Meeting at the Three Rings Tavern

ROLL 1 DIE.

Score: 2 – Bad Omen – Lose 1 Blessing.

Upon leaving High Therys, Cedric headed west toward the main highway again, knowing that it would lead him back to Trefoille and eventually Marlock City. He knew that if he followed the Stinking River for too long, it would take him to Yellowport, which would extend his trip farther than he wanted. As he and Hector had before, he spent a couple of days trading labor for shelter before heading to the metropolis. The day before he arrived in Marlock City, the sole of one of his boots wore thin, and he could feel the dirt and gravel poke through. The bard would need to take them to a cobbler to be repaired, and ultimately walked barefoot the rest of the way.

Which ended up being the first place he stopped, instead of the House of Priests. He didn’t want to arrive barefoot and looking as pathetic as he felt. After all, he had to tell Ysolt what happened to Hector, and he didn’t know how the dark priestess would react. As he waited for his boots to be repaired, he sent Ysolt a message to meet him at the Three Rings Tavern.

Early in the evening, she received the missive after she finished her studies and prayers. In fact, it was the last day of her training, and she was getting ready to treat herself to a meal out on the town. The Three Rings Tavern was the place she went instead of any other establishment.

Cedric had just finished soaking in the bath and changing into fresher clothes when the priestess entered the inn's common area. He waved his hat to her and smiled brilliantly when he managed to catch her attention. However, her vibrant teal eyes kept wandering around the troubadour, hoping to catch sight of the dark-hooded rogue. Her warm smile soon turned into a frown of concern. Cedric could read her thoughts. Gesturing for her to sit with him at one of the smaller tables, the barmaid served them a couple of ciders and bowls of stew with hot, crusty bread. “Where is Hector?” Ysolt asked, her use of the common language having improved thanks to the month of lessons. Cedric gulped down the excess of saliva that had pooled up in his mouth from nervousness. The bard rarely grew nervous, as he was a professional performer. She then noticed his mandolin was missing. “What happened?” Her voice and furrowed brow showed her growing concern.

His right palm rubbed his chin and cheek as Cedric sighed. His eyes locked with hers, his expression respectfully apologetic. “Hector picked up a job from the temple of Sig here,” the troubadour started. “Back when you started your training. Then he lost some money at the gambling den, got beaten up by the local militia.” He watched Ysolt’s concern shift to frustration as her eyes narrowed. Cedric bowed his head, subtly sulking over what he had to reveal next.

“We went to Caran Baru, so he could complete the job. He was caught and sold into slavery to the mines near there.” Cedric’s eyes widened in shock and amazement as he watched Ysolt’s teal eyes blaze brilliantly with instant anger. He raised his hands before she could speak. “I didn’t hear that he got captured until the following morning. He kept me out of his plans, so no one had a reason to suspect me. I left as soon as I heard, because I knew there was no way I’d be able to earn enough money without an instrument,” he rambled, his tan face growing flush with embarrassment as he scrambled to keep the priestess from yelling out her frustrations.

“Your friends should be returning soon, right? Mayb-” Ysolt’s husky voice instantly cut Cedric off at the mention of her two other traveling companions. “They split at Yellowport,” she explained, pulling out the message the bird had delivered. He glanced it over as she continued, “Trystan trains with Druids. Miss Dewin travels with another." She paused, remembering what Hector said when he started traveling with her and Trystan. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes. The priestess steadied her breath as she silently meditated and calmed her emotions. “Lord Sig tempted Hector. He failed,” she said solemnly before opening her eyes to meet with Cedric’s gaze once more. “We will discuss with Trystan when he returns.” The bard posed no argument. 

Return to Shadar Tor

 Once Gyneth felt well enough to travel, she and Lyonesse departed from Yellowport, taking the main highway to Trefoille. Passing many merchants and military patrols, they spent little time on the road distracted or in conflict. The blind mage was thankful for the uneventful days, as she quietly prepared for the overwhelming, windswept, wave-sprayed cliffs the Shadar Tor towered over. She wasn’t sure she could do it, but deciphering the Tor would be their greatest asset in recovering the golden net.

They stayed with her mentor, Oliphard the Wizardly, after arriving in Trefoille. Gyneth marveled at how quickly the city's repairs, restructuring, and rebuilding were progressing. A hearty workforce of skilled craftsmen and able-bodied laborers was a marvel to learn from during the handful of days the two women spent helping, as Lyonesse’s mentor required, in exchange for rooms and meals at his manor. Immersing herself among the clatter and banging of the blacksmiths and stonemasons helped Lyonesse train herself to tune out the disruptive noises and hone her focus.

Days passed as they took to the road again, and Lyonesse could sense the turbulence in the air and sea as they neared the Shadar Tor. Seagulls screamed high above them, adding to the wind and water’s efforts to overstimulate the blind mage. She asked that Gyneth take her veil and give her time to trace her sensitive fingers along the course stone carved with ancient runes. The warrior woman doubted how helpful the archaic stone would be, but she understood this was one of those moments when she had to put faith in someone else’s skills. Battling the pillar would offer no solutions, anyway.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11

Lyonesse’s Magic Score: 6 + 6 + 1 = 13 – PASSED!

Lyonesse steadied her breathing and meditated on the air currents above and turbulent water below. When she felt completely at peace with the elements around her, she pressed one hand to the stone and traced the text ingrained on her grimoire's pages. She concentrated for hours on the differences and similarities she felt between the stone carvings, and soon realized what the Tor contained was a spell! “Gyneth!” Lyonesse called out to her companion, excited. The platinum-blond woman had begun to doze off on the boulder she sat on, and the mage's call pulled her back into the waking world.

Looking around as she stood and stretched, she saw nothing to panic over. “What is it?” Gyneth called back as she made her way over to the Tor to see how her blind companion was doing. She found Lyonesse sitting on the ground, using a glass pen to scratch and carve into the paper pulp. “The high priest was right!” Lyonesse gasped, then raised her head, giving Gyneth the impression that the blind woman could lock eyes with her. “The Tor was the key! There’s a spell carved into it! A spell to help someone breathe underwater!” Dark, stormy grey eyes widened with astonishment over the revelation. “Seriously?” Gyneth asked, disbelief coloring her voice at their luck! Well, not quite luck, but still! It sure felt like it! The mage nodded before continuing, “I’m going to cast it on you. So that you can go and fetch the golden net.”

“Whoa, what?! How?” The trained, former soldier started to object to the plan. “I don’t know how to fight underwater. I barely know how to swim!” Which wasn't a proud thing for anyone to admit, though; when one thought about it, one didn’t necessarily need to know how to swim if drowning wasn’t as big a risk thanks to the spell. But still! “I can’t go. Water numbs my senses and my ability to navigate,” Lyonesse insisted respectfully. “I’d be of no use down there. You’ll be able to breathe and see. You’ll be able to find the sunken city.” The mage sure knew how to make a point; Gyneth would give her that.

The taller woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I hear you. I understand what you’re saying,” Gyneth began to object again before the mage reached up and gripped her hand. It was a firm yet tender grip, a gesture of comfort and certainty. Dark eyes gazed down at the sitting woman once more. “The gods are testing you. Just like Yanryt the Son. This will bring you closer to defeating the Black Dragon Knight,” Lyonesse said earnestly with an encouraging smile. Gyneth smirked back, unable to oppose any further. “Very well. Let’s head down to the beach first, and see if there’s a good place for you to take shelter and rest. Trystan expects me to keep you safe, and I can’t do that while we’re not together,” she insisted, taking Lyonesse’s hand to help her to her feet. The mage smiled brilliantly, agreeing wholeheartedly with an affirmative nod.

The pair of women explored the beach and cliffs for some time before finding a ledge to set up camp on. It was late in the day, and Gyneth insisted she didn’t want to swim so late into the night if she could help it. She had gone skinny-dipping in the lake where she grew up and knew full well that the water could be just as dark, if not darker, than the night sky. At dawn, they shared a light breakfast before heading down to the shore. There, as they felt the cold waves lap against their ankles and shins, Lyonesse cast the spell found on the ancient pillar upon Gyneth. As the spell took effect, gills formed on her tingling cheeks. They were sensitive and tickled at the warrior’s touch, and after swimming away from shore to test how well she could breathe, she called out to Lyonesse to assure the mage that all was well. The blind mage waved back before returning to their camp on the ledge as Gyneth dove beneath the sea’s surface.

An Annual Haunt

 Gossip spread like wildfire throughout the streets of Caran Baru. Someone managed to disarm one of the golems at the temple of Tyrnai. The second golem, however, pummeled the fool to near death and had been sold into slavery as punishment. Cedric quickly deduced that they'd been talking about Hector, especially when he hadn’t returned to the Blue Griffon Tavern. They hadn’t discussed what to do if this had happened. But the troubadour understood the burglar had only wanted to complete the job to kill time before Ysolt finished her priestly training.

Knowing he couldn't raise the money to buy Hector back on his own, Cedric started to pack his gear. As he left the tavern, he overheard a pair of guardsmen questioning local patrons. They suggested possible accomplices and that the slave might have been staying at the tavern. While he was no wayfarer, he thought it best to head toward the inhospitable Coldbleak Mountains instead of taking the southbound road. From there, he figured he could find his way south, especially if he followed the Stinking River.

For days, he journeyed southward, using his sense of smell and the tales Hector told him of the rancid aroma of the Lake of the Sea Dragon to determine how close he was to the lake. He stopped only at the market in the fishing village of Cadmium to restock on supplies before continuing onward, following the southern yellow, sulfur-laden flow of the Stinking River.

As the river cut through higher ground, the weary bard climbed above the chasm the bubbling water had created and found himself in a small village called High Therys. To his amazement, it seemed as though he had arrived in time for what he assumed was a festival or feast. A pig roasted on a spit, and a table set with a spread of fruits overflowing from bowls, wheels of cheese, freshly churned butter, and steaming loaves of bread. Cedric approached a man who came out of the inn with huge bottles of wine. “Good morrow and happy feasting,” the bard said with a delighted grin, flourishing his feathered hat as he gracefully bowed to the innkeeper. “Please, may I join your gracious hosts in a fine meal? I promise, I would happily sing a ballad or two for my supper,” Cedric then offered in a rich, baritone voice as he rose from his bow, only to realize that the other man had hustled off toward the table. He turned to follow after, confused and curious about the innkeeper’s haste.

Sensing that he was being followed, the innkeeper turned with a start and waved his hands dismissively at the younger fellow. “Begone! Begone! This is not a feast for the living,” the innkeeper stated abruptly, nearly knocking Cedric over as he rushed to return to the inn. “Out of my way,” another voice huffed and puffed from behind the stumbling bard, making Cedric flail and animatedly change course to avoid colliding with a wealthy merchant carrying a heavy chest full of silver. Dipping back and forth, barely able to process what he had heard, he quickly saw the villagers who had been filling the table with food and coin rushing home to lock their doors and shutter their windows.

Daintily pinching the sleeve of someone before they were able to retreat, Cedric asked, “Pray tell! What is going on here?” His captive looked deathly pale. “This is a banquet for the dead,” the older man explained. “Seven years ago, three travelers lost their way during a storm. They fell into our millpond and drowned. If we do not placate their hunger, then they destroy our crops and herds.” This was an interesting story! Threats of hungry ghosts, though why all of the coins? Did ghosts eat coins? Surely the dead had no use for such wealth. “How do you know that they’ll ruin your crops and herds?” Cedric asked, looking back toward the table. “Old Megan told us,” the other fellow called back, having loosened the bard’s hold on his arm enough to rush home.

Who was Old Megan? How did she know of such things?

Unable to find anyone else who would answer his questions, Cedric decided he wanted to witness this spectacle of ghosts. He hid himself behind some hedges that offered him a clear view of the feasting table. Some time after twilight, just as he stifled a yawn, he caught a glimpse of three figures shuffling across the green. He assumed they came from the millpond, though he didn’t know the village’s layout well enough to be certain. They were pale, likely as ghosts would look, and cried out with glee at the sight of the feast. They quickly sat down and devoured the food with immense pleasure.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11

Cedric’s Magic Score: 4 + 6 + 6 = 16 – PASSED!

Under the moon's dim light, the gluttonous ghosts feasted until they were full. Then, with loud groans and grunts, they hefted up the chest of coins and shuffled away from the table. Then, because of the treasure's weight, Cedric noticed something in the grass. Footprints. Deep footprints. Ghosts were incorporeal. They shouldn’t be able to leave behind footprints.

SCOUTING DIFFICULTY – 10

Cedric’s Scouting Score:2 + 6 + 6 = 14 – PASSED!

The troubadour carefully eased himself from his position behind the hedge while the ghosts’ backs were to him. He waited until he could barely see them, then emerged from his hiding spot and quietly followed. Their footprints were easy enough to follow when he feared he had lost sight of them. He found himself approaching the village’s mill, where he saw two men and an old woman brushing flour from their clothes. “Another year’s successful haunting,” the woman cackled, and both men grinned in agreement.

Cedric quickly retraced his tracks and returned to the village. When he roused someone enough to open their door, he quickly revealed what he had seen. “Your ghosts are no apparitions at all! They are two men and a woman coated heavily in flour! They’ve been fooling you all!” The news spread quickly, and the villagers gathered and followed the bard to the mill to see his claims for themselves. When they burst into the mill and found the old woman and three men counting out the coins, the villagers quickly seized them!

Apparently, Old Megan had concocted the scheme and convinced the two other men to help her swindle their neighbors. It was ultimately decided that all three of them would be hanged in the morning. Cedric was awarded eighty shards, a free stay at the inn, and a hearty meal with fresh provisions for his journey.

The Temple of Alvir and Valmir

 “We should probably be making our way back to Marlock City,” Lyonesse said to Gyneth as they were passing through the temple square. “Especially if we want to arrive in time to meet up with Trystan, Ysolt, and Hector,” she added, then realized her stalwart companion was no longer beside her. “Ser Laoch?” She said, pausing to determine where the warrior had gone. Unfortunately, several people chatted and walked about, making it difficult for the blind mage to pinpoint the platinum-blond swordswoman. Thankfully, Gyneth heard her name and called out to Lyonesse, “There’s a notice here stating that the high priest of the temple of Alvir and Valmir is looking for some help.”

Lyonesse’s veil billowed around her, making it easier to sense obstacles best avoided. Gyneth held out her hand and gently hooked arms with the mage so they wouldn’t be inconveniently separated again. “Weren’t you saying that the priestess you traveled with is looking to help out the other temples?” Gyneth asked to confirm she remembered some of the stories the blind woman told correctly. Lyonesse nodded. “Yes, she would definitely insist that we head in and find out what the problem is,” the mage agreed, and let the warrior lead her inside the temple shaped like an upside-down galleon.

Asking for assistance, the duo were led to the high priest’s office, where he ushered them to sit with him at his desk. He wore gossamer robes, draped and layered like a toga, adorned with pearls and opalescent seashells. His long, dark hair was braided in cornrows that looked like the waving, branching corals often found under the sea’s surface. Another man came in with a pot of aromatic tea and several cups. Once he served his guests, the high priest explained what he needed. “We are in dire need of assistance,” he began with a sigh, taking a long sip of tea to steady his nerves. “Are you familiar with the beings called the Repulsive Ones?”

Gyneth slowly shook her head, though Lyonesse looked as though the title had conjured up a memory of sorts. “They live in the sea, right? In one of the lost cities of ancient lore,” the mage thought aloud, uncertain of the specific names. “Yes,” the man before them said, clearing his throat momentarily before continuing. “Recently, they infiltrated our temple and stole the Golden Net of the twin gods, Alvir and Valmir. We believe they have taken it to the Sunken City of Ziusudra. If we are unable to retrieve it, they will likely use it against the twin gods in the name of their horrific fish-god, Oannes.” “How do we find a sunken city?” Gyneth asked, her confusion and frustration already building as she tried to figure out how to reach such a fantastical site. “Go to the cliffs of the Shadar Tor. From there, you will find a way.”

After they left and made their way through the streets to the Gold Dust Tavern, the warrior expressed her thoughts on the quest they had picked up. “How are we supposed to find a city that’s underwater? We won’t be able to hold our breath long enough,” she argued a bit louder than she had intended. “I’ve been to the Shadar Tor. If the high priest believes we will find our way from there, then there must be something on the Tor that will help us. I simply need t-” Lyonesse wasn’t able to complete that thought when Gyneth stopped walking.

“What you need to do is hand over your purses, ladies,” a thug stated firmly, his voice gritted by years of thieving and bullying his way around. The warrior’s stormy grey eyes glanced at the knife he held, pointed at them aggressively. “Do you seriously think you’re going to steal from a pair of armed combatants?” Gyneth asked with a low growl, her face sneering as her free hand deftly drew her sword.

Thug: COMBAT 4, DEFENSE 7, STAMINA

Gyneth’s Combat Score: 6 + 1 + 5 = 12 Total

12 – 7 Defense = 5 < 6 Stamina = 1 – Thug Attacks!

Lyonesse peeled away from Gyneth as the warrior swung her sword and struck the thug’s hand. He dropped his knife, reeling back momentarily before his embarrassment fueled his anger. Clenching his fists, he charged at the swordswoman, who quickly deflected his attack and swiftly slashed his arm, leaving a severe gash on his torso.

Gyneth: COMBAT 6, DEFENSE 8, STAMINA 9

Thug’s Combat Score: 4 + 1 + 6 = 11 Total

11 – 8 Defense = 3 < 9 Stamina = 6 – Lyonesse Attacks!

Ignoring the searing pain, the thug lunged at Gyneth and punched her square in the jaw. Dazed, she then took a kick to the stomach and lost her grip on her sword when she was tripped to the ground. He then pinned her under his girth and began to swing punch after punch at her face. His tunnel vision was so narrow that he forgot Lyonesse was nearby and may not even notice she carried a sword.

Gyneth: COMBAT 6, DEFENSE 8, STAMINA 1

Lyonesse’s Combat Score: 2 + 1 + 6 = 9 Total

9 – 7 Defense = 2 > 1 Stamina = Thug Slain!

The blind mage quietly drew her sword and listened to the commotion around her. Judging by the sound of Gyneth’s pauldron hitting the ground and the clattering of the sword, her friend had fallen on her back. The sound of flesh punching flesh confirmed it. Carefully, Lyonesse approached; her honed senses picked up the man’s movements. She raised her sword high, blade down, and thrust the tip into the man’s back! The pain shocked him; his body coughed and convulsed, and then he fell dead on top of the warrior.

Screams rang out at the end of the alley as a passerby witnessed what happened. Lyonesse pushed the man’s lifeless form off of her companion and eased Gyneth to her feet. As more people gathered and the authorities came to assess the situation, both women were found protecting themselves against a thief. His body was looted, and the fifteen shards found on him were awarded to the two traveling companions. They spent three days at the Gold Dust Tavern so Gyneth could recover from her injuries before leaving Yellowport.

A Drawing of Hector

 

A Reprieve

 Taking this week off to organize my notes, and determine the approach to the characters' continuous diversions.  😅 Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying the story thus far.  It's been a thrill to be inspired by Dave Morris and Jamie Thomson's game.

The Temple of Tynai

 Caran Baru was small compared to Marlock City, yet it felt like it had twice the militia population. Hector and Cedric thought it best to stay away from the market, as it included the selling of slaves. The last thing they wanted was to be mistaken for one, especially the rogue who would have become one if not for Trystan and Ysolt rescuing him back in Venefax.

Believing the bard’s flamboyant attire made him stand out, Hector left Cedric at the tavern so he could earn some wages entertaining their patrons. People strangely appreciated it, and it earned him enough for each night’s stay. Each day Cedric performed, the burglar went out to case the city, the barracks, and, most importantly, the temple of Tyrnai, dedicated to the god of battle, chaos, and strife. Caran Baru was a crossroads between the merchant cities to the south and the military outposts to the north and east. Soldiers went there on leave, though it maintained strict military discipline. It only made sense that the deity soldiers would praise so highly would have a temple built like a mighty fortress.

Hector made sure his presence and movements were so mundane that none of the warrior priests would suspect him of surveying the temple. He noted the iron bull-headed, club-wielding figures flanking the heavy wooden doors, their craftsmanship eerily flawless, as if they were identical. Inside, he listened to the prayers and offerings made to the god’s stone idol: a jaguar-headed warrior wearing untarnished gold chainmail that gleamed by the candlelight.

For days, he scouted the temple and memorized the various windows, doorways, and layouts, as well as the patrol and prayer routines. Hector silently visualized the best places to enter, the best times of day, and how to avoid detection. Yet. Something nagged him in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure exactly what, but he didn’t dare discuss his plans with Cedric. Plausible deniability, so long as the bard remained at the inn performing. The troubadour had gained some popularity as regular patrons spread the word about his voice and verses.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11

Hector’s Magic Score: 5 + 6 + 2 = 13 – PASSED!

It then hit him. One of Oliphard’s lessons detailed how golems were crafted! The iron bull-headed figures were golems!!! That changed everything about his intended plans! He would need to disable them first by removing the plugs that kept a magical fluid- their lifeforce from pouring out. He would need to climb to the temple roof to reach those plugs. Hector sighed in dismay at that thought. He so hated climbing. More specifically, falling. Closing his heterochromatic eyes, he steadied his breathing as he considered the feat he had accomplished thanks to Trystan and Ysolt. With their help and encouragement, he climbed Devil’s Peak. The obsidian cliffs were sheerer than those of the temple’s walls. It was also lethally taller. He survived the peak; he could climb the temple.

THIEVERY DIFFICULTY – 11

Hector’s Thievery Score: 8 + 2 + 2 = 12 – PASSED!

Late into the evening, after the temple’s doors closed and were secured following the day's final ceremony, Hector steeled his nerves. He kept to the shadows as he wove through the alleys. His keen eyes and ears tracked the pedestrian and patrol movements. When all was silent and motionless, he climbed the temple battlements and crept along to the gables above the entrance. Carefully, he positioned himself behind one of the golems. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he felt the terrible wind from the storm demons battering him from head to toe. He closed his eyes, steadied his breath, and reminded himself he wasn't hanging from the peak. Reassured of his footing and grip, he dipped down and tugged the large, ceramic plug from the golem. Putrid-smelling, tourmaline-green fluid spilled from the gaping hole. The construct twitched briefly before falling deathly still.

However, the other bull-headed figure shifted its stance.

COMBAT DIFFICULTY – 9

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 1 + 2 = 7 – FAILED!

Try as he might, the burglar was too slow to swing over and remove the construct’s plug! Instead, the golem reached up and grabbed Hector’s arm. He gritted his teeth as it yanked him down and tossed him to the ground. Tumbling to prevent injury, the blond rogue quickly assessed his surroundings. No alarm bells had sounded for the priests, soldiers, or nearby civilians. Desperate to prove his worth and skills to the deity Sig, he drew his mace and leaped into battle.

Golem: COMBAT 5, DEFENSE 10, STAMINA 10

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 5 + 3 = 12 Total

12 – 10 Defense = 2 < 10 Stamina = 8 – Golem Attacks!

Stubborn as Hector was, a mace against an iron golem was not the most effective choice. Not that using daggers would have been any better. He managed to dent the bull-headed construct’s leg before it swung its club down at him.

Hector: COMBAT 4, DEFENSE 6, STAMINA 9

Golem’s Combat Score: 5 + 2 + 5 = 12 Total

12 – 6 Defense = 6 < 9 Stamina = 3 – Hector Attacks!

The sheer force of the golem’s attack made it impossible for Hector to deflect or block. He stumbled back from the club’s strike. His eyes teared up as he realized his mistake. Already, he doubted he would survive. He should have stayed by Ysolt’s side. Still, he kept swinging.

Golem: COMBAT 5, DEFENSE 10, STAMINA 8

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 3 + 4 = 11 Total

11 – 10 Defense = 1 < 8 Stamina = 7 – Golem Attacks!

Well, that was an even less effective strike on the golem’s other leg. It left Hector wide open for what would likely be the construct’s final strike!

Hector: COMBAT 4, DEFENSE 6, STAMINA 3

Golem’s Combat Score: 5 + 6 + 5 = 16 Total

16 – 6 Defense = 10 > 3 Stamina = Hector Slain!

With a crack to his head, the rogue fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The clanging of his mace against the iron construct caught the attention of some nearby priests of Tyrnai. One of them knelt down and recited a prayer of healing. He placed his hand on Hector’s temple and revived him enough to rouse him. He was terribly weak, and pain coursed through his limbs as a reminder of his stupidity.

By morning, Hector was stripped of his money and possessions and sold into slavery.

Name: Hector Athair
Profession: Rogue
God: -none-
Rank: 1
Defense: 5
Charisma: 5
Combat: 4
Magic: 5
Sanctity: 1
Scouting: 2
Thievery: 8
Stamina: Max – 9/Current – 1
Money: 0
Possessions – Max 12: -none-
Resurrection Arrangements: -none-
Titles: Outcast
Blessings: -none-