A tabaxi with a mysterious past and an inability to pass up a chance to make a nuisance of herself.
A gunslinger with a cat allergy and tinkering skills that could stand to be improved.
A winter eladrin elf with a disconcerting affinity for death.
A drow whose language bites quickly but acerbically.
A warforged whose incomprehension of social situations is comical at times and dangerous at others.
Many different places and times, from which these heroes were selected by fate of circumstances and slotted into a story in which only they had the unique combinations of skills, knowledge, and luck to determine the future of an uncertain and besieged world.
This mysterious tabaxi woman is always ready for a joke, never quite seeming to take things seriously; however, this joking always has a sinister cast to it, as if she felt some animosity towards the world or perhaps certain people within in.
This taciturn gunslinger has a secret soft spot. While he would normally eschew moral battles and fight only for what he deemed necessary, he does not abide by the destruction of innocents. As a protector of innocents, he reveals a desire to not only assist and protect children, but to educate them.
An only son, but a loved one. A determined child, but a stubborn one. A strong soldier, but a clever one. A dangerous highwayman, but a generous one. Ivaz grew up mostly alone. His father, a skilled tailor, had to spend a lot of time plying his trade to earn enough money. Despite only two people in the household, the place they were living in was somewhat expensive, and the shop’s quality cloth and embellishments were a crack in the budget as well. So Ivaz paid, not too much, attention in class and was led to believe he’d grow up to be a tailor like his father, but his size, strength, and speed were deserving of something greater. At first, he believed his fate was to be a brawler, living his life for the enjoyment of others, and he pursued this idea for a good amount of time, until his first gun.
Maybe an unseen hand pushed Ivaz to his invention, maybe he dreamt it and then forgot about it until he had about twenty golds worth of material needed to make the small pistol. So he did. And then he jumped into the work, for his job as a basic gladiator was unfulfilling. Every day he would head into his makeshift workshop and create more. He felt he should do something with the mechanical marvels, but didn’t know what. Until he saw a platoon of soldiers march through the streets.
All that followed was simply training. He trained to be a soldier. He trained to be a leader. He trained to be a gunsmith. And then he trained to be a gunslinger. Missions piled up, one after another. ‘Getaways’, rescues, and demolitions expeditions. Things happen, however, and a stumble too close to corruption in the government led to an ‘accident’. Metal was placed, runes were carved, and healing chants were shouted. Now he knew what he was training for.
High ups were against him and despite proficiencies in almost every weapon, numbers and seniority overrule respect. Dishonourably discharged and with nothing but his trusted revolvers and some primitive standard-issue firearms, he was forced to be a bandit. Never taking more than he needed, but leaving his unfortunate victims with a message, “You will fall.”
While this variant human man has a checkered and charred past, he is kind in his own way, developing unexpected friendships and attachments that he swore he never would.
The Winter Eladrin
This winter eladrin has a fascination with death, abhorring those creatures that violate those laws and encouraging other to join the Wilted Mother in death. Death is not to be feared, but any creature that would cheat death through undeath is to be punished and returned to the afterworld to in which they belong.
Jastra Srinshee was born of the winter feywilds. Where death and decay are constants in everyday life. Some are morose while some are like Jastra where they appreciate it enthusiastically. Taking up the honor to be one of the Mother of Decay’s devout, was trained in life as well as death. The Eladrin of her realm have a strange relationship with death. When one of a season dies another is born of the following season. The Wilting Queen teaches that death is beautiful and not to be feared. Without hesitation Jastra took to the teachings. After years of living in the Wilds she was to become a traveler between realms. To spread the teachings of her order. As she experienced new lifestyles and cultures her curiosity grew. Though she found many that feared what she embraced making her shunned, not that her otherworldly appearance helped. Onto her next journey she was suddenly ripped from existence and placed into a new unexpected land with numerous others.
The Drow Lady
This secretive urchin shows no evidence of her true nature. Never trusting, she reveals nothing of her lowly childhood, dressing in only the finest clothes and never trusting anyone enough to let her guard down. Her words are subtly laced with the poison of her magic and cleverness as she journeys, taking in the secrets of the worlds even as she spreads their news and tales.
The Warforged Journeyer
The man opened his eyes slowly, his blank stare met by the slow trickle of a teardrop down the wall of a cave, already damp with condensation. Two pupils focused, finally working in unison to show him the image of a man in leather garb, a longbow slung across his back to allow freedom for his hands to wave in front of him. Back…and forth. Back…and forth. Finally, voice trickled into the dazed man’s ears, sounding somehow different, almost hollow compared to before.
“…with me, buddy? Okay, I’m gonna get you out of here.”
The two men stumbled out of the cave, one man hardly noticing the strange furnishings of the lair in which he had woken. The Hunter knew that this man had met with vile circumstances he was undeserving of, and quickly recognized the innocence of the man he had rescued. Soon, he dubbed the amnesiac victim Journer, the man who journeys. Perhaps “man” is the wrong word, as Journer entered that cave as a human and left as something changed.
Once day, the fortuitously wrought pair were separated when the Hunter became ill. Knowing Journer better than any, Hunter convinced the trusting man to climb into a box. Ill at ease, Journer nonetheless complied, only to find himself opening that box in even stranger surroundings than those that first gifted him with the Hunter’s presence, and with his new warforged form.