Rappan Athuk



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Behold the brave (some would say "foolhardy") souls who would dare to venture into the depths of Rappan Athuk. Probably to die. More than once, in some cases.


Aarnr Foulbreath

Aarnr is a big man, well over six feet in height, and already with a sizeable paunch, a sure sign of a mighty warrior for it shows he eats well and thus is counted amongst those who get first pickings from the kill.

A leather strip is wrapped around his head, keeping his long hair at bay, and atop his pate sits a battered steel helm.  A long scar runs from his forehead to right cheek, though the eye is unharmed.  He has a thick and untidy beard and moustache.

His large frame is protected by a shirt of metal links beneath a heavy cloak and legs like gnarled tree trunks are visible beneath a leather skirt. Hardened leather bracers are bound around his thick wrists, a sword inscribed on the right, a hammer on the left.  His boots are sturdy but uncared for.

Likewise the leather pack upon his shoulder is worn and cracked, the straps mismatched and oft mended.  Around his neck a simple wooden disk inscribed with a crossed sword and hammer hangs from a thin thong.

He carries a long, long blade not much shorter than himself in a sheathe upon his back ... when it is not in his hands.  Then you may find yourself staring down the length of the sword to meet the dark and forbidding gaze behind it, just before it tips over into battle-madness, and that'll be the last thing you do see in this life, you may be froggin' sure.



Lean, muscular, of above average height and dressed in flowing robes and a dark, hooded cloak that covers his features, Arkan cuts an imposing if ominous figure when viewed by those that do not know him intimately.

The aura of mystery surrounding this powerful yet elegantly built human is heightened by the small mystical runes stitched onto the hood of his cloak, as well on the cloak's edge where it trails at the back of his knees. A large sheath strapped on his back carries a long bladed sword with an elegantly forged hilt with small writing in a mysterious script engraved thereon. The writing appears to vanish upwards from the hilt and onto the blade itself.

When he raises his head, allowing light to shine into the hood and highlight his face, viewers can make out a youthful and handsome face with clean shaven cheeks and dusky features. His hair is combed back into a widows peak and his black eyes are sharp, piercing and gleam with intelligence and not a little bit of curiosity. There is also hunger within the gleaming dark orbs...hunger for something he does not yet appear to possess, but greatly wishes to.

Is it a hunger that will feed his soul and temper it with compassion and contentment, or is it a ravenous fire that will only consume him, and those around him?

Only time and adventures with his new companions will tell...

Arkan joined the group in Bard's Gate.




Bilfro Gabbins

Spindly limbs, if numbering half of that of spiders, are provisionally attached to a hat-rack of a body.  A sudden gust of wind would send the entire thing skyward less it broke it in two out of spite.

Ragged grey eyes peers both intently and arbitrarily at all and naught that comes near or not, revealing either brilliant mind or one that has crossed the line from sagacity to folly.

Equally ragged hair rests in near frightful ampleness on top of the lanky skull, parading what might well be ashes.  Adorning the outline of the jaw is a beard either factitious in nature or daringly maltreated.

Firmly planted at supposedly the centre of the face is either a substantial nose or the sprouting of a second head, the envy of any hawk out there.

Sublime as any beauty might be the stature of five and a half feet does little to forward the cause of an intimidating appearance.

It is then most fortuitous that, more oft than not, all but the face is covered by the flapping long robe that once, in a now far, far removed past, might have been the whiter shade of pale with sleeves that are long enough to conceal not only his hand but half a dozen more, and completing the antique ensemble is a pointed but crinkled hat holds, on the whole, the indomitable hair under control.

All things considered he makes for a curious creature but not overly atrocious.  Until he speaks, at least.  The voice carries, if not in an amiable manner.  High pitched soprano with intermittent drops to alto makes for bewildering listening for anyone that braves the experience of prolonged exposure.  To his advantage it must be firmly pointed out that at all time he remains polite and civil.


Colwyn Akbar

Colwyn Akbar, self proclaimed, "most wanted man in Tsar (good thing we isn't in Tsar, eh?)" is a hair over five and a half feet tall, and built like a reed. A thin reed, that's been sick lately.

His mismatched eyes, the right one green, the left blue, observe the world (in slightly different directions) from a narrow face which seems to fall, most naturally, into an expression of ... calculation. As if he's working out exactly what everything around him is worth, and the best place to get that price for each item, should it happen to fall into his hands. Unruly brown hair tops off that shrewd face.

It should be noted that even his closest friends usually describe Colwyn as "weasely".






Pale, pretty and young, Eilieen walks through the world like a girl stepping through a field of thumbtacks - delicately and with many a wince.  Frowns and sighs accompany the slim young woman's every encounter with discomfort, and she often huddles beneath her travelling cloak, guarding her platinum-blond hair and soft, smooth features from the elements.

And yet faced with people, her face lights up like a crystal in the sun, her smile gleams like polished ivory, and her sea-blue eyes glow with warmth and compassion.

The young priest wears a simple travelling cloak over a serviceable, yet pretty gown.  Having abandoned her delicate shoes miles in the past, she now wears tall, travelling boots, somehow managing to find something that doesn't clash.  A spear does double duty as a walking stick, a backpack weighs drags at her shoulders, and around her neck hangs a small, silvery amulet, cunningly worked in the shape of a wreath and dotted with tiny pink and crimson blooms.



At first glance, Erista doesn't really look like an adventurer.  Subsequent glances don't do much to rectify this.  Giving up on glancing and looking at her carefully only serves to confirm it.  Perhaps it's the sun-blonde hair, or maybe it's the fresh flowers that are usually woven into it.  Possibly it's the bare feet, or the simple white dress she wears.  The bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks probably don't help.  It might even be that, at barely over 2 and a half feet, even other Halflings consider her to be on the small side.  But whether she's here for a reason, or just got lost... she's here at Rappan Athuk, and forty-eight people (and counting!) asking where her parents are hasn't turned her away.



Oswald Osbourne

This little halfling wears black and holds a fatal outlook on life.







Retired Heroes



Standing just on 6 ft this darkhaired halfelf has green eyes and the slight elven features of his father. His love of arts and poetry is closely resembling his elven ancesters to anyone other than the elves themselves.

Though wearing simple clothes, Aramil keeps care of himself and his belongings, greatful of what he has.

When the group reached Fairhill, Aramil decided to remain behind.  Unimpressed by the quality of bards and minstrels that village had to offer, he decided to rectify the situation by offering his own services.





Corian Barade

Corian is a slim, soft-spoken young man with collar-length blonde hair and brown eyes.  His accent and clothing indicate that, while he is probably not extremely wealthy, his life is almost certainly comfortable.

He dresses in a style which is popular with Reme's scholars and intellectuals, while his pale complexion suggests that he does not spend much time working outdoors.

Having achieved his own goal, the recovery of a staff and spell books from the fortress of Eralion, Corian elected not to travel further than Fairhill.  In all likelhood, he later returned to Reme.