Category Archives: Character Backgrounds

Snagsby, cleric of Nocticula, The Redeemer Queen

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Snagsby woke with a start and frantically looked about him. He was in his same cot, in his same lean-to shed, in his same soul sucking mining town. He was still safe. Moonlight filtered in through the cracks around the door as he settled his mind from the nightmare that had awoken him.

It was the same dream/not-dream that he had relived all too often.

He was back in the cell, chained for the night to the other dozen or so captives that slaved away at their master’s work house during the day. Snagsby had been born into slavery, or so he was told, and as there was nobody to tell him different he believed it. And while it was the only life he had ever known he had always believed that freedom under any condition was better than this. But there was no hope of escape. No hope of betterment. No hope at all. He would die here worked to death as so many others had already done before him.

But this night there was a distant dull boom that shook the floor. He heard shouts of alarm from the watchmen and guards that quickly turned to pathetic mewling. The door to the cell suddenly flung open, banging so violently against the stone wall that it splintered to flinders.

She stood there in the doorway, silhouetted by the stairwell’s feeble lamp. Black hair waving madly in the air like a medusa’s snakes. The figure stepped into the chamber and the ceiling began to glow, but the stronger light did little to comfort the slaves trapped within. She looked grim and wielded a vicious looking flail who’s head glowed in the form of a hideous face, grinning with delight at having smashed open the door.

She snapped, “Free them!” and half a dozen mice with glowing eyes crawled down from her robes and scurried across the captives’ chains, which turned to rust as the spectral rodents bit them.

“Pookie will lead you safely out of the city, but from there you are on your own. Flee this place. Take anything of use you find on the way and then run as far and fast as you can.”

She left with her entourage of mice, but in her wake another mouse with eyes like sparkling emeralds waited. The slaves were confused and hesitated but the mouse chittered something soothing and a calmness flowed over Snagsby and his cell mates. They swiftly rose to their feet and followed the mouse, which despite its diminutive size, had no trouble keeping ahead.

Out into the courtyard the master and his foremen lay on the cobbles locked in a fierce embrace, biting and gnashing at one another as foam dribbled from their mouths. Bags and chests of valuables and useful items were helpfully strewn about and the mouse paused. Snagsby suddenly realized it wanted the slaves to take what they could use, and he helped himself to gear and coin and his fellow slaves quickly followed suit. After a few minutes the mouse continued on and the slaves (“Ex-slaves,” Snagsby thought) followed.

They crept along the streets of the Cavalcade district and Snagsby saw gouts of flame from above the roof tops and heard distant shouts from an adjacent district. This gave him some comfort because it meant the bulk of the city guard was occupied elsewhere. They moved toward the great southern gate, but the way was blocked. Kaer Maga had long prepared for a slave uprising and each district had its own posting of guards. A dozen armed men stood blocking the way and behind them a thin evil looking man was gesturing towards them, his hands glowing with conjured magic.

The mouse squeaked in alarm. Another mouse appeared by her side. Not a calm and comforting figure but an angry one with eyes that glowed like fire-garnets. It made a sound Snagsby found unbearable and he and his companions fell to the ground and covered their ears as It appeared.

The thing defied description and indeed may have had no actual shape, but merely a presence of corruption, dread and despair. When he dared look up there was little left of the guards but bodily fluids oozing between sets of weapons and armor. The head of the spell caster was suspended in the center of a shimmering void, silently mouthing screams. Snagsby shuddered and cowed his head. The man next to him retched violently.

The calming mouse then ran among them and with a soft touch of its paw each of the escapees stood and haltingly half walked and half ran through the gate. Snagsby ran madly into the night, leaving the thing, the mice, and the crazy woman who had set them all free behind.

Snagsby sighed and pulled the blanket up to keep off the early morning chill. He should feel grateful for his freedom, he knew, but the repeated nightmare was a steep price to pay. He was sure parts of it were real but was equally sure other parts were a product of his subconscious. They had to be.

Diamond Lake wasn’t the sort of place he had envisioned fleeing to much less living in. “Then why did I end up here of all places?” he wondered.

His thoughts returned to that frantic night and those hectic weeks that followed as he fled for his life. “Or to it,” he told himself, grimly.

There were dozen of slaves running. Crazy, desperate clumps of half orcs, men and a few gnomes, all unexpectedly unchained, outside of their cells and outside of the city with no overseer to order them about. Some dashed about mindlessly, and were undoubtedly caught quickly. The others fled with a purpose, although not necessarily with a plan.

“Join us, brother!” Haldrik shouted. He was the defacto leader of the half orcs chained together each night in Snagby’s cell. But he already knew Haldrik’s plans — he had spoken of them often enough — “If I ever get free from this pit I’m making for Uglin where our kind will be welcome!”

Snagsby wasn’t so sure. Half breeds were considered half breeds from either side of their family tree. He also didn’t fancy their odds of escaping the bounty hunters that would be out by day break. A lot of heavy feet tramping together made tracks that even a blind man could follow.

“Thanks, Haldrik,” he called back, “I already have a place to hide. You and the lads go on and good luck!” The other half orc glared for a moment (not in anger or disappointment: this was just the way he looked when thinking) before giving one last “Hrumph! and leading his band northward.

This was only partly true. Snagsby had heard of the grandeur of Korvosa and wondered what life must be like in such a fine city. He ran south. Until the land just ended at his feet. The Storval Rise! In his haste and excitement he forgot about the sheer cliff face. Maybe north wasn’t such a bad idea.

But he had found a way down. It was only a little risky and he had almost died only once. He trotted along side the road that lead to Korvosa, avoiding lights and encampments on the way. By morning he was tired, but not so tired as to miss the mounted men hunting for something along the road behind him.

Hunting for slaves. Hunting for him. He should have known that the city would send trackers out on all of the main roads leading from Kaer Maga. He turned off the road and slunk across country.

For over a week he slowly made his way through the wilds moving only at night, but with no clear destination in mind. “Just stay free. Hell, die free if it comes to that,” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t a hunter but managed to forage enough to barely survive and to keep moving. He came upon a road heading east and followed it, daring at times to travel during the day when he could beg for scraps.

He liberated some clothing hung on a line at a homestead and later found a discarded rusty knife blade which he sharpened with a stone. Wearing regular clothes, his hair cut and clean shaven Snagsby looked almost human, and unless one looked carefully at his skin tone and slightly oversized canines they could easily mistake him for one. The marked difference in the way he was treated as he walked now in broad daylight down the center of the road convinced him to continue the ruse indefinitely.

The road ended at Diamond Lake, which is to say it ended badly. But it was better than the life he had fled and better than starving in the wilderness or resorting to a life of thievery.

He visited the Church of Iomedae that first day for help, but quickly realized that the priest, Jierian Wierus, was a pompous wind bag and so he left.

Snagsby had some skill at mending things, and had even been selected at times to do more skillful tasks than the brute labor usually demanded from his fellow captives. And so at first he did odd jobs around town for a few copper pieces, staying each night in one Jalek’s rooms, which weren’t much better than his cell in Kaer Maga.

But his handiwork and surprising ability to carry on a pleasant conversation resulted in a permanent job at the Rusty Bucket. “No more fleas… or worse!” he thought happily. He knew this new life was only marginally better than the one he had escaped, but he was not yet ready for a change.

Nearly a year later Snagsby came upon a trio of clerics who had set up camp at the old observatory just out of town. He passed them by with no more notice than he gave Wierus’ clown show when he saw a moon with smirking lips embroidered on the back of one of their cloaks. He suddenly remembered a dark grim figure wielding the image of a moon with a grinning face.

He came closer for a better look and one of the clerics waved him over to the fire. “Come, friend, and join us for dinner.” Snagsby thanked them and seated himself on a stone near the fire and was quiet for a while as the three discussed the events of that day and their plans for the next. They handed him some roasted rabbit on a stick and a wine skin and they ate in companionable silence.

Snagsby eventually worked up his courage and asked in a low voice, “Are you the ones who freed all of those slaves in Kaer Maga last year?”

“We are not,” they replied, “Although you are not the first to ask. It was devotion to a different moon behind that act! We follow the Lady Nocticula, who has been redeemed.”

He was silent for some time but one studied him and said, “But know that exiles are particularly welcome in Her fold.” The idea took hold and Snagsby spoke with the clerics until sunrise.

They remained for more than a month. Each night Snagsby would join them and slowly he took on an understanding of his new friends and their devotion to the Goddess of Midnight.

A broad pale light now filled his room. Day had come and he had work to do. He threw off his blanket, splashed water on his face and went to stoke the fires in the Rusty Bucket.

Zhog, Warpriest of Desna

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Zhog, which is Orcish for Luck, arrived in Diamond Lake at the age of thirteen escorted to town by a cleric of Desna. He was turned over to his Uncle Kullen who put a roof over his head and let him work at the Feral Dog to earn his keep.  Like most half-orcs what he lacked in smarts he made up for in muscle. Growing up in a bar, two skills rubbed off on him; gambling and helping the brewers to make ale. Over the next few years he hung out with the other poor kids who would tolerate him because he could get cast off booze from the bar and brewery. On his 17th birthday the cleric who escorted him to Diamond Lake returned with his “inheritance” which he was instructed to protect from Zhog’s uncle. Zhog used this money to outfit himself as part of his plan to get the hell out of Diamond Lake to fulfill his destiny. After buying provisions, weapons, and armor, Zhog threw a going away party for himself. Unfortunately he wasn’t smart enough to factor in travel costs; leaving him well equipped, but under-funded, Zhog, like others, is looking for one good score to start his new life.

Viore Lucan, mid-20s Cleric of Sarenrae

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Sandy haired Viore Lucan was born in Baslwief, in the foothills of the Fenwall Mountains, which, as the joke goes, is a very beautiful place to be from.  As is the case with many of the those born in that area, however, he has not lived an easy life. While his mother did not tragically die in birth, and his father was not enslaved by an evil Runelord, neither did Viore find fame by discovering a long lost treasure or a new but rare spice.  Instead he simply had a hard childhood.  His mother did take a long time to recover from childbirth, but sadly, that was not all that unusual. Medical care, whether it was for a splinter or for a childbirth, took money that many villagers simply did not have. In addition, physicians were not easy to find without a journey to Korvosa.  “Rub a little dirt on it” was the semi-serious refrain for most injuries.

But why should good health only be available to the wealthy?

His father worked to earn money here and there but in a town of ~400, there weren’t a lot of opportunities.  He was unskilled and tried to avoid the mines, but unskilled and mines were something of a matched set.  His mother, of course, had the kids to take care of, and the family got by as families in small towns do.

Maybe it was due to the general squalor that was Baslwief, but inequity about good health gnawed at him.  It became much more personal when his mother did actually fall seriously ill. In fact, she quickly became too ill to travel, and finding any meaningful care became nothing more than a wish.  So Viore was surprised when, after his mother had been ill for five days,  an older man came to the village. He specifically came to see if he could help fulfil that wish.  Rather than bandages and tinctures, he seemed to have some sort of magic about him. He tried to use his magic to help her, but he shook his head sadly and said she was already closer to his god than even he was. She passed after one more intense, fever-fueled nights, but it gave Viore a chance to talk at greater length with the man while they held their vigil.

Dorin was a priest of Sarenrae. Although Sarenrae had some beautiful temples in Korvosa, Dorin preferred to “take it to the people” as he smilingly said. Sarenrae is more than just temples, tithing, and praying, he said, and Dorin preferred to demonstrate Sarenrae’s glory rather than talk about it. His life now was roaming the foothills and mountains, and doing what service Sarenrae indicated was needed.

Viore was both impressed and inspired. This man embodied Viore’s philosophy.  Spending one’s life bringing solace and life to any person in need of it, persons who might otherwise have neither, struck a chord.

“I want to do that,” said Viore, with surprising conviction.

Dorin looked serious a moment, and warned him that he may be impressed today, but life on the road was not an easy one, especially when compared to life in an opulent temple within a city’s walls. Although Sarenrae’s grace could be found throughout Varisia, the temples tended to attract all the donations. Dorin himself received a small and irregular stipend from Korvosa for his work, it was barely enough to cover basic needs, especially for someone constantly on the move.  But he steadfastly refused to accept contributions that he knew his grateful patients couldn’t afford.

Then he peered closely at Viore and said, “Perhaps, however, Sarenrae has seen fit to give me a new task this day.”

It’s not like he was a child.  Viore was 15 when he left with Dorin to try to do Sarenrae’s work. The first two years were entirely focused on the mundane: bandaging, basic cleanliness, and recognizing which symptoms (and herbs) went with which illnesses. Viore was frustrated that there was no magic involved with these tasks, but Dorin told him that much about healing had to do with knowledge, not godly intervention. “Before I manifest Sarenrae,” he said, “I manifest all I can as simply a wise man.”

Dorin taught him that being a “fellow human” should not limit his efforts to humans. Gnomes, halflings, dwarves (rare though they might be in this area) also needed healing and, often, understanding. Sarenrae’s grace, he told Viore, was blind to their physical appearance and more attuned to their morals and intentions. Even half orcs, of which there were many in the mountains, should not be kept from Sarenrae’s grace if they were in need of it and were willing to receive it.

Viore spent almost 5 more years with Dorin, learning the art of healing as well as the ways of Sarenrae. Due to the highwaymen and brigands that tended to frequent the only road between Korvosa and Magnimar, he acquired a chain shirt and under Dorin’s surprising tutelage, became adept using a scimitar.  This culminated in a brief trip to Korvosa’s magnificent temple for a formal ceremony where Viore was accepted by the priests of Sarenrae, and Viore accepted Sarenrae. He augmented Dorin’s route, effectively providing twice the care for those peoples.    But after two more years of that, he was drawn to the town of Diamond Lake.

A cleric of Iomedae, one Jierian Wierus, had managed to slowly increase his flock over the years. While Viore wasn’t normally one to track local events in the towns he visited, he got word that one of the apparent perks of being in Jierian’s congregation was half price medical care.  However he charged full price or made it unavailable entirely for “unbelievers”. This inequity is what caught Viore’s attention.   Jierian also held some fairly strident ideas about the world and Diamond Lake in particular, but it wasn’t clear if that was due to his relationship with Iomedae or more of a personal quirk.

Nevertheless, Viore felt a need to “settle down” for a bit in Diamond Lake.  While he wasn’t opposed to Jierian’s faith, he was opposed to his philosophy.   He quietly made it known around town that if you needed care, and couldn’t get it elsewhere, Viore was an option.  He charged only what the patient could afford, and for some that was nothing at all.  Grateful residents allowed him to bed down on the floor in their place, and he kept moving around to avoid exposing  any one person to possible retribution.  He imagined that eventually there would be a scene with Jierian, and he wasn’t looking forward to that.  But it was not his intent to start a local holy war and he certainly didn’t want anyone else pulled into it.

One early morning, not too long after he he started his extended stay in Diamond Lake, Viore had just finished helping an injured woman and was stilll wearing his white tunic with a sunburst on it. There was another quick knock at the door. Viore glanced at his host, who shrugged – nobody else was expected.  Viore cautiously opened the door to find a scruffy looking but largish person standing there.  Viore recognized him as a worker from the Rusty Bucket.  The man looked the cleric up and down, smiled, and said, “Huh.   I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you now?” replied Viore evenly.

“I was watching you.  Some woman just came in here with a bad limp and left without it.”

Viore tensed a bit, but said “I don’t consider it to be a secret.”

“Don’t much care one way or the other,” said the man.  “I’m just glad you’re offering an alternative to Julian Weirdo, and wanted to tell you that.  Hey, now that you’re not in a darkened doorway, you look kind of familiar.”

“I might,” said Viore.  “I’ve been in this town probably a dozen times over the last couple of years and have been here this time for the last couple of weeks.”

“Snagsby,” said the man holding out his hand.  “I work at -”

“- the Rusty Bucket.  Yes , I remember.   I’m Viore,” he replied, extending his hand.

Snagsby shook it and glanced at Viore’s tunic, and said, “Nice bullseye on your chest there.”

Viore looked down at the sunburst and smiled slightly.  “Sarenrae isn’t done with me yet.”

“Sun for you, moon for me.  Practically twins!”

“Moon?” mused Viore and it was Viore’s turn to look Snagsby up and down. “Your aura is strong.  Nocticula, perhaps?  Not the first choice of many.”

Snagsby allowed himself a bit of surprise, but responded, “Got it in one.  Look, if you’re busy …”

“Not at all,” replied Viore. “Have a seat.  I’m intrigued.”

Seraphina Amara Kinsey, early 20s human Slayer

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Sera reflected back on her life in Diamond Lake.

The youngest of four children, she had only fleeting memories of her life before her family moved to the small, desolate town. She remembered the excitement she felt for her new home, and the apprehension that followed it as she spent her first few days trying to make sense of her new surroundings.

It didn’t help that mother was particularly anxious about life on the “rough frontier”, as she called it. The money as the new managers of the Able Carter Coaching Inn was too good to pass up, as was the opportunity to build a stable, more secure future for the family. So Sera’s mother sucked it up, and ended up both loving and hating the place that they all grew to call home.

Her mother’s trepidations aside, it actually wasn’t all that bad growing up in the inn, especially since it was one of the few places in Diamond Lake that was not covered in grime, either inside or out. Of course, it also meant there was no shortage of housekeeping and chores to be done. Mom and dad were insistent that running the Inn was a family endeavor, and so the whole family participated whether they wanted to or not. As she got a little older, Sera suspected that some of the chores were really designed to keep her busy in the hotel, and thus not outside around town. Undaunted, she found ways to slip away when she wanted to explore or see her friends.

It helped being the youngest sibling. Her two sisters were five and six years older, and quite understandably wanted little to do with her. Her brother was much closer to her age, but being her parents’ only son meant he had a certain role to fill, and thus with her three siblings otherwise occupied Sera was often left to her own devices. It also helped that her mother had taken a more laissez-faire approach to parenting her fourth child, and as long as Sera was discreet she could pretty much do as she pleased. No one asked how she spent her time, and she didn’t feel obliged to tell.

Case in point: Sera was all but addicted to the excitement of being someplace she wasn’t supposed to be. Her favorite activities while growing up were listening to the guests and their gossip, unlocking the puzzles of what they were doing and why they were in town, and literally unlocking the doors to their rooms. By her thirteenth birthday, there wasn’t a lock in the inn that could keep her out. The advantage of growing up in a place with so many rooms and locks to experiment with was that there was more than enough time to learn how they all worked.

As she moved on to her teenage years, she couldn’t resist the siren’s call of exploration. She’d heard too many stories about the old cairns from both the inn’s lodgers and her friends, and she couldn’t resist the temptation of seeing them for herself. Of course, her parents absolutely forbade her from doing anything of the sort, so it was only natural that she would do it anyway. At thirteen, she joined up with a unique group of like-minded youth in town that called themselves the Night Walkers. Her well-honed ability to silently slip out of the hotel at night, and her natural ability to see in the dark, served her well on their many clandestine adventures both around the moonlit town and along the hills beyond. A year later, she spent the night in the Whispering Cairn–the youngest of the group to do so–and encouraged one of her best friends, Bel, to join.

Running around the hinterlands in the dark was, of course, more than a little dangerous. The fighting lessons her father insisted on arranging for her, and the informal lessons from her fellow Night Walkers, probably saved her from harm–or worse–more than once, whether it was due to an unexpected encounter with a drunk miner or a run-in with the local wildlife. (In retrospect, it was shocking none of them had gotten seriously hurt in those days. Though, not long after she outgrew the group, she learned that a girl had disappeared or died while staying a night in the Cairn, so that streak of luck had finally run out.)

In her late teens, she felt the urge to make a new life of her own. It was Bel that pointed out the obvious: Sera knew the town like the back of her hand, the surrounding countryside almost as well, and she could navigate it all in the dark. These were all useful skills, and all she had to do was match them up with the people who needed them. Fortunately for her, Diamond Lake had no shortage of those who needed things done discreetly, and the cover of darkness was nothing if not discreet. Sera’s first business was acting as a nighttime, freelance courier, with no questions asked. She would deliver what you needed when you needed it, as long as it was done in the dark. Later, when others started to notice the activities of the enterprising, young woman, they learned she was a nighttime, freelance courier who also happened to be armed, and who was not at all intimidated by intimidation tactics.

She later expanded her list of unlisted services to include other useful offerings, such as: retrieving lost property from another person’s possession, creative solutions to missing keys and forgotten lock combinations, and connecting buyers and sellers for merchandise that did not trade well on public markets. As a young entrepreneur, however, she was limited by her ability to effectively market herself to what was essentially a niche audience. Furthermore, her expenses were significant, and much of her potential profit was eaten by the frequent, and frequently random, licensing fees that were imposed by the local constabulary in order to ensure her continued operation. Her work was exciting at first, but now it had become an unpleasant grind.

Sera longed for bigger challenges. She needed a way to test and hone her skills, and a chance to prove her mettle. Something that would pay off with enough gold to finance her departure from town, and equip her for the next chapter in her life. And Diamond Lake wasn’t offering her any of these things: it was just more of the same, with ever-increasing operating costs. It was time to move on.