Appearance

Mentality

Personal history

Beeroy hails from a small village in the Covenrose Wilds, Dawnbury. Dawnbury was a close-knit hunter/gatherer clan living off the land, with simple pleasures, secure in their gated, walled-in community. As a boy, he was entrusted with the family apiary to tend to. The apiary had been passed down for countless generations. His grandmother used to tell him stories about one hive in particular that was said to have powers. If the hive accepted their keeper, they would serve him well, help him and guide him through his trials and tribulations. Beeroy also knew his grandmother was old and prone to cheeky jests, so he disregarded her old harengon nonsense. Nevertheless, he took his duties seriously and tended to the hives with great care. He felt an unspoken connection with them, as if they welcomed his presence.
 
One night Beeroy woke to distant screams on the edge of the village. He and his family rose from their beds and ran outside to investigate. Complete chaos was before them. Houses were set aflame, his clan members slaughtered indiscriminately. Harengon ran in all directions either trying to put out the flames or escape their assailants—bugbear raiders. Beeroy watched in horror as his family was massacred with utter indifference as their murderers laughed as they slaughtered and wasted no time looting the bodies. Beeroy fled for his life, running towards the apiary that was on the edge of the village, but was surrounded by four large bugbears. Thinking he was about to meet the same fate as his family, his jaw dropped when he heard the sudden roar of one his bee colonies. They rushed out of their hive and swarmed all over his would-be killers, leaving Beeroy untouched. The bugbears thrashed their arms and weapons in the air but could not stop the onslaught of stings. They tried to run but collapsed to the ground, bodies twitching as their skin swelled up and they began to convulse. Once their movement stopped the bees flowed back into their hive.
 
Beeroy ducked into a small utility shed near the apiary, hastily grabbing some supplies and rope. He fashioned a makeshift harness to carry the main hive on his back and dashed to the edge of town. As he reached the gates of the village, he couldn’t help but notice that the gate was not smashed in... it was unlocked.
 
This gate was never unlocked.
 
With no time to inspect further, he had to run and ponder the unlocked gates later. He turned back once and watched in despair as the only home he knew burned to the ground. Seeing no survivors in sight other than the raiders picking through the burning rubble, he ran for the hills. As he approached the top he heard the sound of horses. He hid in the bushes and watched as mounted horsemen stood at the hilltop with torches in hand. More bugbears, and they appeared to be the leaders. A long-eared figure with a torch walked past Beeroy's hiding place and called out to the bugbears. The scourgefolk replied with a greeting.
 
Beeroy braced himself, expecting the torch-bearer to be cut down, but no blow came. The bugbears and the harengon began speaking in low tones. Beeroy, impossibly curious, crept as cautiously close as he could to learn more. As he did so, one the Bugbears spotted Beeroy and pointed a spear in his direction. The other Harengon turned around, the light from his torch illuminating the face of his uncle Arafrok!
 
Uncle Arafrok stared at Beeroy for a moment, mouth agape. Then he unsheathed a dagger and charged at his nephew. Beeroy stumbled backward, turned, and ran. He fled into the darkness, hidden in the high, dry grass. He heard the grass ignite and still he ran. Even after he was sure he had lost his pursuers, he ran. Even once he felt he had enough lead to double back and cover his tracks, as soon as he was done he turned and ran until dawn.
 
Beeroy wandered through the plains, tears streaming from his eyes, mourning the loss of his family and friends. His grief was interwoven with the sting of betrayal. Uncle Arafrok? The man whom he looked up to? The man had been like a second father to him. Why did he collaborate with the raiders? What were they after? There couldn’t have been anything of great value that was worth murdering a whole village.
 
Unsure of where to go, Beeroy cautiously visited common hunting grounds, searching for any village survivors. He lurked, hidden at various gathering spots for days, but no one familiar showed up. He tried holding on to hope but after catching sight of a few searching bugbears, Beeroy felt he had no choice but to leave his home behind. For days, he survived off the land, hunting small animals lured with the honey from his makeshift hive pack. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and before long, he was in unfamiliar land, unsure if he could get back home even if there was something to return to.
 
Beeroy began visiting towns, hoping to lose himself in the crowds. After a series of misadventures, he wound up in Uzradah where he answered a curious job posting and met an even curiouser tortle named Quincy. They were both hired to help a nobleman investigate a series of mysterious disappearances. The two of them quickly became friends and allies, and they worked together to solve the mystery. After the case was closed, Quincy and Beeroy decided to continue adventuring together.
 
When their travels took them north toward the Spire region, Quincy gave Beeroy an idea. Of course he'd heard stories of Nightsand Tower, the Shadow War, the Profane, and the Towerband. All stories that played no influence on his life. His world was his village. He knew of the Council and decided if there was any hope of reuniting with his remaining clansfolk, he could go to the Council for information, as well as bring justice to his people.
 
Naivety betrayed his hope. The Council proved an unwieldy, difficult to navigate bureaucracy. He was pointed to different officials who all seemed indifferent to his plight. They asked questions he didn’t have answers to, they were uninterested in his story, his requests fell on deaf ears. One official lectured him that there has never been a massacre to the degree Beeroy described ever since the Song of Harmony. He felt gaslit, disregarded, and marginalized. Just a backwards rabbitfolk simpleton. He decided that the only thing he could do was ask around town himself, trying to find anyone that could help. His hive served as a painful reminder of what he left behind, but the bitter pain was smoothed over by a comforting presence the bees gave him. A calming buzz, a few bees curiously crawling on his fur. A pleasant aroma emanating from the hive. He felt a strange connection to it. Almost like they served as a protector. Not getting him out of every jam he got himself into, but springing into action when sensing he was in danger.
 
Nightstand was a lonely place despite how many people lived here. Beeroy's hope faded, his optimism turned to bitterness and disdain. He felt alienated as fellow harengon were few and far between. All talk of violence and crime swept under the rugs to paint a picture of unbroken peace. "It’s bullshit," Beeroy thought, "Nightsand and the Council can burn to the ground! Bunch of self-righteous pricks."
 
As night fell, Beeroy tried to visit a pub but was kicked out when the bartender noticed his bees. It went that way sometimes, but this time as Beeroy turned to go a man he hadn't realized was sitting next to him touched his arm and leaned in close. "Those bees might find the rose garden nice this time of year. Just a block south of here."
 
Before Beeroy could twist to get a better look at the man behind the voice, a bouncer hoisted him out the front door. Beeroy dusted himself off, grumbling to the bees for not having his back. With nowhere else to go, Beeroy followed the directions to the rose garden. Hidden from view of the street in the center of the geometric rows of rosebushes, a figure in a dark cloak and hood stood. His hands were cupped over a silver-tipped cane.
 
Beeroy couldn't see the man's full face beneath the hood, only the contrast of a raised white scar against the brown skin. Recalling his mother's precious stone collection and the illustrated gem guide he'd nearly memorized as a youngling, Beeroy noticed the man wore a silver ring on each finger of his left hand, each one unique and ornate, appearing to be quite expensive. The only common characteristic of all five was the yellow-orange-red fireburst of the zanstone set into each one.
 
"You may refer to me only as 'Vee'," he said in a clipped highbrow accent. "That is not my real name. By the end of this conversation, you will understand why it would very much be in your best interest that you don't actually learn my real name."
 
Beeroy could only freeze, suddenly feeling as if there were more eyes than just Vee's on him at that moment.
 
"I realize you've had a difficult day, and are most assuredly feeling like no one has heard or—even listened to!—your dangerous fiction after a dozen bloody attempts over the last—" he checked his watch, "—My goddess. It's been 18 hours!
 
"But I promise you the right people did hear your tale. It is in fact because the right people were the ones listening that you are currently drawing breath." He held up his hands. "That's not meant to be a threat. But it is meant to convince you that there will be dire consequences if you continue to tell that particular story to anyone who'll listen. Note I did not say 'could be dire consequences' and very specifically said 'will be'."
 
He relaxed his shoulders slightly, drawing the cane closer with one hand while the other reached under his cloak.
 
"The very sad fact is that simple country folk disappear in this city every day." Vee stepped forward. Beeroy felt his knees wobble as he reflexively shrank back. "Most don't have wild tales that might disturb the peace tumbling from their mouths, either." Beeroy froze, memories of the violent deaths of his clanfolk, the flames choking his lungs, and the cruel faces of the bugbears flooded his mind. As each memory struck him, five distinct raging infernos consumed everything, each on its way to devour him.
 
Vee then pressed two boarding passes into Beeroy's paw for a ship departing from Bezokh first thing in the morning. The icy cold touch snapped Beeroy back to the present. Vee gripped Beeroy's wrist and pulled him uncomfortably close. "Be on this ship, or forfeit your safety and potentially your life." Silvery points of light reflected off Vee's eyes, deep in the shadows of his hood. "That you may take as a threat, if you choose." Without another word, Vee vanished from the rose garden.
 
Beeroy, spooked to the core, grabbed Quincy and headed to the Keep, the creeping sensation of being watched and followed not fading until they were several miles out of the city. They traveled to Bezokh, but almost immediately upon arrival, they ran into a lot of trouble. They were barely rescued by a duo who later identified themselves as Bromduhr Mountainbane and Bold Rain. After a few more deeply regrettable hijinks, the foursome narrowly escaped Bezokh and found a temporary hideout to lick their wounds.
 
All four companions were needing a place to lay low, though none of them knew where they might go with very little money and few prospects. After a couple days in hiding, Brom received a curious message from an old family friend. After reading it, he announced that he had their destination: Grasmere.
 
They arrived in Grasmere and followed Brom's letter's directions to... The Stewed Prune. The place was a dump but the roof didn't leak (much) so they worked to fix it up and re-opened for business a couple of nights ago.

Employment

Ostensibly employed as a general contractor at The Stewed Prune

Personality

Social

Birthplace

Dawnbury