as a mercenary.

Special Equipment
Moruz carries with him a 7-foot long Spear-Ouzala, the most common weapon of the Ouzquin Dremorix. This weapon has been hand-crafted by the warrior, and shows sign of much use. Additionally, he carries a typical Zunouza - a dagger-like weapon with several spirals of sharp-tipped glass forming the ‘blade’. Furthermore, Moruz wears a treated leather-hide armor, studded with beads and glass trinkets which shine reflectively in every which way.

On top of these combat items, Moruz also carries on his person two-dozen extra teeth for his Ouzala, and a decent sized container of a wax-like substance derived from the local plants of his home desert, used to treat the wood of his Ouzala and keep it in good condition. These are stashed in a leather roll-case.

Roleplaying Notes
Attributes
Str - 16
Dex - 18
Con - 14
int - 10
wis - 10
cha - 6

Saving Throws
Paralyz./Poison/Death Magic: 14
Petrif./Poly: 15
rod, staff, wand: 16
Breath Weapon: 17
Spell: 17

Weapon Skills
Ouzala x 3
Zunouza x 1

Other Skills
Survival
Endurance
Armorer
Horseriding
Surefooted

HP - 8/9
AC - 7
THAC0 - ?
Current XP - 355
For Next level - 2,000

Appearance
Vee is average built, with shoulder length brown hair he wears in a profusion of small braids, he has a dark skin complexion from spending alot of time outdoors at dig sites. Most would describe him as quite charismatic, or even ‘man pretty’. He has an easy smile and a relaxed air about him until he gets his hands on something really old, then he becomes intense and focused. He has a csual air about him, and is generous with coin, especially with the fairer sex and gives them preferential treatment.

History/Background
Born and raised on the edge of Nimz, Vee has been living side by side with elements of the K’tonian legacy all of his life. He studied under a scholarship to become a Legacy Researcher at the Clockwork University, or to even enter the ranks of the Esteemed Artificers. He learned the lore quickly, and could read and write K’tonian fluently despite the fact that no one alive can speak it, himself included. Unfortunately, he had a bad habit of getting himself into trouble through excessive merriment. He had several outstanding debts at several taverns, as well as getting into a number of romantic trysts that almost landed him in a duel.

Eventually his sponsor withdrew support and Vee dropped out of the school and was left with no appreciable job skills but a head full of K’tonian knowledge. He turned this into a career in helping others appraise K’tonian relics that were being found in places of then Nimz. He donned a familiar looking slouch hat and took the road to find his fortune where he may. Maybe someday he will prove himself to the stodgy Artificers, and show them what they lost. Until then he works to recover, legally or otherwise, pieces of the legacy, doing translation work and the like for anyone willing to compensate him.

Special Equipment
Vee is a fresh member of the glorious Adventurers-upon-Return and has yet to make a name for himself. As such his armor is limited to a plain leather vest, and he is armed with a 16 foot leather whip, a cocking style Crossbow (it has a lever cocking action like a repeating rifle rather than a hand crank) and several daggers for throwing.

Roleplaying Notes
Attributes
Str - 11
Dex - 15
Con - 10
Int - 14
Wis - 10
Cha - 17

Saving Throws
Paralyz./Poison/Death Magic: 13
Petrif./Poly: 12
rod, staff, wand: 14
Breath Weapon: 16
Spell: 15

Weapon Skillz
Crossbow
Dagger
Whip

Other Skills
Lore/K’ton Legacy
Ancient Language/K’tonian
Appraisal
Bluff
Acrobatics
Carousing

HP - 8
AC - 7
THAC0 - 20
Current XP - 3195
For Next level - ?

The massive warrior stood, hunched over the bargaining table of the cutthroat that had hoped to hire him, and spoke slowly and haltingly in the accented dialect of the Hill People.  “You think Vorodon big, and Vorodon simple, so make Vorodon do you will.  You lie to Vorodon; you lie to self, and now you die!”

A Big Fellow, Indeed
A huge, heavily muscled hulk, Vorodon easily weighs over 24 stone and looms nearly eight feet tall.  If he ever straightened from his stooping, shambling posture, he might be even taller, but years of trying to fit into chambers sized for mere humans has left him habitually bent over.

At a glance, anyone can see that Vorodon is not human.  His skin is a pale grey, shot with purplish varicosities and discolorations.  His eyes are a striking golden hue, but few notice that, as his jagged teeth and protruding fangs invariably catch the eye first.  He habitually wears his unruly mop of lank black hair gathered into a clumsy pony tail.

Those who have traveled the wild extensively will promptly recognize these features, for Vorodon bears the blood of the Volgotoi people in his veins.  Those less familiar with the wild lands on the edges of civilization may very well still recognize these features, but only by the name the city folk use for those bearing the mark of the Volgotoi: “Half-Ogres”.

Scion of the Ogre
Vorodon is a rare creature indeed.  He hails originally from the village of Cottar’s Bale, a small hamlet hidden in the rugged badlands well beyond the borders of the civilized kingdoms.  The people of this isolated settlement make a meager living harvesting the stunted trees of the river valleys and mining the surrounding hills.  There is little there to interest outsiders and they prefer it that way.  They make their own rules and care little for niceties. 

Many years before, the villagers suffered from the depredations of bandits, relentless killers that infested the nearby hills.  In a devil’s bargain, the village’s headman made alliance with Gorye, a renowned warrior of the notorious Volgotoi.  He agreed to annihilate the predatory brigands that preyed on the villagers.

Part of the price demanded by the gigantic warrior was a wife from the village folk.  An ill-favored maiden was selected for this dubious honor and went with the massive creature to dwell with him.  In the fullness of time, she bore him a son, Vorodon.  Although the folk of the region pitied her, she was not really unhappy once she grew accustomed to the alien ways of her mate; she may never have grown to love her strange husband, but in that harsh land, love was a luxury that few could afford.  She raised her half-human son as best she could, and that was enough for her.

Gorye taught his son the arts of battle, pushing him to master the warrior ways of his lineage.  The Volgotoi are not a wise people, and have no pretensions of being such.  They value simple ways and that is what Vorodon was taught.  He was not bright, but he learned to sense deceit and to despise it.  Above all, he learned to keep his word, but to offer it seldom.

Heirlooms of a Warrior Line
Vorodon’s sire gave him several ancient pieces of equipment when he set out to make his name in the hostile lands of men; legacies of his father’s line, these antiques have been handed down though several generations of bloodthirsty ancestors.

The most valuable item was an antique harness that’s cumbersome even on Vorodon’s massive frame.  Once worn by a Volgotoi ancestor of unusually small stature, this armor is made of numerous browned iron plates joined together by riveted links of soft iron, similar to the construction of a Persian mirror armor harness.  The browned plates are each engraved with decorative patterns of fighting earth serpents, decorated with flaking fragments of enamel in gold and green.

His face is obscured by a solid helm of similar construction, a battered relic with two ram’s horns hanging down along each side and a gilt plume holder at the brow.  A tube in his pack holds several rare plumes of poisonous green, as the helm’s plumes tend to break and dangle awkwardly in only a few minutes of use.

The harness is completed by a pair of browned-iron greaves and vambraces, apparently shaped by the same artisan. 

At his hip, a quiver holds the heavy darts that Vorodon prefers as weapons:  3’ long shafts, tipped with bright steel, that he hurls with deadly force.  Each of the darts is fletched with dark leather, painted with runes of doom and despair.

A battered war axe is slung alongside the darts, the wear of long hours of practice showing on its chipped and weathered grip.

Dealing With Vorodon
Vorodon may appear to be just another big, dumb warrior.  Anyone who tries to take advantage of his apparent stupidity, however, will discover that he has an uncanny ability to tell when he is being lied to.  He’s not very smart, and he knows that others will often try to take advantage of him because of that.  He is not very patient with that sort of person.

Vorodon is obsessively honorable, but his code of honor is a warped amalgam of human and Volgotoi honor.  For instance, Vorodon hates to lie:  He was raised with the idea that only women deceive others.  When he’s in one of the human kingdoms, he will follow the laws there, not because he values those laws at all, but because he’s afraid he would be forced to lie if he were questioned.  He keeps his word and expects those around him to keep theirs as well; conversely, he expects women to habitually lie and trusts nothing they say.  He doesn’t resent them for this; to him, that is just the way females think.

Vorodon sees nothing wrong with cooking and eating a downed enemy, but he knows that such is sternly forbidden in the kingdoms of men.  He is likely to take portions of his fallen foes and salt them down so that they will keep until he is again in the wilds, where he can contentedly honor them by consuming their remains.