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[Athamar: Quests from Lorana] sneaky's Character Sheets

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
Appearance: Human girl; average height for her age and average weight, being well-fed, yet active. She has straight, titian hair styled into a simple center-part bob that frames her heart-shaped face. Her ruddy complexion is freckled beneath her eyes and across the bridge of her fine nose.


She sports a pair of bifocal spectacles, though they are not for corrective wear but for reading and to assist in the detection of arcane sources (Spectacles of Detect Magic). They also provide some anti-glare protection.


Her attire is of simple hempen earthtones with a practical, ascetic flair. She wears a traveler's mantle and wears a hat shaped like a drooping leaf. A leather belt lined with pouches hangs on her hips, and a leather case with a strap worn across her chest carries her precious books. A small haversack is worn opposite to it.


Name: Marilyn Gale


Age: 15


Location: Lamordia


Class/Weapon: "Magic Shop" Witch, Apprentice; Shillelagh, used as her spell focus and improvised melee weapon for self-defense


Personality: To an observer, Marilyn seems sullen and disinterested in her surroundings. When she isn't reading, she is looking away from people or concerning herself with things. Her interactions are quiet, polite and to the point. She is obedient when ordered and silently fulfills requests when asked nicely. She seems so very neutral to everyone and everything around her, with the exception being to animals and fae, to whom she is rather open and sociable.


History: Marilyn hasn't an illustrious nor detailed history to relate. She was born and raised by her parents in Lamordia and went to a mundane school (Mission House Grammar School). When Marilyn's arcane talent surfaced at age nine her parents encouraged her to pursue it, as Marilyn herself had not voiced any apparent interest in her own future. It was only due to her parents' initiative that at age ten she was appraised by an assessor of the Arcane Order, and then was shipped off to Anorgath to attend Arkady Junior Collegiate for four years. Marilyn was then assigned to Magister Fearghas Dryden in Porzul for her apprenticeship studies at his workshop. After studying under Dryden for less than a year, Marilyn was abruptly pushed out into the world for "distance learning," as her master put it, with the conceit that it was an opportunity to better understand magic beyond memorized formulas and books.


With a bare allowance of pocket money provided by the Arcane Order via Dryden, Marilyn was forced to rely on fulfilling services for clients to survive and broaden her experience. She is expected to perform Sendings at regular intervals to report her progress to Dryden.
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
IC History


Chapter One: The Magical Harp


The reader is first introduced to Marilyn apprehensively regarding the unicorn, Reilios. Like Reilios, Marilyn had apparent interest in joining the quest that had been posted upon the Kings Bulletin. Using a Message spell, she offered to assist the magical beast.


She was initially paralysed by Ualan's appearance, but after consulting her Compleat Bestiary, she offered to assit the Half-Giantess, who did not have a fluent grasp of common. Her flustered efforts were rebuffed when the adventurer Jason Reggin provided his own brand of assistance. Marilyn then sullenly added her name via Arcane Mark to the Kings Bulletin.


She was happily stunned when Reilios accepted her invitation for help, and neurotically etched his name upon the quest sheet with a pen she carried in her satchel. She tensely chatted with him regarding their shared mission.


Marilyn felt the gravity of the situation she had put herself when Lady Ialia called her forth and made an offhand mention that, "Witches love children! We shall use you as bait for Mordra!"


When the heroes paraded the street to the castle, she nervously made a necklace of flowers that the townsfolk had bestowed upon the heroes as they marched.


For the day-and-a-half the party journeyed south to Silvershadow Woods, Marilyn remained quiet and out of the way.


When the party began their journey proper into Silvershadow Woods, Marilyn kept to the rear and served as a torchbearer, having cast Light upon her shillelagh.


Mordra's brief possession of Isora had a demoralizing effect on Marilyn. Luna's divine powers drove the witch from Isora, but the act had rendered the priestess unconscious. Marilyn cast Floating Disc to carry the incapacitated Luna aloft, as to not burden the party's warriors with carrying her.


As the heroes continued further in, they ran afoul a cluster of giant spiders. Marilyn could only stand her ground and do her best to defend the still unconscious Luna. Luckily, the party was able to deal with the arachnid threat in short order, for which Marilyn was grateful: she only had a single casting of Magic Missile available to her. Her heart sank slightly when she beheld Isora's casting of Fireball, becoming greatly aware of just how far apart the two mages were in terms of power.


Recognizing in the aftermath of the battle that Jason was missing, Marilyn suggested to Ialia to forcible rouse Luna back into consciousness. Before either could act upon it, Luna rose on her own. She suggested to the prietess that perhaps she could scry for Jason, but it was decided that it would be better to push forward without him, with the hopes that he would catch up or would be encountered.


Listening to King Arisu's plight served to steel Marilyn's resolve, however her doubts pushed forward shortly again in full force. The party's invasion of the tower had her plagued further, as she could do naught but light the way for the others. Resigned to the notion that she would not be able to survive the climactic battle to come, Marilyn vowed to herself that she would deal a decisive blow against the witch when the time was right.


When at last the party confronted Mordra, Marilyn laid in wait and extinguished her Light spell. She regarded the battle as the others fought valiantly, all the while gathering up the mana necessary to cast a maximized Scorching Ray. When she at last unleashed it, the sudden drain of mana from her body caused her heart to stop, shattered her shillelagh and dissolved the Floating Disc upon she stood.


As she laid dying she experienced a lucid vision where she encountered a shapeshifting entity whom she eventually identified as "the Art"--a manifestation of arcana as a sentient, sapient being. Assuming the form of the Arch-Magus Mordenkainen, the Art offered Marilyn a choice: death or fully embracing the Art in exchange for what may be a Faustian price.


Marilyn's reply was cut short when she was revived in the real world, thanks to the combined efforts of Reilios and Isora, utilizing forbidden conjunction magic. She awoke painfully, her body weakened by the ordeal, however her mana was for the most part restored due to a potion force-fed to her while she was unconscious. The experience left her silent and shivering.


While on some level she felt happy that Silvershadow Woods would recover and that King Arisu was well, her senses were dulled and would not express it.


Along with the other survivors of the party, in thanks for ending Mordra's curse and the retrieval of the harp, Arisu bestowed upon Marilyn the disquieting prophesy:

Little human girl, doomed to die,

the Question's time comes undelayed.

High-stake games of sorcery are nigh;

the fated choice will be made.

She had since become withdrawn from the others, barely eating and saying less.


Chapter Two: Delwyn's Gift


(in process)
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
Marilyn's Spellbook


Chapter One: The Magical Harp


Cantrips



Detect Magic:

You detect magical auras; verbal, somatic

- "Tsaran korilath ith hakon

" (activates)





Light:

Object shines like a torch; verbal, material (a firefly)

- "Shirak"

(activates)

- "Dulak"

(deactivates)





Message:

Whisper conversation at distance; verbal, somatic, focus (a piece of copper wire)





Arcane Mark:

Inscribes a personal rune on an object or creature (visible or invisible); verbal, somatic

1st Level



Floating Disc:

You create a slightly concave, circular plane of force that follows you about and carries loads for you; verbal, somatic, material (a drop of mercury)

- "Tenser dees"

(activates)





Magic Missile:

A missile of magical energy darts forth from your fingertip and strikes its target; verbal, somatic

- "Kalith karan, tobanis-kar"

(activates)

2nd Level



Scorching Ray:

You blast your enemies with a searing beam of fire; verbal, somatic

- "O burning lance of the Fiery Plane

Pierce my enemies with your searing blade

Scorching Ray"

3rd Level



Fireball:

A searing explosion of flame that detonates with a low roar; verbal, somatic, material (a ball of bat guano and sulfur)

- "Ast kiranann kair soth-arn suh kali jalaran

" (activates)

-

"See the seed, see it spread,

Blossom beautifully and destroy.

It does not blow like the wind,

Rather it pours and consumes like a torrid wave.

Ashes and cinders, remember its name: Fireball"

4th Level



Black Tentacles:

Causes a field of rubbery black tentacles to appear, burrowing up from the floor and reaching for any creature in the area; verbal, somatic, material (octopus or squid tentacle)

Chapter Two: Delwyn's Gift


Cantrips


1st Level


2nd Level


3rd Level


4th Level

* * *












Marilyn's Inventory









•​
Amulet

- received as reward from King Irwin for retrieving the Magical Harp.





•​
Arcane Order pendant

- a mundane piece of jewelry featuring the sigil of Arcanum; used to identify Marilyn as a student.





•​
Flower necklace

- a long, dangling daisy chain necklace of white flowers, made from flowers given to the party by well-wishing townsfolk.





•​
Reynold's

Compleat Bestiary

-

a 50 years out-of-date illuminated tome containing detailed information regarding magical beasts and other inhuman creatures. A gift from Dryden.





•​
Spectacles of Detect Magic

- a Wondrous Item; a pair of bifocals with the spell

Detect Magic

permanently active for the wearer.
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
(Original format preserved for flow.)


Name: Aloysius Mandelbaum, at your service. Call me 'Al'.


Age: Twenty-four. *snrk* Naw, I'm kidding. Thirty-four. I like to tell the ladies I'm thirty. I look it, right?


Appearance: Slick and so-phisticated. *pfft* Yeah, right. Okay, so maybe I ain't broad-shouldered, six and a half feet tall with long, flowing tresses and a strong jaw. But look at this. I am lean and mean. Bulky muscle? That's all for show. I'm all ropey and wirey with sinew everywhere. Check out these pythons! Scaling a greased pole? No problem! These legs can walk, run and dance the watusi. Sure, I got a few nicks and scratches here and there. Maybe a nose that didn't set right, and a five o'clock shadow that won't go away... But this hair, you see? All natural. Still the same shade o' chestnut brown as it was twenty years ago. No foolin'.


Sure, you must've taken one look at me and thought to yourself, "Who the hell is this vagrant? Must be collecting alms or something." Don't trust appearances. This is all an act, see? Smoke an' mirrors. Performance art. Who'd suspect li'l old me of all people of pulling out a knife like so! Let alone throwing it square into your face? Speaking of faces! Lookit me. Ordinary. Put me in a line-up of five other guys and I bet you wouldn't be able to pick me out. For my line o' work, it always pays to not stand out. Though... I do admit that armour could use a bit of polish.


Nah. It's part of its charm. Rugged! Well-worn and dependable! That's me right there.


Location: I go wherever the money is.


Class/Weapon: I'm a merc by trade. Mostly odd jobs... Nothin' that'll compromise my integrity, though. A man's gotta have standards. Principles. You know, scratch that. I'm a professional 'professional'. How's that? Some may call me a "sellsword", but I've got more to offer, I'd like to think, you know? / Whoo... Uh, how about I make you a list?



shitload of daggers

: for throwing and for stabbing and for juggling.



shortsword:

all-purpose stabby, slashy weapon--versatile. Just like me!



longsword:

two-handed head-splitting action right there.



sap:

I like to call this one "Mr. Sandman".



repeating crossbow:

you can look, but you can't touch! This one's my baby.



alchemical goodies:

Eigh, you know. Universal Solvent, adder grease, ghost touch oil, smokesticks... the usual.

All neatly stored in a Handy Haversack.


Personality & History: Well, I ain't gonna lie. I have killed some people. I'd like to think that most of them deserved it, but in a more realistic sense... we were just on opposite sides of a contract, y'know? You gotta read the fine print, gotta know what you're getting into. If someone in not so many words says, "Yeah, I want you on as a mook. The pay's not too great, but we'll give you room, board and you'll be nondescript enough for people not to target you specifically. Now, some people might call you fodder--well, that's sort of where we're going here. We won't think too bad of you if you run, but if we do catch you we will probably stab you in the back. And no, sorry, we don't have dental or severance packages."


Yeah. I had a lot of interviews go that way. Didn't turn out too good, but like I said. I'm a man of principles.


Some people might accuse me of not being ambitious, but you know, I like the way things are right now. Being my own boss. Picking and choosing. It's freedom. Everyday's an adventure. Sure, it sucks sometimes when the times are lean and you've got to make some bullshit up about knowing this-Lord or that-Lady or having been instrumental in liberating the village-of-so-and-so or having slain this particular dragon. Whatever. I got a fuck-ton of sharp steel and a neat deadly thing that spits out deadly bolts continuously until it runs out of ammo. I will put my life on the line for you unless it's deemed grossly unprofitable. Principles!


Listen. I've got like eighteen years of experience in the industry. No fooling. Just ask these teeth. Just lookit these scars. Just lookit all of these cool and wacky instruments of destruction I've got here, willin' an' waitin' to be pointed at your enemies.


Oh! And I can tumble, stand on my head and soft shoe. Yes, I can do birthdays. And I will work for food.


So. Do we got a deal?


Okay, okay. Fine. You want facts and references and shit, right? Do you want me to pull out my resume while I'm at it? Shite.


Grew up in Meadowdale. West side, yo. Family's all a buncha guildies. Not too shabby. Lots of humdrum, lots of busywork. Boring. Jumped on the first wagon down south to Porzul as soon as I could. Did the kitchen thing... apprenticed here and there... joined a band for a couple of months; the musical kind. That was something. I dunno. I guess I really was just a country boy at heart... Anyway.


So to celebrate my seventeenth. My boys, right? We just got roaring drunk. Like fucking pissed, I tell you. I guess we got all unruly or whatever. Come on. We were just stupid kids. So these guys at the pub started talking shit at us, but I dunno. I was fucking gone at that point, you know? Barkeep politely tells us all to take it the fuck outside. Sure, fine.


I don't totally remember everything that happened, but I am pretty sure that I beat the livin' tar out of that guy. And his mates. Uh, not the barkeep. Those dagos I mentioned before. Anyway, somethin' sorta clicked then, you know? Like an ephiphany. Two days later, after I recovered from my stultifying hangover I hopped on the first boat to Lamordia to enlist so that I could knock heads together like all the time.


Didn't really work out.


So then I decided to do the next best thing: securities.


Well, it was a step in the right direction, anyway. Eventually got sick of getting stiffed on my pay due to the guild, so one day when I was like twenty or so I said, "Fuck it!" and then went solo. Never looked back. Met a bunch of people along the way, a few of whom are still alive.


Dangerous line of work, but you make your own hours and holidays.


So yeah. That's me. Should I follow up on this, or will you be notifying me by mail...?


Notes:


• Al believes in the benefits of networking. That said, he makes it a point to join any petty guilds that would accept him, on the contingent that affiliation would not narrow his horizons. He distinguishes himself as an "affiliate" rather than a full member to maintain friendly ties but not to be bound by any one guild's full charter. In exchange for a percentage of his payment from undertaken assignments, he is usually permitted to retain this distinction. Given the chaotic nature of mercenary guilds, it is not uncommon for these companies to become extinct, dissolved or absorbed into other guilds. That's just the way the world works.


• Al's weapon is a custom work that set him back a pretty coin: he pillaged a repeating crossbow from the corpse of a troll sniper and brought it to a master toolmaker to reverse-engineer so that he could have one he could carry. While repeating crossbows are rare but not uncommon in use by both Lamordian and Loranan militaries, the design used by trolls seemed to be superior if not more unique to Al. In contrast to standard repeaters which use short bolts in similar construction to arrows, Al's repeater uses full metal quarrels that effectively penetrate heavy armour. The repeater uses a magazine of five quarrels with a maximum range of 200 yards and an effective range of 100 yards.


• Al speaks with a real-world New England accent--somewhat nasal, not as pronounced as a Kennedy, though. He often switches between speaking low and muttering and loud and theatrically (in a Nathan Lane sort of way).


• Religiously, Al calls himself a "non-practicing pantheist".
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
Appearance: Wind is an elf woman of above-average stature, standing approximately seven feet tall. She possesses a dark complexion and almond-shaped, ice blue eyes. Her black hair is straight and cut shoulder-length with a fringe across her brow.


Her body sports a lithe and limber athletic build best suited for feats of agility, allowing her to climb to advantageous positions for sniping and to quickly stride deep into enemy territories and through lines of defenders.


Her intimidating stature is compounded by her high mobility and weapons that dwarf those used by more average-sized contenders. Her standard melee weapons have a greater reach by being in scale with her.


She doesn't flash her teeth when she smiles and covers her mouth when she laughs; this is a reflex to not expose her developed maxillary canine teeth which look very much like fangs.


Her clothing changes often, tailored to the occasion. She affects a feminine modesty when not girded for battle, tastefully accented with jewelry.


She has a small mole below the right corner of her mouth.


Name: Wind O'Sheel / Gaoithe Ua'Siaghail (GEE-huh OH-sheel) à Ycengled


Age: "Why do you wish to know?"


Location: "I come and go where I am required."


Class/Weapon: Ranger / bow and blade


Personality: Wind is characterized by her professional nature, more akin to an experienced and disciplined military officer than a vagabond mercenary.


She is tactful, mature, and reliable.


If she had to label herself, she would say that she was a "professional soldier" rather than a mercenary. While she projects a calm, jovial and accomodating personality, in battle she displays a grim brutality that is tempered by a strong survival instinct--and perhaps something more. To those in her company she may be described as being maternal, supportive, and patient--a mother hen. That said, those who have sought friendly intimacy with Wind have found her to be rather secretive of herself; even distant. While she is not an anti-social person, Wind is definitely a private one.


When in an authoritative position she employs guerrilla tactics, assymmetrical warfare and prefers superior strategy to superior force--she is vocal about cooperation and coordinated efforts.


Wind's voice is usually reserved in volume and even in tone. It is usually described as being "husky".


History: If asked about her history, Wind would give a reverse-chronological list of the engagements, campaigns and bounties she had participated in. Usually that is sufficient. In a social environment she would only give hints or coyly sidestep or deny the asker the privilege.


What may be taken for granted is that Wind has been a mercenary for many years. While sellswords like her may relish the freedom and visceral thrill of combat for coin, Wind views her occupation as merely a means to an end and has no special attachment to the lifestyle. She seeks no glory, and moves from place to place, keeping only her ties to the guilds as reference to herself. Her reputation affords her the ability to pick and choose her work--usually well-paying and distinguished, allowing for her to spend long periods between contracts. Both friend and enemy refer to her as a "bean sidhe" or "banshee", or alternatively the "Black Siren"--though not to her face.


Despite wishing to downplay herself and her desire to be discreet, she can't help but be that "Tall as fuck brown elf lady" to others.


Wind's quest is to retrieve an ancestral weapon pillaged from the corpse of a fallen family member: a bladed bow named Pallas; it carries with it a spirit of enmity fueled by the laments and killing intentions of the slain--"Echoes of the Dead".
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
Appearance: Gruuhl is a giant being bound in leather, pelts and metal. His face is concealed behind the visor of a battle-worn helmet that is too grotesque to be forged by the hand of any sane human smith.


Gruuhl's limbs are long and gangly; his posture stooped and crooked so that his gauntlet-armoured fingertips nearly brush the ground. His fingers are long, deft and clever; his legs bowed with knees set wide apart.


At Gruuhl's side is a maquahuitl made of ancient timber and lined with sharp hunks of glossy obsidian. At his hip, hanging by a baldrick, is a curved ritual bone dagger. Around his neck and around both wrists he wears chakram of various diameters that jangle when he walks.


Decorating Gruuhl's waist are a variety of shamanistic foci: a bone rattle and dried body parts from animals. A large calabash gourd hangs across the small of his back for drinking.


While his overall height when standing straight rivals that of Ualan, he typically squats and sits in a lotus position, making him below Tal'set's eye level.


Name: Gruuhl Salamabad


Age: 156; "31 score and four seasons"


Location: Eastermarch; somewhere within the frontier east of Lorana


Class/Weapon: Druid / a maquahuitl serves as his primary weapon; many jangling chakram of various diameters are worn as bracelets and around his neck; a ritual bone dagger sheathed at his hip


Personality: Gruuhl is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.


His great stature and strange appearance leave an unsettling impression. His long strides in the wilderness are accompanied by the discordant sound of his throwing ring bracelets striking each other as he lumbers through the bush.


His voice deep and lilting, Gruuhl speaks common with an accent that may be perceived as "exotic". When speaking Elvish, to the untrained ear the beautiful language sounds snarling and fierce. To the Elven speaker, his command of the speech is archaic and brusque, like that of an ancient warlord.


Gruuhl's gestures and posture lend to him an alien atmosphere. Despite being apparently well-mannered, polite and respectful in speech, he comes off as being disingenuous; even sinister.


His appearance and sometimes-ignorance of regional social customs aside, Gruuhl has an unexpectedly spiritual side--which makes him all the more unfathomable.


History: Gruuhl is on a spiritual journey; a walkabout. He walks through the wilderness and across the lands of men guided by the "Spirits".


Gruuhl's quest is for knowledge. His journey is fed by "speaking" with the Land and the Spirits wherever they guide him. He believes that his encounters with others is the will of the Spirits, and so offers to exchange knowledge for knowledge.


Knowing that men value objects and weapons, Gruuhl uses his druidic gifts to leech minerals directly from rock and forges for them cunning works of iron and steel.


Being in communion with nature, Gruuhl is skilled in the preparation of carcasses into useful things, doing so only out of need and always in reverence.
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
Appearance: Reina is a human woman of average height. She possesses short cropped, dull blonde hair and hazel eyes.


Reina has a fit body with strong arms, powerful legs and a cut core. While not built for overwhelming melee power like a close-combat fighter, she is muscled well enough to stand her ground against charging cavalry. Her polearm demands both endurance, and finesse to strike, trip and dismount opponents. Her physical strength allows her to vault with the assistance of her halberd, and her dexterity allows her to deftly wield the weapon with grace and speed.


Reina's expressions are frank and honest, wearing her heart on her sleeve (meaning she is a terrible at cards). Her posture is casual, and her gestures affect a haughty confidence.


When not on duty she elects to wear Lamordian army fatigues. When geared for war she proudly wears steel scale armour.


Name: Reina Song


Age: 26


Location: Lamordia (currently stationed in Lorana)


Class/Weapon: Pikeman, lieutenant; halberd, javelins


Personality: There are many ways to describe Reina: undisciplined, headstrong, stubborn, loud, overbearing, singleminded, impetuous...


Her flaws aside, Reina has a strong, loyal spirit and a heart of valour.


She becomes a "blushing maiden" when infatuated.


History: Though not of noble birth, Reina always believes she has the potential for greatness--actually, no: she deserves it.


It was to the confusion of many that Reina chose to attend the Royal Academy to be an officer rather than enlisting to be a grunt.


Despite the misgivings of instructors and superior officers, Reina's persistence (and no thanks to her attitude) paid off and she now wears the dual stars of a lieutenant.


A recent incident, however, has earned Reina a "soft exile": by order of a formal tribunal, she was reassigned via an officer exchange program to Lorana. She thought she deserved a promotion for what she did.


As part of her duties, she has been instructed to teach Loranan soldiers in the finer practices of pikemen infantry tactics currently employed by the Lamordian army.
 

sneakyonfoota

flightless bird
Appearance: An adult human woman, Annika is of fair hair and complexion. She stands at a medium height and possesses a petite, slender frame (though this is mostly unnoticed beneath the gowns and robe of her monochrome habit). She has an oval face framed by the wraps of her white wimple, with delicate features and pronounced cheekbones.


As she lives the modest life of a nun, apart from her traditional garments she wears no special adornments. Her holy symbol of her deity (a valknutr), however, is unique: in the middle of the talisman is an infant death's head rendered in platinum, and the symbol is ornately detailed, being made of exquisitely carved bone.


Between her gown and robe she sports a chain shirt of silvered steel for protection. Her few worldly possessions are kept in a simple hemp duffel bag slung over her shoulder.


The lace wimple she wears as a headress covers her wavy blonde hair, which is braided, coiled and pinned to her crown. Optionally she wears a grey veil that obscures her face. Her blue eyes carry an empty expression that lack "shine": they seem to be glazed over and vacant--dull. She regards everything and everyone with a plastic smile--whether that smile can be judged to be genuine or false is to the discretion of the viewer.


Name: Annika Cederstrom


Age: 22


Location: Övre Gällareböke (a hamlet in northern Lorana)


Class/Weapon: Rassaphore (cleric) / holy symbol, silvered steel Rondel dagger, and silvered buckler


Personality: Annika would like to believe herself to be relatively level-headed and well-adjusted. As a member of the clergy, she is obliged to exhibit compassion, understanding and mercy. While she certainly seems to be serene of spirit and in possession of a pleasant countenance and demeanour, those who remain in her company for extended periods seemed unnerved by her unchanging disposition. As she is always pleasant and accommodating, her calm attitude may be mistaken for callousness in highly tense or stressful situations. In other words, she is saintly to her detriment.


Annika has no fear of death or injury, and is unusually detached and rational at all times. She displays only enough caution and may be perceived by others as reckless. She seems unperturbable as nothing seems to bother her. The only exception being when in the presence of the undead, where she becomes fanatically singleminded in their destruction and utter extermination.


While the previous statements are an outsider's perspective, Annika herself would admit to be plagued by a "feeling of 'great emptiness' in [her] soul", and a coldness in her heart that is too painful to meditate on.


History: Annika has been a ward of the Sororitas Mortis since she was eight years old. The sisterhood is a sect of the church of the god of death which venerates the lesser goddess Freyja, whose domain was the judgment of the slain and repose for the fallen. Annika willingly left her large family in northern Lorana to ease their burden. As a youth she was trained as a nurse, assisting her elder sisters of the order in tending to the ill. At age 16 she began her training as a field surgeon, directly assisting doctors with grisly procedures. Being a member of the Sisterhood, she specializes as a midwife, having assisted in the delivery of eight healthy children on her own.


Due to her feelings of unease, she has received leave from her abbess to undertake a pilgrimage in the hopes of receiving an epiphany to restore her peace of mind. In possession of unshakable faith, Annika continues her pilgrimage knowing that while she may die before regaining the serenity she so seeks, she does so with the comfort that her goddess is with her.
 

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