Elf Rogue (Gladiator)


Personality Traits:
Reserved, Self-assured,Skeptical, Adaptable, Wild, Oblivious, Fierce, Vengeful, Impulsive.

Messy ravenous eater, fiddles with strands of hair on scalp belt, laughs hysterically while in battle.

Dark skin
Crew-cut hair
Multiple piercings in left ear
6’ tall, 125 lbs
Leather vest & loin cloth
Leather bracers, greaves, boots
Armor made of reptile leather with bone fastenings
Strips of cloth around forehead
Short sword made from the barb of a greatspine cactus
Sword slung on back, chatchka at waist
Pointy ears

Character Introduction by GM

Black Sand as far as the eye can see. The consistency of ash, gumming to every inch of skin with the razor-sharp pain of glass shards and heat of stoked embers, impossible to wipe away as the red sun bakes your body’s last reserves of hydration. Struggling to crawl across the giant skillet, both legs broken and bludgeoned, choking – you wonder how you’re still alive, you wonder why you’d want to be. You don’t know how many days, or how many miles it took to reach the eerily sudden line where black met yellow, then gray and green. The pain of survival so deep and hallucination inducing all sense of time and distance lost far behind. But it’s the farthest back in time your shattered memory can recall – six months ago.

You’d splinted your own legs with brush and took shelter in a meager grove of a once great forest, decimated by logging and the tracks of giant wagons and mekillot footfalls. Spending hours each morning suckling the fine mist of dew from the harsh underbrush, you nursed yourself to health — your lithe, sinewy elf physique providing you with a natural talent for catching the occasional lizard or bird to sustain yourself.

After weeks of isolation, your legs had healed, rapidly — and your journey took you to the City of Spires; colorful, vibrant, loud and decadent. The Sorcerer-King’s Templar Wives ruled the tight maze of Nibenay with calculating precision, although they paid an elf drifter like you no notice. You found employ and lodging in the Elven Market, a foul-smelling mess of tents offering goods of varying legalities for sale. Don’t-ask-don’t-tell was a standing policy for everyone down here and you had no moral qualms with the details of most of your jobs. You found your body knew tricks your mind had forgotten: how to move with startling acrobatic dexterity, and the rush of power of a pair of sharp knives clenched tight in your fists brought you.

It wasn’t long before a squabble with one of your employers landed the both of you in the Temple of the King’s Law, Nibenay’s center of government. You were taken prisoner slave, to await your fate in Nibenay’s excavated arena — a cavity in the earth, and labyrinthine passages twisting in a maze deep into the earth above the arena floor. You found it easy to slay your opponents, and a sadistic joy in toying with their lives, and their deaths. For this the crowd loved you, and you’d soon worked out your debt to the state and were released.

Sticking around Nibenay makes you nervous, however. You have many enemies and few friends. Every time you close your eyes the Black Sand is still there, and the headaches are only growing worse — as if a foreign presence were in your mind, trying to escape. You need answers, and somewhere out there lies the truth your memory has lost.


Dust & Blood heatherlarsen