Scribbler
Scribbler
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Crooked, boney and curious.
Mental characteristics
Sexuality
incredibly Aromantic/Asexual, but probably hasn't thought long enough to figure that out.
Morality & Philosophy
places great importance on the way people are remembered, and the things we leave behind. We are the stories we tell
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
easily distracted, but endlessly passionate, he could spend weeks tracking down the original version of a poem, or chasing after a lost trinket. lover of shiny things and secrets, caverns tombs and keeps.
Personality Quirks
expresses emotion mostly through the angle of the head.
hung low on bad days, up and to the right while pondering, bobbing for laughter, down to the right in embarrasment.
Hygiene
how do you feel about dust baths, cause this boy loves them.
Seeking to overcome the curse that binds his creativity, Scribbler studies Illusion magics and the works of bards.
View Character Profile
Age
40
Children
Gender
male
Eyes
green
Hair
black feathers
Height
5"2'
Quotes & Catchphrases
Caw?
A Nessecary Task
2/5/1409
Sir Adrion Solumbra came to me one morning with an urgent request. He told me how he, having met with steal in hand a band of Orcish slavers, had saved a man whose name I now know to be Arnock. Sir Adrion, ever the tactician, was deeply troubled by the prospect of such brutes living naught but a few days from the heart of our new home, Vanguard.
Of course, upon hearing of good Arnock's plight, I had no choice but to lend my services however I could. But moments after I pledged myself to this goal, a woman of apparent quarterly Elven decent appeared, followed shortly by a strapping young lad. I would later come to know them as Delilah Avery, a ranger of some skill, and Tarfu Gitsmasha, who acted as both translator and defender to our plucky band.
After I had aided Miss Delilah in consulting the map, and she I with my trunk, we set off. Following the guidance of Arnock, who displayed great bravery in returning even partway toward his recent captors, we traveled east through rolling landscape. We made good pace, and without much event, came to rest at a wooded hill for the night.
I must speak of Sir Adrion Solumbra now with some candor, which I hope will be taken in the best of lights. The fellow insisted on taking watch the full night, despite our protest. He sat upon my trunk, and removed his tinted spectacles for the first time, revealing terribly bloodshot eyes. Whatever would cause such an effect, I do not know. Stranger still, throughout the trip, he had shown Miss Delilah great deference, quite unlike the soldiering attitude he took up with Tarfu and I. And yet I doubt that it was on account of any particular affection he held for the Ranger, although she would well deserve it. I shall have to inquire with him on the reason at some other time.
I awoke from uncomfortable rest the next morning to a thunderous crack. Opening my eyes I saw Sir Adrion, a column of mist extending from his hand at least 100 feet into the early morning air. I had not expected such magical talents from him, but I find myself most impressed by them.
A hurried breakfast, a hand with my luggage, and we were off again. Adrion said he had seen a band of Orcs the night before, so we knew we were on course. It wasn't long before we reached the marker which pointed toward the Slavers camp, and having explained the way to interpret it, Arnock bid us farewell, and good luck. From then on we relied upon Miss Delilah to lead the way.
At the final stop before the camp, we noticed a patch of tender white flowers in bloom. After committing their shape to memory for my illusions, I would have thought little of them, but that Sir Tarfu recognised them as a powerful antidote to hexes and jinxes. We picked some, if only for their worth, and continued to our destination.
The Slavers camp was of a surprisingly subtle construction. A ringed Wall of staves surrounded a criss-cross network of gangways that spanned the trees growing within, And at the center of the bower a guard post, which had view of the surrounding area. We would have been spotted at a good distance, had the man posted not been so distracted by his lunch. As it was, it was a simple matter for us to creep closer, so that hoot, my faithful star, could investigate further. Glimpsing through airborn eyes, I was witness to a ghastly sight. 5 of Arnock's companions bound in an iron cage, and a trail of blood leading from it to the large hall that dominated the camp. Quite distraught by the scene, the description I gave my companions left much to be desired, and I was forced to stoop to dragging my fellows toward the camp to express the urgency of things. As we hurried to the fort, a clever stratagem was devised. Delilah Avery, who revealed herself a changeling to my surprise, transmuted herself completely to the likeness of Arnock, allowing sir Tarfu and I to pose as her captors seeking compensation from the Slavers. Sir Adrion, refusing to join us on account of moral disposition, took to the trees as his form of approach, and prepared an ambush.
I am ashamed to say that I was little use in the deception, but between the bewilderment of the guards and my companions quick wit, we were escorted right through the front gate. After a brief discussion amongst themselves, the elder of the slaving band was brought forth to negotiate terms for a handover. Recognising a fellow mage, I acted quickly to remove him before a fight broke out. Three enchanted swords through the chest wasn't enough to down him, but Adrion's swandive from the trees onto the poor bastards head certainly was. I tell you, that was a sight to behold. With surprise on our side, and a few tricks up my sleeves, my fellows quickly set about dispatching the Orcs as they advanced.
In my cursory search, I missed the twelve foot beast of an Orc who then burst from the Main hall, with a sword where his arm should have been. I bought a few moments, as my compatriots went about their bloody work, by filling the brutes head with scornful remarks from his mother, but I misjudged. Just as Tarfu knocked two warriors through the air, I watched the Giant plunge the cursed blade into the earth, suppressing all magic. No sooner had our cover dropped, but a volley of arrows thundered around us, leaving all but Delilah (who wisely retreated to avoid such an attack) badly bloodied. I barely had the time to turn as a blade came down, and after that, I have no memory of events beyond a terrible pain. I'm told that sir Tarfu stood bravely over my and Adrion's fallen forms, and that Miss Delilah delivered the deadly blow, scattering the remaining foes in their haste to escape her wrath. It was a close thing, if the wounds I nurture now are anything to go by, that I survived that blow. Without these loyal fellows, I would most certainly be dead. I owe them all a debt of gratitude.
Once we were back on our feet, the prisoners freed, and our wounds tended, we limped our way home. With battered bones and heads held high, not to mention a veritable trove of treasure. Among the trinkets, we uncovered a number of cursed items. It seems the orcs were quite fond of them, as they had a field of the flowers we had seen before, no doubt to stave of the horrid effects I detected from those weapons.
I hope to adventure again with these fine folk, If only in less dire circumstance
Scribbler's account of Dante's Continent
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