Improv: ECL 1 Osiris Eloah Elf Wizard (Generalist) 1: Journal Entry 2

Zombies to the left of me. Skeletons to the right. Here I am struck in the middle with them, my comrades in arms for nothing more than survival. Don't get me wrong, survival is of the utmost importance but can one truly survive against such overwhelming odds? After witnessing first hand the sheer power of the word from the man of the cloth, I say yes! I just pray there is a quieter way as noise seems to attract them. I must continue to look into this, very interesting. After incorporating a small band of refuges, a guard captain, what appears to be a couple of thugs and a few more women and children, things are becoming a little more, complicated shall we say. After barricading ourselves in this ransacked merchant building and getting a slight chance to replenish some of our supplies, the inevitable attack began. I must say the combat prowess of the Orc was something to be hold I almost felt sorry for the zombies, almost. As I provided "cover" from the second story window with my crossbow the big fellow made short work of several of those undead with his long spear. After one such exploit of sheer barbarism, I noticed a slight, almost indiscernible distortion to his meaty arm. He was infected. I'm not quite sure how or when but I was certain. With the staggering number of zombies descending upon us and every one doing their best to stave of the attack, I pondered the question, What should I do? He was rather close to the edge of the building, maybe I could..... That's just silly, listen to me rambling on. I need to stay focused and consult with the group. If anyone else has noticed this infection, contamination, or whatever it is even my keen elven eyes can't tell. Then just at quickly as it began, the attach was over, for now. I took this as my one chance to get the group up to speed; however, I did leave out this tidbit of information to the new additions to the group. For better or for worse I'm not quite sure but time will tell. As we found a secluded place downstairs in the cellar, four more zombies made their appearance. The Cleric, calling upon the faith of his God, made short work of the rotting corpses and insured they would not rise again. One by one I told them what I noticed, all the while keeping a weary eye on the Orc. I suspect he may know more than what he is letting on. After a brief discussion we decided to tell Trebuchet, I feel we owe him at least that much. "Infected!" He said. "Yes, I'm sorry" I said. After a few experiments it became clear that this unknown strain of infection was beyond our collective curative prowess. As I continued to ponder a cure and refuse defeat, Trebuchet made a comment I never though I would hear from a victim, "Cut it off". A matter of fact statement, "Cut it off". As much as I hate to admit it, this maybe the only way to save him, and possibly us. Using my spellfire I was able to provide not only stabilizing magic as the Warmage severed the arm but also fire to cauterize the wound. The last thing I want is this contamination spreading to the party. Our next move, the Church. Surly we can hold up there for awhile. As we all prepared to leave, it seems the zombies themselves need "sustenance" as they look to be "resting". Curious, very curious. I must look into this when I have more time. Now, off to the Church!

 

Improv: ECL 2 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 1, Barbarian 1: Entry 3

He was keeping watch.  It was an important job.

The others were in the general store, looting.  That was also an important job.  Those who work must eat.  And they'd all been putting in time lately.

It was quiet.  And kind of boring.

He kept having to remind himself that he wasn't watching for the guard.  If he happened to see them, they wouldn't be jogging over with their clubs, shouting "What do you think you're doing?"  They'd be sort of stumbling slowly and moaning.

So it took him by surprise when he did see a guard coming at a pretty brisk pace, and hardly moaning at all.

The man was leading his little group of humans toward the store.  And the dead, he was leading them here too.  It quickly became apparent that he was leading quite a few of them.

Trebuchet sneered at the man, which did not make his face look appreciably different, and the man didn't seem to care.  And though he (still) didn't look it, he was actually pleased.  Yeah, part of him thought the guy was a right prick for leading the zombies here, never mind his instinctual reaction to the uniform, but at the same time, his arrival heralded an end to the boredom.  So he helped herd the mewling pinkskins into the building.

They quickly got to barricading the exits, but he just waited at the door with his spear and started working himself into the battle-fury.  He could see the dead men slowly approaching in the dark.  The seconds dragged on into an eternity, a feral grin spreading wider on his face with each step they took.

He could hear the preacher shouting on the roof, but he was barely cognizant of it.  The first of the enemy line came in reach of his spear and he gleefully drove the implement into its side.

It...ignored him.  It stumbled off to the side and just...lay down dead.  He stared around, bewildered, and saw the rest of them doing the same.

Well, there was another line advancing, so he picked up his weapon and tried again.  Same result.

As the blood pounding in his ears began to fade, he realized the priest was still shouting.  That was probably important.

Godbotherers.  Take the fun out of everything.

So he ran upstairs to stab something.  He'd decide what exactly he was going to stab on the way.

When he got there, though, everyone was whispering nervously.  Someone stopped him and told him to be quiet.

He glared back at them.  Then he slowly turned and very quietly thrust his spear down from the window through the length of a zombie.  He drew it back up slowly, with a wet sucking noise, but still very quietly, he felt.  Then he turned back and stared pointedly.  But quietly.

After that he was left with his thoughts, which were wordless and vague.  Things happened around him, but he didn't pay much attention, until he suddenly noticed one of the elves casting glances his way.  That one was, if anything, even more elvish than the others, and Trebuchet's opinion of that hardly needed to be stated.

After going around whispering to the others for a while, while Trebuchet's annoyance slowly mounted, the elf finally came and explained himself.  Apparently, the orc was infected, explained the elf, pointing to his arm.  Like the ones outside.  The zombies.

He let that sink in for a moment.  Then he looked at his arm.  He had to admit it had looked better.

He thought about the zombies.  They were pitiful creatures.  They had died, but by denying that and standing back up they had lost their honor, their fight, their will.

The solution could hardly be more obvious.  Cut off the arm, he said.

They deliberated about this in hushed tones for a while.  He waited patiently for them to realize the inevitability of it.

In a perverse way, he looked forward to it.  Many orcs did not consider one to have come of age until maimed somehow.  This was more than necessary.  It was essential.

Soon, he was handing over his cleaver and presenting his arm.  Shortly thereafter, he descended into unconsciousness.

Improv: ECL 2 Kona Shield Elf Battle Dancer 2: Entry 2

Doesn't that figure. 
Kona stared at the steps where the city dwellers had stood berating him a few moments ago.
I was more accepted as a slave.

Kona stood in the middle of the ground floor of a ransacked store. All the shelves and tables that could be moved had been shoved against the doors and windows. Everything edible had been either put on the cart outside where it was now zombie padding, or taken upstairs by the last living city dwellers.

The shield elf sat cross-legged in the middle of the trash strewn floor and prepared for a few hours of meditation: the first chance he had had in over 3 days. He looked up at the top of the stairs where a town guardsman was eyeing him suspiciously. Then he stared at the door to the cellar, where 4 more destroyed zombies and the arm of the orc bard now lay.

"Yeah. No. That won't work." Kona grumbled and shifted around to face the blockaded entrance. The pounding and howling had stopped. There must have been almost 300 zombies on the other side of that door, but for the moment, they showed no interest in coming in.

...the arm of the orc...

The orc had seemed indifferent about cutting it off. Hells, he might have been the first to suggest it. The two big problems being - no one was sure if it WOULD stop the zombie infection eating his flesh, and, everyone agreed the infection didn't come from a wound BY a zombie. Apparently any wound could trigger it. Which meant, until this plague was ended, EVERY wound could trigger it.

Images played through his mind of the last bands of living souls on the planet: huddled, scavenging, and hacking off one body part after another until finally an infection hit something vital...

He gave a shudder and began his quiet chant, sinking into a trance of dark foreboding.

Improv: ECL 2, Zhangri'if Duskwood, Lesser Aasimar, Cleric 2: Entry 2

Things have gone from bad to worse.

I was surprised and a bit confused when the prison guard simply released us and left in the middle of the night.  It didn’t take long to find out why - zombies.  Filthy, rotting, vile abominations shambling unabated through the streets.  More than I’ve ever seen or even heard about in one place.  The city is overrun with them.  My former cellmates and I have banded together for survival.

We were immediately set upon by one of the foul creatures only a short distance from the jail.  After dispatching the first zombie and it’s infected prey, I healed one of my felled companions and then turned my attention to a burning house with screaming residents trapped inside.  We managed to get into the house and I located a human woman and her children hiding in a closet on the upper level.  Despite being burned badly by my armor that was superheated by the blaze, I managed to drag them to safety where one of my companions helped remove them from the house.  The last thing I remember was clawing and dragging my body out of the second story window to the rope that had been secured there.  I didn’t quite make it down the rope before being mercifully doused by a bucket of water from Solonor knows where and immediately losing consciousness...at least I didn’t crush one of those poor children when I fell the rest of the way to the ground outside.

Something has clearly gone horribly wrong.  The city guard seems to have set up some kind of purging process by which they are capturing, quarantining and/or executing the city’s residents – whether it’s an evil plot in furtherance of this zombie infestation or perhaps some misguided plan in response to it, I cannot be sure.  After regaining consciousness and healing myself and one of my companions I was able to destroy or turn more than two dozen of the damned creatures and they just kept coming…hundreds of the foul creatures clogging the streets…and hundreds more elsewhere in the city from what we can tell.  We eventually had to barricade ourselves in a deserted store along with a few of the townspeople.  They are suspicious of us…and I can’t blame them.

Improv: ECL 2 Riff Strongblade Human Warmage 2: Entry 3

We have barely found any rest so far.  I am surprised at how much chaos has occurred in so short an amount of time.  finding ourselves in way over our heads we prepared to face an army of zombies along with a few other fighters, a city guard, and way too many helpless townsfolk.  As the cleric showed his intense power, calling upon the strength of his deity to destroy the zombies, we found that making any noise just attracted more undead.  It wasn't our arcane might, or strength of arms that saved us.  We had to think of a way to survive, quietly.  An unfortunate incident involving a disease that may turn normal living people into walking dead struck the orc.  After much trial and error with no success, we decided the the best course of action was to cut off the orc's infected arm.  He has lost much already and somehow still keeps up his stoic heroism.  If we can all manage to keep our cool through this great ordeal we will find great knowledge and power at the end of our road.
We are still in great danger and I have suggested we try to get to the church.  If nothing else we can unload the woman and children there and continue making our escape from this destroyed city.
We have a lot we must accomplish if we are to make it.  For one thing we need to give the baby dragon a real chance to rest.  We understand that in doing so she will become a more powerful dragon, which in my opinion is a useful ally.  Get the beast when it is young and let it grow with you and you will have a dangerous creature as a pet.
I have used up all my free time with our short rest as others make preparations in their own way.  I enjoy watching the wizard, in one way I am jealous of his knowledge of the arcane but I also mock his need to study and memorize just to tap into the raw strength I command on a whim.
We are on the move again.  The zombies seem to be either dead or sleeping...

Improv: ECL 1 Zhangri'if Duskwood Lesser Aasimar Cleric 1: Entry 1

This is not what I expected.

I should’ve known better than to take directions from a pixie.  He seemed like such an affable little fellow.  Everything went a little strange after taking that shortcut through that clearing north of Relkath’s Foot.  Normally crossing through a menhir circle doesn’t affect me much, but the wretched feeling of vertigo and nausea caused me to leave the area quickly after I regained my senses.  The Yuirwood seemed like a different place after that, although it has been a year or two since I’ve been to its northern reaches.

It was past midnight by the time I arrived in Velprintalar.  The city is completely different than I remember as a child – smaller and…just different.  It’s funny how time and perspective can play tricks on you. Knowing I wouldn’t find passage on a reputable ship at that hour I decided to find an Inn for a meal and a brief rest before striking out for the docks in the morning.

The Inn was rather sparsely populated for it’s size, but I wasn’t there for merriment so that was fine by me.  The serving wench was attentive and very friendly…a little too friendly as it turned out, but really, how was I to know that she was the sheriff’s daughter?  What are the odds, right?  And what is the Sheriff doing stopping by an Inn so late…to see his daughter…with a bunch of armed deputies?  Poor luck.  Not a good omen so early in my journey.

Apparently, the rule of law in Velprintalar is whatever the Sheriff says it is.  For a public figure he has a wretched temperament and is dirty and course, even by human standards.  It’s a wonder such a lovely young girl sprung from his loins…then again perhaps she didn’t – ha!  What a delicious irony that would be.

It is the first time I had been accused of anything sordid really, and certainly the first time I’ve been in jail.  My cellmates are quite a diverse lot…no one seems particularly friendly, but I suppose if they were thrown in here in the same ill conceived manner in which I was that’s not terribly surprising.  At least I managed to retain my journal when the guards removed my possessions.

There seems to be some sort of commotion outside…I wonder what’s going on?

Improv: ECL 1 Kona Shield Elf Battle Dancer 1: Entry 1

ALL you had to do was get off the boat.
ALL you had to do was not get distracted.
Don't get baited. 

Kona looked up as the orc who shared his jail cell stood and walked to the door and jerked on it once, like it was supposed to be open. Finding it amazingly locked still, the orc walked back glaring and sat on his bench. Kona summoned all his willpower not to strangle himself.

DON'T get baited. Moron! You could have walked off that pier and been free. Instead you had to FREAKIN ARGUE WITH THE CAPTAIN  over MONEY? You could have thrown the entire 500 gold you had hidden in your waterskins at his face and damned him for his insolence and have been FREE.

No one seemed to have found it yet. All of "Kona's" equipment was stored nearby. At least until the trial and probable execution tomorrow when they found out he wasn't the second duke of whatever the hell it was.

And now he smelled smoke. HOW can I be in a cell with an orc and smell anything but orc? Kona stood and jumped up to grab the bars to the street level window high above. Carriage and horse sounds, and running. But he couldn't make anything out. He frowned. What the hell is with these bars? He couldn't fit a fist thru them, much less hope to squeeze out. A Pixie couldn't squeeze thru these. He dropped back to the floor and stared gloomily at the empty guard's desk.

I guess they prevent anything from getting into the jail too. Like a dagger. Or worse, a spell pouch.

The guard returned and looked… scared? could that be right? "Look, none of us are violent, you know that. All our cases are minor." (Actually he had no idea what the others were in for, but he was pretty sure he could take any of them in a fight. … Unless the orc managed to land a blow…) "Let us out and we can help you with the fires or problems. We care about this city too."

Kona grimaced. Shit. that was WAAAY too thick. But then the guard unlocked the door, pointed to the cabinet full of everyone's gear, and ran out of the room. Kona paused just a second before bounding out of the cell. What have I gotten into now?

20 feet down the hall, they found the guard's body dead. WHAT have I gotten into now?

Outside the jail, they saw a grotesquely injured horse pulling a burning cart behind it across the town square, until it ran into a house. The orc snorted, probably wondering how it could … well, do whatever orcs thought about doing. The holy man seemed about to run off and help the people in the house. This was it - decision time. Did he flee the city in the dark of night, or stay to help and possibly be imprisoned again after the crisis?

The house that the cart had run into now was obviously on fire as well, Flames were appearing on the thatched roof and smoke was pouring from one window. Dammit!

Kona ran off after the cleric, and called to the rest of his 'group'

"Well come on! This town clearly can't save itself!"

Improv: ECL 1 Kona Shield Elf Battle Dancer 1: Bio

"I am Kona."

The sailors froze. No one knew what to say. HE was Kona?  That scrawny elf? The idea was too outlandish - too unthinkable - to even elicit a scoff or nervous laugh.
"You're not Kona!" the weasely second mate whined, still rubbing his fingers where "Kona" had just whacked them with a riding crop."You're just a slave. Everyone on this ship knows it. Everyone on this ship seen you skulk around behind your master like a dog on a leash."
"A-tokky something," another sailor said. "A-tok-tok the SLAVE elf. You aint no diplomat."

"I am Kona Triskein, BARON of Everfold and ambassador of his royal highness …."
Shit….. shit shit shit…. what the hell was the king's name?
"-the King."

The sailors looked non-plussed at the thin elf in jester's clothing, then at the bodies of the first mate, and the human everyone had assumed until just now was the royal passenger they were transporting. The captain scowled and shifted position, obviously prepared to draw his cutlass.

Keep playing the part. Commit, or you're dead here too.
'Kona' turned his back on the assembled band in seeming annoyance and pretended to examine some invisible speck of dust on a silk robe hanging nearby. 
"That man was my trusted servant, and bodyguard. When we are traveling to .. less civilized areas.. he will pose as me. To confuse any assassins."
   
The cutlass came out then, and the mob roared it's disapproval. "That weren't no assassin!" "How dare you!" "Don't try to blame us for the old man's death!"

'Kona' turned back to the sailors looking surprised. "Not assassinated? Really? Not poisoned? Here then." He held out the crystal goblet that was sitting on the table. "Please enjoy this remainder of my double's  last bottle of wine. With my apologies."

The sailors continued to glare. But nobody reached for the glass.

Five minutes later the bodies were removed and the elf locked in the stateroom by himself until the end of the voyage: "for your own safety."  And so it ended: 66 years of slavery. 19 masters. Countless 1000s of beatings. 3 whore houses, and even a brief possession by a infernal being of some sort (which left a trace of taint on his soul, but only detectable by that one cult). Ended. On a leaky tub of a boat swarming with the foulest smelling crew he had ever known. His master was dead, and all he had to do was get off this boat to be free again. He would never accept a slave name again. would never bow to another again. He was now "Kona."

And just as well… in fact - it was quite fitting. His loser of a former master disgraced it as a human surname - but in Elvish…
in Old Elvish, it was not a name but a condition; a suffix - not for a word but for a thought. "Kona" was "the space afterwords which has not yet been filled."

And if he could get off this boat alive - that word would be as appropriate a designation for him as anything. On the other side of this cabin door was his future.

Was "Kona"

Improv: ECL 2 Riff Strongblade Human Warmage 2: Entry 2

I still have so many questions.  Questions about my past.  Of course I will find no answers on my own.  Most of my questions must be answered by another of my kind.  One who has travelled down The Path.  Now I can't help but wonder if someone like me, in a previous life perhaps, has ever gotten in over his head before realizing his true potential.  What happens if I fall now, what will happen to the balance?  I guess in order to not find out what kind of catastrophe would occur should that happen, I will have to perform better than anyone ever has.  In the face of insurmountable odds I must gather the strength of these would be heroes, even if some are a little more than unsavory, and uncover the truth of the evil that surrounds us.  We cannot trust the leaders of this city and strangers show great courage in order to help us from certain demise.
Some of those that I currently travel with think it is prudent to stop and "search" for supplies.  I think this is an unnecessary waste of time.  We are apparently surrounded by undead... on all sides.  We must avoid contact with the city guards and the roaving zombies.  Buildings are burning all around us, and my only thought is to get right to the river in hopes of finding a way out of this death trap.
I suppose only time will tell if some of these comrads are actually agents of darkness trying to hinder our survival.  I will do all I can to protect the innocent and get out of this horrible trajedy alive.

Improv: ECL 1 Osiris Eloah Elf Wizard (Generalist) 1: Journal Entry 1

After several days of travel and countless near run-ins with less than savory characters who hide behind pretend laws of protecting the peace by keeping the people in fear, I find myself observing a strange band of travelers from the cold comfort of the shadows. If there is one thing I've learned so far on my travels it's don't trust any man if the holy man is unconscious! However, these adventures were strange, not men but a rag tag bunch traveling in a wagon pulled by what appears to be a newly hatched  baby red dragon! I find this feat amazing since I, despite my magical prowess have yet to unravel the feat of obtaining a dragon familiar. I must look into this in due time. Nevertheless, there is safety in numbers and I posses certain "talents" that may be helpful. As I spoke to the elf  I cautioned him to not take the guards at face value, for I have seen their true work which has left many dead or dying in their wake. Upon receiving this news he ran to deliver the message to the party. Under a barrage of crossbow bolts I ran with him. Seeing the rest of the group in the wagon I noticed a rather large Orc, woman and child all unconscious! If not for another fellow who seemed to posses some arcane might, we would have been surely doomed. As no less than five city guards attacked us I asked the arcane fellow, who I have come to know as Strongblade to target me with a spell. Without hesitation he sent arcane energy flowing into me and I was able to channel that raw arcane magic into healing magic to bring or holy man back from the brink of despair, undoubtedly savings the party as he was then able to us his divine energy to stave off the attacks from several undead. All this before lunch! I suppose their is nothing left to do now except to enjoy the ride and get out of this city as fast as our dragon can take us.

Improv: ECL 1 Osiris Eloah Elf Wizard (Generalist) 1: Bio

My name Is Osiris Eloah, and I was born in the region of Aerenal, a somewhat Kingdom of the elves as I like to call it, to two loving parents my father Amarandlon and mother Emraeal. My family has studied wizardry for thousands of years and I spent the majority of my childhood in arcane libraries. As I grew up I was given every amenity possible and access to the best instructors and teachers to hone my natural gifts in the arcane, and this early education gave me a great breadth of knowledge. Over time I found Aerenal more of an illusion of what once was and simply longed for more. Only a century later others began to take note of my development and unusual natural talents, most notably the elders in the community. It was then I decided, despite the strong objections by my parents, to see what the rest of the world had to offer. I was fortunate, and grateful, to have the opportunity to live a life of comfort and security, and be given every advantage- educated in magic, art, science, and martial disciplines according to one’s interest. But this was an opportunity to create my own path and choose my own destiny not wait, like so many others, to have their lives determined for them by the gods or worse, at the tip of some beggar’s dirty dagger. So with a weary heart, and heavy backpack, I left with my trusted familiar Mortis and began my slow march to what I trust to be true self-discovery and arcane perfection. After all, I am a seeker of knowledge and knowledge is power!

Improv: ECL 2 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 1, Barbarian 1: Entry 2

Maybe that was a mistake.

Nah.  That doesn't sound like him.  He doesn't make mistakes.  Anyway, he wasn't goin' nowhere with those three.  It'd been time to leave long since.  Not one to get tied down.

Still, he preferred those three to present company, and the flophouse to the jail cell he was now sharing with them.  A couple of elves and some airy kook.  He wasn't sure which he hated most.

Ah, well.  If they won't trouble him he'll return the favor.  They were all in the same boat, after all.  Might be the first time in the joint for some of them.  He could respect that.  He'd been there.

And as cells go, he couldn't complain.  Dark and clean, and just one green watchman watchin'-...wait, where's he goin'?

He didn't think about anything for a few minutes; just sat and pushed the murmuring of his cellmates out of his head.  Then he rose from the bench and opened the door.

Well, that woulda been nice if it worked but actually the door was still closed.  Bars were stronger than they looked.  Eh.  No big deal.  No big deal.  He sat back down and glared at the wall, mentally daring the others to say somethin', anything.  Yeah.  They were feelin' that.  Just as he was nearly done debating with himself whether to look and make sure they were really feelin' it the guard came back.  What?  He's lettin' us out?  Well, never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Soon he was out of prison uniform and back in his regalia.  That felt good.  He felt stronger.  Could totally open that door now if he still needed to.  But he didn't.  Need to.

So...time to leave, he guessed.

What happened next was a blur.  The guard was dead.  Fine by him.  Some other folks were less dead, and that was a problem.  So he solved it.  Now where'd they put his wagon?  Who cares if the house is burning down?  WHAT?  LIZARD!  BIG LIZARD!

When he woke up he was on his wagon with his former (and current, he was starting to think) cellmates.  The big lizard was pulling it.  And it talked.  Called him its momma.  He didn't like that much.  Said the dead were walking, everywhere.  That, he liked a little better.  Gave him an idea for a song.

They were walking, that was true.  But if they made the mistake of walking toward him they didn't keep walking much longer.  The stench of the dying, burning city invigorated him.  He fought, and ran, and laughed a lot that night.  He felt alive.

Improv: ECL 1 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 1: Bio

Excerpts from "Storming the Gates of Music" by T. Overwater, a biography of Trebuchet, lead singer of Bladehead, Crush, the Trollskins, et al.

[...] an uncommon and underrated genius.  Whether your tastes cleave to his stylings or not, he's had an undeniable impact on his contemporaries - sometimes literally.  Immersed in his overpowering vocals, it's easy to imagine the orcish hordes standing outside your door. Sadly, it's this very effect - cited by most of his critics as "coarse", "unacceptable", or sometimes "a felony" - which has caused the majority of the star's hardship.  The world was not ready for the likes of Trebuchet, no matter how ready he thought himself for it.

[...] born Vrorbag Wogsher to unknown parents, he lived out his early life in the Bone March, striking out quickly at the less-than-tender age of 5 to more civilized lands, living hand-to-mouth in human cities, joining a gang, and learning to fight. He's seemingly never shown a shred of regret for leaving the March - was his life there so much worse?  Was this new life part of a grand plan?  Or is he simply not given to retrospection?  Regardless, [...]

At 13, he entered the public eye, making his first appearance on stage at the largest tavern in [...] Reportedly, the unforgettable performance that would become the basis of his entire career wasn't planned, booked, or, indeed, a song.  The surviving band members whose set he intruded upon apparently kept playing only out of terror.  The success of his breakout was marred when it came to light that he and members of his gang had staged the whole affair to rob the tavern and its clientele, and he soon found himself forced to stage another breakout - this time, from jail.

Since then, he's been constantly on the move, forming bonds with other musicians in similar straits, of varying success.  Most of his efforts have fallen to internal strife.  It was hoped by the most devoted Trebbers that the formation of the Trollskins, an all-orcish band, signaled a less rocky future, but reception was less than stellar.  While the general public's reaction to what was now four times the orc was nearly unchanged, true fans felt this new group lacked an unnameable primal element that had drawn them to the music in the first place.  Trebuchet quickly lost interest himself, and moved on like so many times before.

Improv: ECL 1 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 1: Entry 1

"Come on, let's get out of here.  We're wasting our time."

One of three hulking figures knocked on the door again.  "Shut up," he said.  "Unless you're going to use that voice of yours to sing for us."

The owner of the first voice furrowed his prodigious brow, then opened his mouth, which was promptly covered by a meaty palm.  "That was sarcasm.  Don't start singing."

At that moment, the door swung away.  Another huge man, similar to the others, stood in its place.  He made a pronouncement.

"What."

The three stared at each other, daring each other to be the first to speak.

"Uh, we've been thinkin', among ourselves, that uh, well, you, we..."

A raised eyebrow.  The second man muscled ahead of his friend.  "We're kicking you out of the Trollskins.  You ain't showed up to our last three gigs and we ain't gettin' paid."

"Now, waitaminute, let's not be hasty or nothin'.  Without Treb we won't get any more work than we're getting now."

"No way!  I'm sick of pullin' his weight.  He's out, or I'm out.  And I've at least plucked a string in the last month."

'Treb' looked back and forth between the two, waiting for them to stop arguing.  Eventually they did, and remembering why they came here in the first place, looked up at him again.  He slowly opened his mouth to make another rare decree.

"You guys got pretty good timing.  I'm leaving town.  Tired of this crap.  Have a nice life.  Don't get yourselves lynched."

Two of them wore expressions of mixed shock and relief.  The other laughed uproariously.  "Just proves what I said!  You couldn't take it!  You're not cut out to make it big!  You're a little...bitty..."  He muttered for a while, trying to think of a suitable insult.  While he was distracted, a huge fist swung towards his head.

Two of the men ran away as the door slammed shut; the third lay in the gutter, moaning.

Improv: ECL 1 Zhangri'if Duskwood Lesser Aasimar Cleric 1: Bio

Zhangri’if was discovered as an infant by the half-elf Belrind Duskwood near a menhir circle in the Sunglade in the center of the Yuirwood, Aglarond, Faerun.  Belrind immediately sensed that there was something special about the child, who seemed completely undisturbed by his solitary surroundings as the sun glinted off his coppery hair and sparkled in his golden eyes. Belrind brought the child to his home near the edge of the Yuirwood and spent the next few weeks inquiring about the child’s likely appearance and origins with other locals.  Failing to discover the origins of the mysterious and strangely charismatic child, Belrind and his wife Reliza agreed that they should watch him until the child’s rightful family could be found.  Intially they called the child “Goldeneye” as a nickname (assuming someone would eventually come looking for the child) due to the unusual color of the child’s eyes.  The infant found a natural playmate in the half-elven couple’s own son Jhered, who appeared to be a similar age.  The family was sympathetic to his plight and quickly became smitten with “Goldeneye,” eventually deciding to raise him as their own.  They gave him the permanent name of Zhangri’if.

Zhangri’if grew up with his adoptive family living a simple existence of hunting game, gathering what the Yuirwood provided and farming a small plot on the outskirts of the Yuirwood.  Zhangri’if and Jhered became inseparable, growing and maturing together as adoptive brothers.  Zhangri’if’s half-elven parents, initially assumed Zhangri’if must be a late bloomer as the two children grew at almost an identical pace.   Over the years, it became a rather obvious oddity that an apparently human child was developing at an almost identical pace to that of a half-elf, but no new information came to light about Zhangri’if’s origin.  His parents suspected that perhaps Zhangri’if could be half-elf after all with few outward elven features but had nothing on which to base this suspicion other than the boy’s developmental pace.

 As they grew into adolescence, Zhangri’if and his brother Jhered spent as much time as possible in the Yuirwood, hunting and scouting the wood and paying occasional visits to the Yuirwood’s other friendly inhabitants.   Both became excellent archers and woodsmen, and Zhangri’if particularly became intrigued by the ancient elven ruins in the Yuirwood and the mysteries of their magical secrets.  He eventually began spending time with a Star Elf cleric of the Seldarine (elven pantheon) named Mourel Starwind.

Mourel Starwind knew a bit about Zhangri’if from Belrind (and rumors around the Yuirwood) and was drawn to the boy’s natural and easy charm and insatiable curiousity regarding all things natural, elven, and magical.  Zhangri’if eventually asked his father to begin study toward becoming an acolyte of the Seldarine.  Completely unsurprised at the development, Belrind agreed that it might be a good path for young Zhangri’if after speaking with Mourel Starwind.

Zhangri’if’s apprenticeship with Mourel Starwind brought new discoveries at a rapid rate – he and his mentor discovered that he had quite a natural knack for arcane magic in addition to his clerical studies and devotion to the Seldarine, particularly Solonor Thelandira.  It was during this time that Mourel Starwind began to suspect the truth about Zhangri’if’s background, though he never voiced such to his pupil.  After spending several years under Mourel Starwind’s tutelage and accompanying him in various clerical duties and quests, Zhangri’if became a full-fledged acolyte of the Seldarine.  Following his ordination into the clergy, Zhangri’if’s mentor gave him two gifts: a beautiful composite longbow…and the truth of his likely racial background as an Aasimar.

The discovery was both elating and terrifying to Zhangri’if and seemingly brought more questions than answers.  Mourel Starwind further explained that it was the decision of the local clergy that he should begin his first mission: leave the Yuirwood, follow his heart to discover more about his own background while following the will of the Seldarine along the way.  Mourel Starwind bade him to do well by doing good and return when he feels that it is time to do so.

Due to his upbringing, Zhangri’if has a love for nature, elves and half-elves as well as the might and mystery of magic, both devine and arcane.  He has an even-tempered disposition, a natural charm and calm laid-back confidence that almost radiates from his physical person.  He strongly believes in the dogma of the Seldarine generally, and Solonor Thelandira in particular.  He believes in a natural balance to all things in the multiverse: life/death, war/peace, chaos/order, wilderness/civilization, etc.

Physically, Zhangri’if is of average human (or Aasimar) height although humans often mistake him for a half-elf due to the vestments of Solonor Thelindra, and dress/grooming customs borrowed from his half-elven family.  He has an average to muscular build, long red hair partially braided in elven fashion, and intense golden eyes that appear to glow slightly when reflecting sunlight or firelight.