Post by libertyprime on Sept 10, 2017 10:48:33 GMT -5
Weight: ~250 lbs.
Lloria stands tall, thick, and stocky. She has broad shoulders matching a strongh chest and back. Her skin is fair and pale like that of many northern people. She has thin lips, a small straight nose leading up to hawkish eyebrows that often give her an angry expression, and a head of brown hair. She has a slightly wide jaw and her hands and feet are on the large side, complementing her thick limbs. Her voice is light and wispy, and can easily be identified as carrying a strong accent common to the Northlander people of the Moonshae Isles and the Silver March. Common to her heritage, she is exceptionally tall for a human and carries a robust build to match it, her height masking the true scope of her bulk.
The following information could be available to those with the appropriate predisposition for, connections to, or access to pertinent political or ecclesial rumors or information. More information may be available upon request or circumstance.
Traveling as an errant acolyte of Torm as part of a sort of semi-exile.
Section reserved for future use and useful OOC notes and commentary.
Post by libertyprime on Sept 10, 2017 10:50:02 GMT -5
A cave in the southern foothills of the Sunset Mountains
The sun was beginning to set over the hills of the Sunset Mountains when Lloria found a cave to hole up in for the evening. She was nearing her destination, the western border of Cormyr and the town of Greatgaunt, but the terrain was tough and she had no care for trying to navigate it at night at the risk of getting lost or ruining her horse. The cave would have to suffice as a place to rest until the morning when it would be safer to travel and finish the last leg of the journey. Under the day’s dying light, she climbed down off the side of her hobby and tethered it to a tree just outside the entrance to the cave before heading in.
The cave itself was no mere den and appeared to wind further into the earth than she originally anticipated. She walked a ways in but the darkness only seemed to continue to stretch further beyond the reach of torch light. Despite her large size and sturdy steel gear, she had no interest in plumbing the darkness to the end. Once she was satisfied that there weren’t any bears or wolves denning right by where she intended to put down for the night, she turned back and picked a spot not more than five or so yards from the entrance. After settling on an appropriate spot with good airflow and near enough to the mouth of the cave to keep an eye on her horse, she began setting down her bags and other things; weapons were kept close at hand, gold and armor plates across the way, and a fire pit of stones in the center. She kept the chain shirt she wore under the plates on, knowing better than to believe one was ever truly safe out in the wilds. With any luck the fire would keep anything else away.
After stowing everything that needed to be and gathering up a small amalgamation of rocks, bags, and her cloak to make something to rest her head against, she settled down and stretched out her long limbs. Brawny muscles like tree trunks rippled under the maille coating. Tall and strong, she had struck out from the Silver Marches and become an acolyte of Torm seeking to improve her lot in life, but her travels in the south hadn’t started out very well. In Tethyr, seeking opportunity and advancement in a place rife with trouble and favoring the Tormite orders, she only got herself into more trouble than anything: few seemed to have much tolerance for a headstrong upstart woman from the north, strange and savage to their more feudal and metropolitan sensibilities. Indeed, the last incident there had led her to traveling through the countryside instead of by road. The nobility of Tethyr turned out to be a rather touchy lot, and what started as a minor questioning of the wisdom of a law led to a knight of the realm threatening her. Unwilling to end up an outlaw by fighting against a state where the Tormite order was strongly present, she decided instead to leave the country and head northeast, towards the interior of Faerûn and the Sea of Fallen Stars. As far as she knew the Tormites did not have a strong presence there and it was another region beset by countless troubles…
Unsure of how long it had been, it felt like she had just dozed off when something woke her. Born in the savage north realm of the Silver Marches, she lived with the instinct of danger common to the barbaric lands. That instinct propelled her to her feet with a start and she quickly scanned the area. Coming from the deep darkness of the inner cave were two four-legged, vaguely insectoid creatures. The light of her waning fire cast over their dark reddish humped bodies and her heart skipped a beat. Rust Monsters. The first one came right for her, its greedy antennae reaching out for the light metal armor that she still wore. One of her gloves began rotting away and fell to pieces as she slapped the creature’s tendrils away. She kicked it square on its head, then grabbed it and hurled it away and towards the cave entrance where it rolled and bounced off the earth and rock. The second apparently was oblivious to her and happier to feast on the rest of her plate armor and bags of gold that she had set across the small camp from herself. She quickly snapped up her spear that was propped up against the wall near where she slept and jammed the head through the creature’s torso, causing it to flail and squirm, thrashing and shrieking briefly before it died. Abandoning the polearm stuck in the aberration, she turned and fetched her fighting axe from the ground nearby and turned to meet the second one, now on its way back to her and recovered from being thrown. She blocked the antennae with her hand again, kicked it over, and smashed the side of its head with the axe. She kept wailing on the struggling creature with the wooden haft after the metal axe head had rotted away and fallen to pieces around her bare feet until it finally stopped thrashing and died.
After the struggle, she took stock of the damage done and cursed. The plates for her armor were destroyed, nothing more than wasted junk. The sacks containing her gold had more scrap than tenderable coinage now. The head of her spear was ruined leaving only a staff, and her axe was similarly laying in pieces. To top it off, her horse had taken fright when the rust monster was thrown nearby and broke loose, fleeing into the night. Lloria cursed and sighed in equal measure as she gathered up what was left of her possessions and gear. So much for a good start to establishing herself and the Tormite way in Cormyr. Perhaps at least there would be a crypt or a graveyard with undead to hunt in Greatgaunt….
Post by libertyprime on Sept 19, 2017 21:21:19 GMT -5
A grassy clearing in Greatgaunt under the catacomb
The sun was setting in the horizon and the dying orange light illuminated the town of Greatgaunt. Lloria rested in a small alcove in a hillside by the edge of the border town. Above her a ways up on the hill rested a shine to Silvanus and next to it the entrance to a series of catacombs cut down deep into the earth. The cool air of approaching autumn evening was more to her liking than the regular climate and quite relaxing. The Silver Marches, far to the north near the edge of the known world, was a much colder region than this interior region of the continent, so even a fall and winter season cooler than normal meant little to her. After a long day sweating over the town forge, she was happy to stretch out and soak up some cool air while she rested for a while and mused over some thoughts.
She had been in the town a few days now investigating the area and some of the problems plaguing it. Based on the information she had gathered and things she had seen, there were a number of concerning issues. While exploring the town catacombs and the undead plaguing it, she came across a few amulets of Velsharoon, the ascended lich god of necromancy and undeath. All the texts she had read on the subject suggested that Velsharoon was now a dead power, destroyed during some sort of magical calamity half a century passed. That didn’t necessarily preclude his followers from pursuing their dark tenants of course… Either way, she hadn’t come across any actual necromancers or liches as of yet, but nor had she fully explored the catacombs either; in the lowest depths she’d reached so far were ancient elven ruins and strong sealed doors. She would have to investigate further once she had a way through.
Rumor suggested a serious issue with various vermin and greenskin filth as well: goblins and bugbears infesting the roads and forests. She’d yet to investigate them further, though that would need to change before too long. She’d heard that a temple to the Triad could be found in Suzail, so she would need to make her way east eventually. That had its own problems, of course. If she presented herself before the local leaders of the Triad clad shoddily as she arrived in country after the rust monster incident, any hope of being more than a scribe or having other servant work that acolytes were relegated to would be lost. No, she needed to rebuild her resources and craft a reputation.
Not all of Cormyr’s problems were of undead and greenskins, however, as she discovered in the smithy. The merchants and tradesmen of the area were little better. They gouged the adventurers and mercenaries in the area and demanded hefty tolls for crafting material. They even refused to pay fair price for the work one might do. It was undoubtedly profitable for them, but not very conducive to solving the region’s problems; poor warriors would have a long and hard road of driving away the creatures plaguing the land. Perhaps one day when, if she became landed in the country she could change that…
Lloria stared up at the sky as the last of the dark orange sunset light faded to early evening shade. For the time being she had removed her gear and was lounging in the grass garbed in her simple tunic and pants, maille and freshly forged weapons stashed to the side. She’d spent the day working in the forge to craft herself new suitable gear. While not quite a master smith that could hope to live off the trade, she’d been trained before in the ways of smithing. The axe and shield she made were light and strong, much more so than anything offered for sale in the area. Full armor would be another story, however… the resources needed were significant and would take time to gather. At least that same time could also be spent seeking a name for herself…