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Caine Abel

"Place yourself in the hands of fate and trust your own luck."

0 · 554 views · located in The Sword Coast

a character in “Seasons of the Lich”, originally authored by Talisman, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Caine

Tymora's Warden

One should be bold, for to be bold is to live. A brave heart and willingness to take risks beat out carefully wrought plans nine times out of ten. Place yourself in the hands of fate and trust your own luck. Bear and conduct yourselves as your own masters, showing your good or bad fortune as confidence in the Lady. Chase your own unique goals, and the Lady aids the chase. ~ Tymora's Dogma


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n a m e s a k e :
¬ Full |birth| Name: Caine Abel
¬ Spoken |used| Name: Caine
¬ Acquired |aliases| Names: None

n u m e r i c a l :
¬ Appearing Age: Mid-thirties
¬ Factual Age: 34

s o c i o l o g i c a l :
¬ Class: Fighter
¬ Profession: Adventurer, Caravan Guard, Bounty Hunter, Mercenary
¬ Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
¬ Marital Status: Single

b i o l o g i c a l :
¬ Height: 6' 2"
¬ Weight: 210
¬ Hair: Dark Brown
¬ Eye: Light Hazel
¬ Skin: Tanned and Rough, leather-like consistency
¬ Body Art: Entire right arm from wrist to shoulder blade is tattooed
¬ Scar Tissue: Heavy. Most prominent are the ones that start at his hairline and cuts to the middle of his cheek, and another at his lip down to his chin. Other scars are located on his chest, back, arms, and hands.

¬ Genetics: Baldurian
¬ Race: Human
¬ Attributes: None
¬ Immunity: None

m e n t a l l i t y:
¬ Demeanour: Boisterous, a risk-taker, eager, confident, a mind for battle, and lucky.
¬ Tendencies: Head-strong, gambling, temperamental, impatient, unpredictable, and a tendency to throw himself into battle.

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a r s e n a l:
¬ Offense: Sliveredge
-- type: Longsword
-- paragon: Silver
-- enchantments: Additional damage to undead and fey
-- other: Acquired as payment upon completion of guarding a trading Caravan from bandit attacks. Caravaneer stated it was sold to him by an aged Paladin seeking to retire. Told Caine that the Paladin called it Sliveredge and had killed many dark fiends. A slight warmth emanates from the hilt, so he's inclined to believe it.

¬ Offense: Kyneseeker
-- type: Shortsword
-- paragon: Steel
-- enchantments: None
-- other: A shortsword to reach for in case either shield or sword isn't nearby. Purchased fairly recent from with the money earned from a bounty.


¬ Defense: Battlerager's Half-plate
-- type: Half-plate
-- paragon: Steel with tarnished gold accents
-- enchantments: None
-- other: The armor isn't unique in itself, but it was bought very early into Caine's Adventurer lifestyle, and has seen many a battle. It's been repaired many times and begins to show it's wear, But it hasn't failed him yet, and Caine will probably keep wearing it until it rusts away or something immensely better comes along.

¬ Defense: Steel Ward
-- type: Round Shield
-- paragon: Riveted Steel
-- enchantments: None
-- other: Another item from Caine's early days. The shield is used as a weapon as much as it is used to block attacks. The wear is apparent on the shield as it is riddled with dents and dings, not to mention to marks of constant repair. The handle on the underside is rubbed polished and has been used so much is has molded to fit Caine's hand.

¬ Defense: Hands of Lucky Fate
-- type: Gauntlets
-- paragon: Silver and Steel
-- enchantments: Tingles warmly under various circumstance, such as ambushes, traps, or other nasty surprises
-- other: A favorite of Caine's, he acquired the Hands of Lucky Fate from a Fellow of Free Fate on one of his Caravan jobs. It was the same fellow who converted a young Caine to Lady Luck herself. They are a pair of Steel gauntlets with silver accents and an image of Tymora's coin engraved on the back of the hand.

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b a t t l e c l a d:
¬ Upper Body: Traveler's Cloak
¬ Full Body: Battlerager's Half-plate
¬ Head: None
¬ Arms: Hands of Lucky Fate
¬ Waist: Leather belt
¬ Feet: Steel plated boots

a t t i r e :
¬ Casual
¬ Feet: Travel worn Boots
¬ Legs: Dark colored trousers
¬ Hands: None
¬ Upper Body: Loose tan tunic

p r o f i c e n c y :

¬ Bastard Swords
¬ Longswords
¬ Shortswords
¬ Shortbows

a c c e s s o r i e s :
¬ Around his neck is Tymora's Coin, worn dull on one side from Caine's constant rubbing. He believes the coin is lucky and usually rubs it for luck before doing anything risky. The fact of the matter is, he isn't dead yet, so it must be doing something for him. Another item is the Traveler's Cloak, an enchanted cloak that keeps him warm when it's cold and cool when it's hot, acquired from a long hunted bounty. He also carries around a pair of dice and a deck of cards.


f e a t s:
~

So begins...

Caine Abel's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Brolo
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The night was dreamless for the Fighter hailing from Baldur's Gate. A symphony of snoring escaped the mouth of his tent as he slept with his head propped up on his shield and his enchanted cloak over his large frame. The cloak managed to keep him warm in the chilly night thanks to that enchantment. The sleeping countenance of the fighter was relaxed and even somewhat serene despite his brutish nature. Truthfully, the warrior had no worries to speak of. Life and death were just two sides of the same coin, one he flipped every day that he woke up in the morning. He had faith in Tymora and trusted his luck in everything that he did. It was no different that night than it had been for countless others.

In truth, while Caine felt no worries, he did feel excitement. A new day brought on a new fight and a new adventure. He was never one of those sit and watch kind of being, nor was he a thoughtful man. He lived to test his mettle day in and day out. Caravan guarding, bounty hunting, bandit cleansing, mercenary work, it was all a means to an end for Caine. And that end was to live his life to the fullest, filled to the brim with excitement and danger. He often thought of his life like the tales the bards sang. Glorious battles and honor hard won. Of course, there had yet to be a glorious battle for the Fighter and his honor tallied up to nothing more than a mercenary. Still, it did little to dissuade Caine from his chosen profession. Perhaps he would find his battle yet.

Then the Fighter drifted awake, his mind still dazed and groggy from sleep. At first he closed his eyes once more in search of slumber, as a glance through his tent flap revealed it to still be night. However much as he tried, he could not will himself back to sleep. An hour passed and he still found himself awake as sleep was found to be elusive. He sighed and gave up and instead began to stare at the roof of his tent. The light of the sun was bound to rise in a couple of hours anyway, so what was the use of sleep? A waste of time in his eyes. His thoughts lingered on the silly elves and their method of sleep- or unsleep. His bones began to itch for activity. He began to toss and turn underneath the warming cloak in an effort to exhaust the itch yet it still proved rather resilient. His hand found it's way to the the coin strung around his neck as it usually did in times of idleness, his thumb tracing the grove worn into the gold metal. Nothing could relieve Caine of his restlessness, save getting up. At least he wasn't the only one who was awake. He could hear a couple of the others likewise employed with him moving outside.

Finally giving up and giving in to his restless urge, Caine sat up in his makeshift bed. A glance to his side revealed his equipment strewn haphazardly around his tent. He collected his boots and his tunic and left the tent, making his way to the fire. As he approached, he managed to catch Brolo's comment.

"I don't punch women, Kanvergiss," He replied to the sorcerer's comment, "Especially when one can punch harder than me," he finished with a nod to the Monk. The proximity of the fire illuminated the body of the Fighter, displaying a number of scars etching his stout frame and the tattoo inked into his right arm, not to mention the glint of Tymora's coin laying flat on his chest. He donned his tunic and approached the gathering around the fire and took a seat between Brolo and Aletrayu. He held his boots close to the fire in order to allow the flames to let the heat sink into the cool leather. As he waited, he added with a grin, "The Smiling Lady favors the brave and the bold, not the stupid. I'd get my arm snapped for sure." It wasn't a fight Caine was against, mind, and in truth the Fighter would probably have found enjoyment in the scuffle. However, it was neither the time nor place for such games.

As he slipped into his boots, the campfire was approached by two more of their company. The Druid and the Assassin. He shot a curt greeting to both of them and then began to poke and prod the fire with a stick, sending billows of sparks up into the air. Then came Araina's offer to keep watch. "I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep," he shrugged, "Now that I'm already up. Sunrise shouldn't be too far off now anyway, right?" he asked.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Brolo
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K N I G H T

A faint whisper of footsteps tore Caleb's gaze away from the flames. Her icy orbs were with shaded with fire and still perturbed by her restless night. Nightmares were evident on her visage - a pallid face of concealed beauty - but her pride swiftly masked her enfeeblement. Aletrayu's form was birthed from the forest's womb and illuminated by the blaze. The knight knew very little about her comrades apart from what Zacchaes had disclosed to her, and the brief confrontations she had shared with each one. She had no qualms with monks, particularly this one; a petite yet powerful woman who had the look of a native from Kara-Tur. Where she truly hailed, however, Caleb did not know. 'Troubled'? the monk asked. Caleb's chin canted and she gazed at the woman silently. If anyone had dared yet place the paladin, they would judge her as the ' strong silent type.' Caleb was aloof, undaunted, and incredibly forbearing. Outwardly, she was the epitome of a 'paladin,' yet inside, she often screamed. She had been born unto knighthood, and the holy had been her birthright - not her choice.

"Nay," Caleb finally replied. The woman's voice was deep and dulcet, which could often unnerved, yet also soothed. By the time Brolo entered the ring of light, Caleb was slowly rising and brushing the soil off her hind legs. She was lofty for a woman, standing just over six feet with a physique of liberal curve and toned muscle. Though her hands were calloused, her digits were nimble and svelte. The sorcerer's voice penetrated the air and caused her eyes to narrow; instinctively she had disdain for him. Brolo's existence challenged her duty and presumed divinity, and if she had been born any other paladin, she would have surely tried her hand at eradicating him. Nonetheless, Caleb was 'divergent' from the rest of her Order, and strived not to judge blindly. The knight disregarded the majority of his words and then pivoted away, but she stalled her steps when she heard the acquainted voice of Araina emerge from the thicket. Caleb considered the druid and offered her a glance, but shook her head in variance. The devotion and purpose of druids was something she had always respected, and though she admired the woman, they didn't require a prolonged watch. By that time, the infamous Caine had roused from his sleep and seized his infernal snores; materializing from the shade with his tunic half-way pulled over his torso. Caleb caught the fighter's jest and managed to smirk, but the notion dissipated swiftly. Azarel had also joined them, to her incredulity. Silent as always, the paladin had no present qualms with him, yet his presence often quelled her unease; perhaps it was his profession, she did not know.

"Aye, the sun will dawn within the next hour and we must be prepared to leave thereafter." The paladin absorbed the last remnants of the chatter. "I encourage you all of you to prepare and provision…" It was still insidiously early, but the knight placed high value on diligence and punctuality. Still, despite all the obligations encumbering her mind, the nightmares that had riddled her sleep lingered in her thoughts. She did not dream often. It had felt unbelievable tangible. Caleb held a swallow in her throat and wandered off. While retreating for her tent, she register an ache in her bones and an abrade gnawing in her hands. Her eyes flickered down and she turned her palms up to her gaze, quaffing dryly. Twin burns marred the breadth of her hands. The flesh was sore and chafing, and the wounds freshly made. 'By Torm…' She breathed lowly, clenching her fists. The paladin ducked into her tent and began preparing for the journey ahead. Perhaps it had been no mere dream…

The setting changes from the-sword-coast to Faerun

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Brolo
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The setting changes from faerun to The Sword Coast

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Brolo
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There was something to be said about the stars in the sky. The drow of the underdark often never see them, or the sun for that matter. In fact, Veilyn himself had not gazed upon the infinite expanse of space until he was a ninety-seven, a lifetime for humans, but for him, just a brief chapter of his life. Something about the stars stirred within him a sense of awe, a primal feeling that started in his stomach and clawed its way into his heart that told him, "behold how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things." It was thoughts like these that filled his mind during his reveries, which often; as they had this evening; take place on a thin roll arranged outside so that he could gaze for hours into the blackness. He had long forsaken the practice of reliving his memories, for he had too many, and very few of them pleasant. "Besides," he often argued to himself, "there is no use dwelling in the past."

Though he had distanced himself from the camp by a sufficiently large margin, he was acutely aware of the gathering around the fire. First, was Caleb, the Paladin. Veilyn liked her a lot, and not just because she was attractive. Despite being one of those "virtuous" people, she had the same kind of grim strength that so many that survived the underdark share, a demeanor that only graces those who have been through hell, and lived. Second came the Monk, whose name Veilyn could still not confidently pronounce, forcing him to refer to her with names such as, "you", "monk", "girl", or "kid". She was pretty, not the same way as Caleb. Where Caleb was strong, Aletrayu was refined. Where the paladin was grim, the monk was stoic. Veilyn's ears picked up the monk's voice for a brief moment, before the night fell silent again, and only the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then came the sorcerer, Brolo. Veilyn didn't know what to think about him. He had a recklessness about him that Veilyn respected, but it was recklessness spawned from inexperience, rather than experience. He did seem a little short tempered, but Veilyn had yet no quarrel with him, so it was best to let him be. Morning must have been creeping up on them, and the sun's light dimmed the stars as it prepared to crack over the horizon and spill it's golden light all across the landscape.

Turning his attention back to the fire, he saw that two others had joined the group. The druid, Araina, and the newcomer, Azrael. There was little that Veilyn had to say about Araina. She was a surface elf, which automatically put a strain on their relationship, and though undoubtedly attractive, she seemed like the kind of nature-loving, tree-hugging elven stereotype that Veilyn tried to avoid. If he ever pursued anything with her, he felt as if it would somehow involve the forest in an unpleasant way. Azrael, on the other hand, was the one Veilyn was watching out for. Veilyn, of course, had long ago learned never to fully trust anyone, especially new people, but this went deeper. He was always aloof, and he had a strange habit of waking in the small hours of the morning. In talking with him, Veilyn realized that Azrael talked around his past and his motives. Whatever they were, the man did not want Veilyn to know. He'd also noticed that Azrael never makes a sound when walking, even when stepping on branches or dry leaves, meaning that the man had boots enchanted for utter silence. Veilyn knew very well the shadowy paths, and he knew that only thieves and killers bothered to silence their footsteps. The most off-putting thing about Azrael though, was his similarity to Veilyn, at least in outward interaction. He played charismatic to learn about the group but the way he acted when he wasn't chatting someone up suggested it was only superficial. Veilyn would not let his guard down.

He pulled himself from his state of rest and stood, refreshed and ready for the day. It was still sufficiently dark, and the shadows still clung to his armor and cloak, slightly obscuring him. Adjusting his straps, he fastened his sword to his waist and his bow around his torso. He took one more moment to stretch before stepping softly towards the fire. Another man had joined them, Caine. He reminded Veilyn of Caleb, and he wondered why the two were not a couple, although he had an eagerness that she did not, which was probably off-putting to her. As Veilyn neared, the light from the fire melted off the last remnants of the darkness that clung to Veilyn, and cast his shadow long behind him whilst illuminating him a strange mix of firelight and morning sunlight. Veilyn caught the end of what the Paladin said, but did not deign to reply, as he had nothing to add. Instead, he lead with a different topic, his cadence slowing for a moment as Caleb left.

"I am not too late to this party, am I? Fashionably late is one thing, but most of you are here and that makes me feel like I am interrupting something. I hope that is not the case." He glanced around, then continued before anyone could reply,"So... breakfast?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Lucien Alamancie Character Portrait: Brolo
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Lucien Alamancie

Cloak Wood, it was a nice enough place. There was always some sort of adventure to be had, all one had to do was walk in the woods for a day and some sort of encounter or confrontation could almost be assured. Still, Lucien was a wanderer at heart. Wonderlust was his birthright as a Moon Elf, and keeping camp in seclusion for a month was about all the bard could handle. It would have been alright had they actually been in a city, there were lots of different things to do in cities. But he had been all through these woods already, he knew the secret spots, the hidey-holes, and he was already a well known figure at the various wayfarers' inns within walking distance. He was at one such inn now, enrapturing the patron's of the inn's bar with his harp.

This would ideally be his last performance in the area, the Bloodsails would be moving on in the morning, so he was going to soak up all of the attention and admiration he could. Apart from wandering from land to land, exploring, experiencing, and seeing, he loved to have an audience to play for. There was simply noting like it. The thrill of having an audience, the gratification afforded by demonstrating his skills to impress others and garner their admiration.

Eventually, the crowd of patrons dispersed to their bedrooms, some called by their internal clocks, others by their lovers and mistresses. For his part, Lucien stayed in the tavern room, resting in a booth against the wall. Slipping easily into the trance-like state of the reverie. His was not a troubled rest, this time his visions were of a past performance, this one in a city square. Such visions were far and away the most common. Though less pleasant one were beginning to become more and more frequent, especially after the outbreak of the plague.

Lucien roused himself from his reverie in the early morning hours. It was still dark out, but he decided it was about time to return to camp. Wouldn't want to miss the departure. And come to think of it, he still hadn't received the mission details. He hoped Caleb, or Zaccheus would fill them in soon, the anticipation was killing him. As Lucien walked back to camp, he idly strummed at his harp, the sound filtering through the woods. After a time, he arrived back at camp. Seeing most everyone around the fire he approached as well, calling out in a bright manner, "My my, aren't we all up early?" He had caught Caleb's call to mobilize, but his gear was already packed, he was always ready to go off exploring and adventuring at a moment's notice. It would seem he had arrived just in time to set out.

The setting changes from the-sword-coast to Faerun

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Lucien Alamancie Character Portrait: Brolo
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#, as written by Celedia
.

The setting changes from faerun to The Sword Coast

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Araina Narthanellyn Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Aletrayu Habretta Character Portrait: Lucien Alamancie Character Portrait: Brolo
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#, as written by Celedia
Emerald orbs surveyed the scene around the campfire as the druidess stood apart from the others, seeking the comfort of the trees lining the clearing rather than the people within. Her right shoulder rested against the gently curved trunk of a hiexel tree, one of the two arbor oddities that existed in Cloakwood. The tree itself was easily identifiable, bearing a green, waxy wood and marked by oval shaped leaves and sparse branches. While the others began to pack their belongings, Araina slung her staff into its sling upon her back, turned and then rested her hand against the tree as if sensing something about it.

To the others, it may look like she was praying, and they wouldn’t be far from the truth. She was, in fact, asking the tree for the use of its wood since it may prove useful in their journeys. Hiexel wood burns and produces a thick, black smoke that is oily and chokes those that breathe it in, making it useful to drive off enemies or light signal beacon fires.

A soft green glow seemed to shimmer between her palm and the bark whilst several branches fell suddenly to the ground. The druidess smiled, a slight curvature of petal pink lips as she stepped back and bowed towards the tree.

Ask and you shall receive…. Her thoughts were casual as she picked up the wood which had been cast off and took a length of cloth from one of the many pouches hanging loosely from her leather belt. Winding the strip carefully about the small bundle of switches, she secured them tightly then hooked the free end of cloth around her belt so that the pack of hiexel kindling hung against her hip as well.

It was only then that she meandered closer to the fire, green eyes still regarding the flames with subtle hostility before lifting up once more to regard her companions. They were an affable lot, mostly. Caleb seemed an archetypal strong and silent type- beautiful enough to be amongst the finest in the human cities yet choosing a life on the road. In fact, it seemed odd that most of the people she traveled with were each eye-catching in their own way.

The monk, Aletrayu, was exotic in appearance yet had a calming quality that extended to those surrounding her unlike Brolo, the fire mage, who tended to incite the darkest emotions in others. Azrael and Lucien were closer kin than they appeared. Both the moon elf and half elf exhibiting the sort of charismatic life-loving attitude that most of her long-lived species seemed known for. What good was an extended life if one didn’t enjoy themselves? It was a mantra that many of her elven kindred shared and she couldn’t fault them for such an attitude. They laughed frequently and flirted shamelessly but were both formidable when the situation called for it.

Their darker elven brother, Veilyn, was equally charming but she could not overlook the innate hostilities between their people. The constant warring between the sun-kissed races and the shadow-tainted hordes left little love between them and even when a drow left the Underdark to venture up onto the surface, he or she was still usually discriminated against. Still, she tended to love or disdain all living creatures with equality, so she treated the dark elf as casually as she did any of her other party members. That even included the human, Caine. Despite her predisposition to abhorring the human race for the atrocities it commits on a regular basis against Nature, she tried diligently not to fault him for the acts of his people especially since she would be required to travel extensively with him.


Her thoughts had once more gave way to the reality set before her as the others began to circle once more about the fire. Everyone seemed to be laden with packs and bags of various weight, causing her to inquire, “Do any of you require assistance with your things?” Her voice once more issued throughout the quiet campsite, a melodic lilt affecting her tone the way it did for most woodland elves. It was an honest inquiry, for the druidess had little of her own to take with her. The various herbs and foodstuffs that she gathered were carried in the pouches hanging about her hips, her weaponry was a light enough load and she required no tent or bedroll. Having lived over a century living off only what nature provided, she was adept at procuring what she might need with the occasional aid of the Forest Father.

The setting changes from the-sword-coast to Faerun

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Azrael Zakesh Character Portrait: Syranni Yukreth Character Portrait: Brolo
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Azrael

As Azrael stood near the fire it seemed everyone was going to be getting up, apparently the group being in sync on this particular occasion. The newest edition to the ensemble was Caine. Caine was the usual fighter type, always ready for action or more accurately, always yearning for action. Azrael didn't mind the man though, in fact out of all the men in the group he probably liked Caine the most, especially since they both seemed to share a disliking for the sorcerer. He nodded to the Fighter before he began to poke the fire, only turning away when Caleb spoke. "Aye, the sun will dawn within the next hour and we must be prepared to leave thereafter." As much as he liked sitting around and observing those in the group, he was about ready to get going, the need to move around and have a bit of fun overwhelming. "I encourage you all of you to prepare and provision…" Azrael nodded again, this time towards Caleb, deciding not to move immediately but already going over what he would need to do in order to be totally prepared for the departure. He was already wearing his armor and weapons, so the only thing he really needed to do was get all his equipment together and make sure he had his rations packed up which would take no time at all. Caleb departed quickly though and as much as he hated to see the woman leave he had expected it, the reliable one as always, going to prepare herself as soon as she advised others to do so.

As much as focusing on beautiful women would have been Azrael’s pleasure, yet another person, Veilyn, had joined. The rogue was of great interest to Azrael, the half-elf already knowing a good bit about the Drow. He was a former member of the Shadow Thieves Guild, and a traitor at that, one that had made quite a few enemies before his quick departure. Azrael knew this because he had been hired to eliminate the rogue, and while he was currently enjoying the current situation as it suited his needs, he would eventually fulfill his contract and end the Drow's life. As for when he wasn’t quite sure, all he knew at the moment was that the rogue, as was the rest of the group, always close. That meant there would be an abundance of opportunities for Azrael to do what he was paid to do in the near future. Besides, when the time came he would gladly finish it, he didn’t much care for the man and the fact that he was a Drow made it all the easier, not that he had as much hate as a full-blood would have, but he still had a general distaste for the dark-skinned dwellers of the underworld. So, for the time being he would simply watch the man, learning whatever he didn’t already know as he continued his journey as part of Bloodsails Inc.

"I am not too late to this party, am I? Fashionably late is one thing, but most of you are here and that makes me feel like I am interrupting something. I hope that is not the case." It was a ridiculous notion, to think he would be interrupting something at such a time, though it was most likely just Azrael’s dislike of the man causing him to punch holes in everything he said. The Drow didn’t stop there though, he continued, his previous comment being passed up even by him. "So... breakfast?" The assassin was hungry but not nearly hungry enough to accept food from the Drow, even with his stone he wouldn’t feel comfortable, besides he had his own ration packed away just for such an occasion, although the annoyance of hunger had yet to bother him so it was just as well, he didn’t need any food. Azrael shook his head as he passed Veilyn, uttering a polite, “No thank you” before heading towards his humble camp abode. On the way he shot a nod and smile to Syranni who had just arrived before going off and disappearing into his tent.

It wasn’t until inside his tent that the smile disappeared, not that it had been insincere but he just didn’t see the point in continuing to smile whilst alone. Instead he got straight to business, checking the gear he had equipped to make sure he had the various items he always kept with him, his weapons, certain magical trinkets, and of course the other various tools of his trade. Then he got his bedroll nice and neat, situating it along with spare clothing and plenty of his own rations and other odds and ends. It didn’t really take him long to pack up but he took advantage of every minute of it, going slow and making sure he had absolutely everything accounted for, and even when he had finished he didn’t leave the tent, instead he sat down and just stared down at the tents entrance. Azrael was focusing himself, going over everything in his head as a final checklist, because in his experience one could never be too prepared. Besides, if you ever forgot something it would end up being the exact thing you needed later on. He didn’t want to take too long though, the presence of beautiful women all gathered in one location made it hard for him to concentrate since he would much rather be outside with them, having fun and flirting shamelessly.That would come soon though, after he finished his checkup, he couldn't afford to miss a thing, and once he left the tent he would rather not have to end his conversation with the others in the camp to go grab an item he forgot the first time.

The setting changes from faerun to The Sword Coast

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Character Portrait: Caine Abel
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Caine Abel


Caine was completely disinterested at everything around him. He did managed to snag a strip of meat from Veilyn as he was making it, but still he didn't offer any conversation. He was bored, he was becoming restless, and that much was clearly apparent. His foot constantly tapped, his gauntlet made a rythmic tappin on his leggings. He wondered when the hells would their employer would show up and tell them what in the hells they were to do. He also caught glances from Nevae, and couldn't help but wonder what the woman was thinking... Luckily, he didn't have to wait long as their great employer made his appearance. Caine made an attempt to seem interested in his words, but not all of them were worth his time. Caine merely spared the sparcest greeting- a grunt- and waited for the man to get to the point.

Creepy bastard though. Listening to Crow talk made the skin on Caine's ears twitch. The Fighter snorted when he called them a strapping lot, glad that Crow had saw his strength. Though relatively quiet, Caine enjoyed compliments like everyone else- though whether the comment was indeed a compliment, Caine was too thick-headed to really discern the difference. His profession didn't favor the intellectuals after all. However, something did manage to pique Caine's interest. They were to be traveling to Baldur's Gate. Home. He found himself wondering how his mother was doing. His father, had disappeared on an "adventure" some time ago. Of course this did nothing to persuade his son for an alternate career choice. Like father like son they say. Oh, and they were bodyguard a band of gypsies as well... Sounded like his usual work to be honest.

He turned his attention's to Beth-Dagon, taking her in with inquisitive eyes. She was to be their leader? He wondered if she could handle the job. But alas, it was none of his concern, he was there to accomplish whatever mission was laid in front of him, and to crack heads when needed. Oh, how he enjoyed cracking heads.

Upon her words, Caine left the group and retrieved his sorry bedroll, and tossed it to Caleb, All I need, love, is my sword and shield. Though if you wouldn't mind carrying that, I'd appreciate it. I'd rather not sleep on the ground like some elf," he said with glances at Syranni and Araina and grin. Whether it was a tease or an insult, it wasn't quite clear with a man as rough as Caine. Though, he didn't quite like the way Araina called his home a "Human city" and far less the way she talked about accidentally killing someone. "You can try," the fighter muttered under his breath- forgetting about the elves' increased natural hearing.

Then he was presented the scene of Vailyn- in his words- sucking up to the captain. He playfully punched the dark elf in the shoulder and joked, "Easy there ladykiller. It's just not seemly to fraternize with your captain," he said. Then Caine propped his elbow on the elf's shoulder-their size difference perfect for this action-, and leaned on his hand, teasing the elf himself.

"So Cap, when we be off?" Caine asked in his same disinterested tone.

The setting changes from the-sword-coast to Faerun

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Character Portrait: Caleb Beth-dagon Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Johnathan (Illumination)
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#, as written by Baby
Johnathan of the Illumination.


-The night before



No one doubts the exarch of Tempus
Whose dogma has yet to forsake us.
Remember my friends, when the troops are led,
The Red Knight is always, three steps ahead.


Before Johnathan could bow, his audience stood up and shook the ground with their stomps. Their hands were endlessly clashing with an applause that was surreptitiously asking for another tale by boosting the bard’s ego and egging him for more.

Johnathan knew this trick well and occasionally deluded his audience by appearing to be touched by their applause and giving them another tale. But tonight he was tired and had to travel to Baldur’s Gate in a few hours to serve as a replacement in a mission. He raised his instrument to the audience of Tethyr and took a bow, his silent response to their request for more. When they calmed, Johnathan spoke

“Happy birthday princess Zandra. And may your life be filled with many more.” Johnathan’s deep, musical voice echoed in the hall, easily reaching the princess, sitting on a throne-like chair in the far back. The princess was still young and easily excitable, and had a small group of her female peers seated next to her. Johnathan made it a point to watch her intently with his eyes until her pale cheeks reddened in a blush under his seemingly passionate stare. His serious face lifted with a smile, directed at her and left his face when he broke eye contact, so everyone else could see that the smile was only for the princess. That motion would stir gossip for the people of Tethyr, and be awarded plenty of giggles from the princess’s entourage.

With that, he left the stage, his violin being carefully placed in its makeshift holster on his back, where his quiver would normally be. He was greeted by blue eyes, of similar size but more intensity than his own. “Johnathan. I do wish you would stare at me like that. I am your mentee.” The woman hissed, giving Johnathan a jealous frown and lowering her steel blue eyes.

“Allora, you know that no matter how many other women come into my life, you are still the-“ Johnathan was joined by Allora, who rolled her eyes as they both recited his famous line given to her. “-apple of my eye.” “Yes, yes Johnathan. Sing me a song I haven’t heard before.” Johnathan wasn’t offended by his mentee’s unrefined remarks, after 20 years, he was used to it. Even when she was a child, Allora was very possessive and hated seeing Johnathan with another being, be it man or woman. Johnathan found this both off-putting and complimenting, not letting her jealousy stop his flirting and traveling nor letting her jealousy influence his feelings for her.

Johnathan walked alongside Allora as she joined their arms in their leisurely stroll to their home. While listening to her talk of her practicing for the day, Johnathan smiled at familiar faces in the road, who also receiving a warning glare from Allora. “Are you still seeing that boy, Allora?” Johnathan hummed, interrupting Allora and also shocking her. “What boy?” Allora asked, confused. Not confused at his question, but confused on how Johnathan found out about her secret relationship with Caine, a boy she met after one of her performances.

An hour and several arguments over jealousy and fairness later, the siblings were inside their family mansion, walking up the stairs to their rooms. “Allora I just do not see how I cannot get to have any friends, but you can have a boyfriend. You are not being fair to me. “Johnathan said calmly, though under his stone expression, he was actually very upset. This argument has been going on for years and Allora always ended it on a sour note. “It’s not fair to me! I just want to spend some time with my older brother and mentor, and all you can do is think about every pair of legs that walks by you, Johnathan! You don’t love me!” Allora yelled, storming into her room in front of the stairway and slamming it shut. “That is not true!” Johnathan raised his voice while going into the room right next to hers. He did not slam it shut, but wanted to.
After a few minutes of being angry, Johnathan felt his mood lighten. He was never one to be sad or angry for long, he sung better when he was happy, and he always made the effort to be happy.

He picked up his violin and started to play very close to his eastern wall, the wall shared with his sister. Every member of the Illumination family was a lover of music, and the family’s crest had a lyre for their symbol. The Illumination blood runs deep and produced countless bards in their centuries, many famous. The blood couldn’t be thicker for Allora. Nothing, and absolutely nothing can alter her mood so quickly, other than the strings of an instrument. Within minutes of hearing him play, Allora joined him with her lyre, humming a little as the duo played.


Allora, you are heaven’s melody.
And your notes play the tragedy of my soul.
I’ve crossed through the garden of beauty,
And loving you is my toll.
If we were not bound by blood
Would you love me?
If I worshipped you and took your hand,
Would you marry me?”


Johnathan ended his part, dragging his last note for emphasis. Allora loved Johnathan’s nocturnes, and he exploited that whenever they argued. He quieted his instrument to better hear Allora, as he always indulged in her singing. Her voice was suited to opera and she was a prodigy of the musical mastery. He mentored her as best as he could, but knew that she would soon surpass him and become a legend. Even their father, a stone critic of his children, let her sing without interruption, only correcting her missed notes after her songs were over.


Johnathan, Johnathan
Have your words won me over so soon?
Surely your love is but a passing storm,
Dynamic yet temporary.
I know you’ll leave this maiden forlorn
But my heart says “Quite the contrary!”
You are filled with many things, but not surprises.
You will love me or leave me when the sun rises.


Allora ended her note perfectly and stopped playing her lyre. Johnathan managed a quick “I love you.” before he fell asleep. His tired body with Allora’s melodies was too much to resist.

In the early morning, long before the sun came up, Johnathan awoke. He freshened himself up and packed his shortbow, Angeline, and his quiver filled with steel arrows. He needed little else for the mission, and if he did it would be easily acquired. He took ten minutes to write a farewell letter to Allora and slid it under her door before he went into the family stable.


-Currently
"So Cap, when we be off?" Johnathan heard from the right of his horse. He directed it towards the voice and approached easily, his arms raised to show he had no weapons. He approached a group of people coming in various tones and background. He already knew by the time this mission would be over, he would have many stories to make into musical tales.

“When you have your bard, maybe?” Johnathan exited from some bushes and nodded to the group. He jumped off his horse and took out his violin from the pouch on the steed’s side. With a whistle, the horse left and returned back to the Illumination mansion, knowing its way without the lead of a rider.

Johnathan stared at the woman who was presumably Caleb Beth-Dagon. Though the upcoming song was for the group, Johnathan stood and played in front of his leader.


Lucien is no longer your bard
But I assure you I am just as well
I am a master of many instruments and tales.
Behold your bard is Johnathan of the illumination!
And none will serve you with a greater passion than I.


Which is the truth, many bards are special for something about their tales, whether it be their voice, their instrument, or their dance, and for Johnathan it was a combination of his voice and violin, he was filled with passion and vigor. He sung his tales standing straight, he never danced and never found the desire to; he believed it took the seriousness from his tales.
“But I would prefer to just be called Johnathan, as my title is too wordy for casual conversation.”

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Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Nevae Character Portrait: Uglúk the Ugly
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#, as written by Seraph
Uglúk


The night air felt crisp around Uglúk's bare buttocks and his overgrown cock which was lightly swollen. It could have been the Clerics's blaring knee to his groin earlier that evening. Then again could have just been the feel of her itself. So nice and taut. And those buttocks? Yes, it was definitively worth the sharp jabbing pain then, and the yearning to be between her warm thighs now. It gave him a feel of those sinuous legs, right? That smooth, soft skin almost creamy in texture just above her knee as it rose to meet his loosely hanging self beneath his animal hide 'kilt'.

Damn were they solid!

Although the pain was certainly real enough, even HE would think twice about rubbing her ass like it belonged to him in the first place. Perhaps it should...Hmmmm. The Orc was getting side tracked from his purpose. He was hunting. Naked as was his tribe’s traditional rights. Like Druids and Rangers, the Elk tribe was far removed from the bustle of the city. They were nature driven folks, although guided by the Foehammer, Lord of Battles--Tempus. They were war-like and quite savage. Nevertheless, while they took from their indigenous enemies; Orcs, other tribes and goblin-kind they could be civilized enough to enter cities and towns. Mainly to sell their wares.

Uglúk's uncanny sense of smell, and his incredible ability to see in utter darkness both inherited traits of his Orcish father who--after he had raped his Uthgardtian mother in a plunder of one of their villages along the Desserrin River, proved invaluable. He could hunt and track game for miles. With his naked body, he carried a spear, not his infamous long-bearded axe. The slate rock tip, a crude primitive design but nonetheless surprisingly ingenious ploy for an Orc known for his volatile temper, lewdness and lose tongue and little regard for authority.

Perhaps that was why he had been convicted and tried to death. He knew not and cared for as little.

Coated on the edge of the spear, a neurotoxin from a serpent he had snatched up. What he was hunting for the Cleric's approval was quite dangerous. If the playing field wasn't leveled a bit, he would head back with no pelt and plenty of scars to prove he was a worthless shit. He'd show her! He came around the bend slowly stalking his prey. His naked body flexing muscles others only dreamed they had. His biceps were about as large as dwarves’ head and just as stout while his hand could grip a man's skull and him quite still. If not, his thumb might apply pressure and no one but the Orc wanted that.

Before him his prey item: a brown bear. His 'boar' tusks sneered more as his right arm drew back taking with it the spear. The creature would momentarily have no idea what was about to happen. He thrust the spear through the air, lodging it well past the creature's thick hide. I snarled in pain turning to face it, perhaps even remedy it. Seeing the bear try and bite at the heft of the spear, Uglúk himself charged over. He grabbed the shaft and with the shaft driving the spear even further into its innards.

The poison entered the blood stream. Carried towards the heart rather than away--such was the nature of a weapon that 'thrust', 'pierced' or 'stabbed. It created suction with the pressure of the inside cavity. The highly modified saliva of the reptile impacted the bear's coherence as much as the pain. Uglúk had been taught to expect, even garner its effects when used on a creature--or somebody. It warranted an anesthesia like state where struggle was impossible, only inevitability was to ensue.

He couldn't very much say the bear didn't feel it robbing it of its life. That it was painless. But it was easy.
At one point during the bears frenzied growls and his feral grunts, Uglúk placed his bare foot on the creatures hip and snapped the shaft of the weapon making it too short to pull out any longer.

"There! Pull that out you sum bitch! "Uglúk growled and lifted what ordinarily would be a small boulder but in his hands look like just a rock due to their size. Kicking a weakened bear over by forcefully 'snapping' his knee outwardly, the poison also having an effect seizing the bear's muscles involuntarily. Uglúk set to motion, the savage act of smashing the creatures cranial. So lost was he in the violence that it washed him red with blood. His heart was a thunderous one, pounding away with large exhales through his some-what human looking nose in gusts and blasts.

His enormous chest hardly seemed like it were fluctuating at all. Sweat gleaned from his bare naked poise as he tore the head of the spear out. Blood came out in a geyser. A small one but he had severed a major artery that still had pressure built up inside the plexus. The Orc, like his brutish relatives and the savages of the Uthgardt set about the laborious task of cleaning and skinning the animal meticulously. The fiber of flesh and sinew being carved by steady hands--if any one saw how good he was at this it would only promise to prove his intimidation.

By the time he finished, and washed the pelt of blood--it was morning. His Orcish eyes, small but retaining the blue-grey of storm clouds like those of his mother squinted. It wasn't so much the light hurt him in anyway, it was just a nuisance. He ate what he could of the bear, deciding to leave the rest to be carrion and scraps for other wildlife and took the pelt he had sheared off and ambled of towards the group, his nose leading the way. He had hardly missed the crowd--if not for the shrewd woman who teased his thoughts with her supple breasts and taut buttocks--the fighter was surely of the same mind at least when it came concerning battles.

Cain was a stout man--for a human. As stout as any dwarf. He couldn't complain too much...There were...elven folk about. Those scrawny toothed-picked sons of bitches pissed him off. How the hell did they walk on snow anyways? Fucking faeries. They mine as well bee nymphs! He could chuck one if he could catch first. That's another thing. They were sly and arrogant too! Uglúk snarled, walking into camp in the nude showing his well-hung proportions passive-aggressively. About the only thing about the Orc the was the least bit "passive".

Ambling over to the blond seductress, he rolled his enormous shoulder--nearly twice that of Cain's. He wasn't competing in any way, or maybe he was it was hard to tell, he was an Orc of Tempus. He eyed her up and down, making damn sure he knew where her leg was. "There," Uglúk grunted at her, his scarred face in intimidating to any one elses. "That ought to keep you warm till I can." He chuckled, though, with an Orc they looked cocky all the time with their perpetual sneer. His upper body 'rocked' as he laughed before he turned to dawn his own hide armor and lift up an ace that he could uncannily weild with frightful ease. The blade looked bloodstained all the time, and the long-bearded axe head was deliberately chipped as if to take out chunks as it rent flesh.

The setting changes from faerun to The Sword Coast

Setting

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Character Portrait: Caine Abel Character Portrait: Veilyn Glannath Character Portrait: Nevae Character Portrait: Uglúk the Ugly Character Portrait: Johnathan (Illumination)
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Caine Abel


"Oh, looks like we got ourselves a brand new fop... At least this one can carry a tune," Caine said upon the not-so-subtle arrival of their new bard. Lively and bright, just like one would expect a bard to be. Caine chuckled. At least they had entertainment for the road ahead. "Play me a diddy Johnny!" Caine called out, not hiding his amusement. It seemed though, if he was to get his request, then that request would have to be fulfilled on the road. Their captain began to move out, with them behind her. Caine made she that his sword and shield was secure and that his shortsword was within reach just in case things got nasty on the road. As one would expect with the title of a fighter, he was always wary of a fight. At the bidding of Nevae, Caine shrugged, "Let's," and they were off. Before long, they had entered the forest.

Off to the side, Caine heard something in the brush. His hand went to his sword, and awaited the beast to show itself... And the beast did. In all of it's dangly glory. "That's... One hell of a way to start the mission..." Caine said, quickly shifting his line-of-sight elsewhere, anywhere that didn't inevitably lead to the newly arrived Orc's... Package. Ugluk was a decent enough of a man himself-- if you could call an Orc a man. Loud, boisterous, and always wanting for a good battle. They were alike in many regard... Except this one. Caine didn't like to traipse around in the buff (not that he was ashamed of anything mind, just that... It got chilly). Now the sudden appearance of the orc (all of him) had caught Caine offguard. He stole a glance from Veilyn, who was handling it about as well as he was.

"So the hunt... Went, uh, well then?" Caine asked trying to do anything to get his mind off of the Orc's bit. Noticeably, Caine said this behind a curtain of fingers. Surely he wasn't the only one who found this a might bit awkward. Hah, the fighter, awkward, he didn't he'd ever see the day. Perhaps if Caine hadn't been trying to shield his eyes, he could see the pelt that Ugluk had returned with. Alas. He couldn't imagine what was going through Nevae's mind, and he almost pitied the poor girl... almost.

But like all good things, they must come to an end. Ugluk found his hide armor and Caine gave a prayer to Tymora. "Oh thank Tymora," he muttered, " he found his clothes,". This time, Veilyn was the one to venture a glance at Caine. His only answer was a subdued shrug and a shake of the head. Things were off to a smashing start... As it stood, it would take an entire tavern's worth of alcohol to cleanse the visage from his mind.

With the first of the day's ordeals managed, Caine continued forth.