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Author Topic: Nightmares of the Wellspring Character Biographies  (Read 6285 times)

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« on: April 14, 2008, 07:46:01 PM »

All character biographies for Nightmares of the Wellspring should be posted here.
Virgil, the Great
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« Reply #1 on: April 14, 2008, 09:44:44 PM »

  "Mad Morgalle" Bas, the master swordsman, and expert aerial warrior (at least in the sense of mighty leaps and expertly landed blows).  Morgalle stands 5'10, weighs 210 lb, has long thick wavy black hair, and piercing radiant blue eyes.  Moralle is a skarn warblade and pretty much the toughest part of the law to get around, thus none manage to do so, or at least not without taking a few hits first, in which case Morgalle laughs at those pathetic cowards.  But his story begins with one major exception.  His best friend and partner "on the force", Razios McClane, were really close.  They always went to the bar after work, always enjoying the feel they get when they drink an entire tankard dry and ask for more, and always, Razios took the tab, since he had a huge inheritance from his mother, the greedy black dragon who is surprisingly not so evil as many would think, rather greedy and protective, the only thing valued more than her gold was her son.
  The two guards shared many good times, the best of which was one evening, when they topped off every bit of ale in the bar, a particularly good evening, especially when a feisty little fella, a halfing, tried to steal from Razios's bag of holding, and the smart Razios happened to have a bear trap in his bag set to go off on anyone who isn't wearing his ring, so the halfing's entire hand was snapped off.  This sent Morgalle into a fit of laughter so bad he accidently burst a tear duct (and got it fixed later) and cried so bad his face was tear stricken the entire night.  This little event happened to be so embarrassing for the little guy he fled, one handed and wickedly pissed.  Razios and Morgalle fled to the cleric, who got a kick outta the tale and fixed Morgalle up for free.
  His worst moment was when he and Razios were on duty, checking up on the gang known as the ebon lashes.  They investigated the gangs top lady mercanary, a killer name Teria, also known as Teria McClane.  She was a tiefling urban ranger, and she was vicious.  She knew Razios was her brother, and he also was a cop, two things she hated more than anything.  She drew upon some of her evil powers to kill the half-dragon, which was not an easy task, for she had to find a special dragon slaying dagger, and she did it.  She plunged the dagger deep into the coppers heart, and laughed her evil laugh.  Then she fought Morgalle, who managed to live, as she escaped with her main mission accomplished.  Morgalle still dreams that nightmare over and over again, never resting (well, never getting good rest, just enough to restore his abilities) until he slays his arch nemesis, the tiefling who slew his friend.
  His gear is specially given to him.  The armor Morgalle wears is incarnum dragon hide armor, banded mail, with it's shiny blueish purple sheen a magnificant display.  Its non-magical at the moment being, but it is a wonder as to how this armor came to being.  A mishtai warrior came to Morgalle in his dreams.  Morgalle was filled with questions, and accidently let several out, but the mishtai gave no answers.  The mishtai smiled, and offered but one tip... the mighty dragon soars; even without wings it's possible.  He grinned a wicked grin, then peered straight into Morgalle's soul.  The warrior reached into the young soldiers heart and pulled out a piece of saphire energy.  Then he tossed the ball into the air and it flashed into the apparation of a huge incarnum dragon.  The mishtai leapt into the air, and slew the dragon and it formed into a suit of armor, and Morgalle donned it with great ease.
  His family, it's not Skarn as most would think.  No, his "mother" is an elven cleric, and his father a paladin, and he has a few "little" older brothers.  His real mother and father were the Goldleaf families closest friends.  The two often discussed the cities lower class citizens, and laughed, and when Morgalle was only two, they were called away on warrior duty, they were proud spinemeld soulbourn warriors.  Unfortunatly, this caused their death, they died on a mission to some far off dungeon.  The Goldleafs raised Skarn to be proud of his strength, and wield his spines as skillfully as he does a blade.  They also instilled the sense of arrogance they knew his parents would have wanted him to have.  This made him tough.  His friends include his late best friend, his buddy Stogy, and his true love whom he can never confess to, daughter of teh Goldleafs, an elven fighter, Tahlianna, a lowlevel, swordsage who wields a longsword, wears no armor, and uses few techniques to dispatch his foes.
  Morgalle wears his armor from the hours of ten to nine (not really, just a metaphor for the workday).  If he's not on duty, he's a wee bit more vulnerable, yet by no means an easy target.  He's actually a spine fighting champion, but you'd never tell by his greatsword wielding ways.  Whens he's off duty he wears a bright blue tunic, and dark blue or black pants.  Morgalle wears elven-made boots and they are beautiful and crafted finer than most pairs of magical boots.  He has gold bands with saphires encrusted into them on his spines on his arms, ruby encrusted golden bands on his leg spines, and his back spines he wears chains draped down, solid gold.  He scuffs in bars with out of control patrons, and he considers it a pleasure.  If he has to take a few punches he wouldn't normally take, so be it.
  As a warblade, he can train his mental and physical vigor.  He's very smart, the elves he grew up with instilled great knowledge into him.  This carries through double with the sword skills they taught him.  He first used a rapier, but eventually found out he could better utilize his might with a weapon like a greatsword.  Eventually he began to realize how things work in combat, so he could tell when to dodge and when to strike.
   Morgalle is very rough around the edges.  He's scornful to thieves and punks and badguys, and anyone who's willing to help he's fine with, on one condition... he must know who you are.  He's willing to help a vigilante who works with him, supposing he considers them formidable enough.  He will not take credit for a capture of someone who he didn't capture though, he claims they stumbled in drunk or somethin of the like.
« Last Edit: July 19, 2008, 08:10:34 PM by Virgil, the Great » Logged

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« Reply #2 on: April 25, 2008, 10:47:58 PM »

The Story of Moniker von Dearling   

One night, rain soaked and exhausted, a mid-wife hurried to the La Rose Rouge, a second rate brothel.  It was often she was called out to these houses of negotiable morals, but In such a fluster.  A scullery maid was sent to fetch her, jarring her from a sound sleep during a light summer thunderstorm.  She was none too pleased as she made it known to be informed of such expectancies ahead of time.  It was not long, that she reached the dark alley where the entrance was kept.  A large red rose painted upon the door.  Madame Gourmand was waiting impatiently in the foyer as the mid-wife bustled in with her bag and wet cloak.

Madame Gourmand was a rotund woman, her tinted red hair piled on her head, costume jewelry adorning  almost every inch of her hands and neck.  She was faded and harsh, much like an old couch with hidden splinters for the unwary sitter.  She was smoking a cigarette, home rolled with cheap tobacco, in a foot long holder clutched in one hand like a casual weapon.

“Ah, I see that you finally decided to show up.” She blew smoke in the nurse’s face, “Afraid you’re too late, though.  The baby has already been born.  You had best look after the mother, she’s in a bit of pain.  She had best not die, she is one of my best and hardest workers. When you have a moment, you had better look at the child, if you can call it that.  Perhaps you will know the parentage.” The Madame took a long drag on her cigarette and stamped it out on the table.  The Mid-wife Adelaide raised an eyebrow and swept passed the revolting woman.  Up the stairs she found many of the employed girls peering out of the doorways or gathered around the room of the birthing.

Pushing her way through she found a woman sprawled on the bed, clutching the sheets and twisting In agony.  Adelaide ripped the sheets away and saw a mid-wife and mother’s nightmare.  The mattress was covered in blood.  Adelaide called to one of the girls present “Why are you just standing there, fetch hot water and towels.  We need sterility in this place, at least as much as can be afforded.  You,” she indicated a young servant holding the new born baby,” take that child somewhere warm and dry, the cellar should do, make sure he does not catch cold.” With that she opened her black bag and set to work trying to repair the mother’s torn inside.  She knew dealing with postpartum hemorrhage was one of the worst problems in child bearing. 

It was an hour later, the mid-wife performing small chants and concocting strange medicinal brews, but the young mother succumbed.  It was always sad seeing it happen, especially so terribly.  Adelaide covered the girl with a sheet, and turned directly into the face of Madame Gourmand. “So, she died.  That will be some work finding and… convincing another girl like that to work here.  You had best look at the crea… child perhaps it might be of some interest to those scientists.”  Reviled at such indifference and yet spurred on by curiosity, the midwife made her way to the cellar.

There, in the dank gloom, surrounded by meager candle-light and old dusty furniture, the servant girl cradled a small, child.  Adelaide drew close and picked up the child into her arms.  Slowly she removed the cloth covering the baby’s face.  She silently gasped at what she beheld.  It was the size a baby should be, but the features were blurred, the skin mottled gray and white,  large steel gray eyes stared up at her.  All the while, the creature was silent but looking into the softening face of the mid-wife, the creature smiled and raised a hand touching her arm.  Suddenly, with a quick shift, the baby turned into a small little girl with blue eyes, still smiling, skin as pink a piglet.

 It was then that Adelaide knew this was a changeling.  Never had she seen one before, she had only heard.  Turning to look at the Madame on the stairs, she said “It would seem the fates certainly have a cruel sense of humor, to bring such a unique little miracle into this place of base commonality.  Gourmand, you old baggage, it is upon you to take care of this child.  No orphanage will take it in, I’m sure, far too strange for their ilk.  But I’m sure your girls would delight in being older sisters to this…small wonder. “ She carefully handed the baby over to the servant girl, who stared down into the wide blue eyes of the child, which slowly started to change back to their nondescript gray and mottled skin tone.

“Hah, and who are you to tell me what to do in my own establishment?” The hulking woman shambled forward and grabbed the servant’s shoulder, turning and peering down into the baby’s face.  She peered at it watching the sudden change of the child’s appearance. “Oh…“ she said levelly, the rusted gears in her head beginning to turn. 

“Good, I will be off to send for the morticians to hurry and take away your girl; that poor thing, but a child herself.  Take better care of this one than you did her. “ With that the old nurse left, and there Madame Gourmand was left with a mysterious bundle of questions. 

Years passed and the child grew. For the first ten years, the child lived in the cellar, a makeshift room was made for him.  Madame Gourmand was rarely down there at all, but many of the girls, sworn to secrecy and blood oath by their matron, ventured down there and  never uttered a word to anyone outside of the brothel. They became enamored of the small creature, thinking it a faerie who came to live with them.  It would change its form often, taking on aspects of the girls who would come and visit. Occasionally, one of the girls would come down with books or treats for him.  They would try to read what little proficiency they had and taught him the basic alphabets (common or otherwise) between them all. 

All in all, the girls were like sisters ad mothers to this lost little tyke.  He came to know them all.  Lunica, an elven girl brought there by ill fortune and slavery, but having no other skill now plied her trade in the house.  Janais, a gnome girl who grew up in this life style, catering to most halflings, gnomes and certain taller races with unspoken preferences.  Kata, a human girl entirely too smart to be here and who had aspirations of one day making it big, despite her current situation. Hemaltin, another human girl, very young and brought here by poverty and who was an orphan until Madame Gourmand came and took her from the orphanage.  Then, there was Korisant, the dwarven woman, a most gorgeous dwarf despite the races tendency to be rough and calloused.  She was learned but tough and commanded respect even from the Madame. 

However, when around the child even Korisant was tender and loving, it would seem this ill-fated child reflected them all in some way, not counting in appearances occasionally.  They taught it how to speak and walk. They doted and loved it as their own.  Sadly, however, the Madame, having learned from the creature’s example, forced each girl every month to be consulted for pregnancy. If one was detected, the matron had it disposed of, not wanting to lose another valuable working girl.
An event during the tenth year, however, set things in motion.  Curious about what went on upstairs and desperately hungry, no girl having been down all morning and afternoon to feed it, the creature, dubbed Copycat, crept slowly up the stairs and peered through the key hole.  There it saw figures of the girls and strangers talking and drinking, though the girls looked exhausted.  Madame Gourmand  was by the door haggling with a large gentleman, money exchanged hands and the man went away, putting on his badge of office as he went. 

Copycat tried the door handle and found that it wasn’t locked, slowly it opened the door and looked around. There, towering over him, was a tall man, handsome with long blonde hair and a roguish smile.  Looking over at another corner there was a broad shouldered human wearing red leathers and talking to Lunica, his eyes laughed as he caressed her arm.  Copycat looked around in awe at the different people, he had never seen males before, all he knew were the woman in the house.  Immediately, something clicked, and he looked down, Copycat was now a small boy child, a gender now imprinted upon him.  He was amazed at the sudden change and quickly closed the door.  Rushing down the steps and hiding under the meager covers that could only politely be called his bed.

A few moments later, heavy and purposeful footsteps were heard on the landing above and down came the Matron, looking furious.  She sneered at the boy say “So, thought we would overstep out boundaries did we? Thought to have a little fun and scare away all of my business eh?” With that she gave Copycat a sound lashing, leaving him whimpering in the corner of the cellar. She spit on him and turned around, but suddenly she was face-to-face with the blonde haired man from above. “Oh! Monsieur, pardon me.  I had to teach the runt not to be so adventurous during business hours. He will not trouble you, feel free to peruse my wares.” She laughed lightly, trying to charm him and distract from the beating she had just given.

The blonde man smiled severely and said “My dear woman, I would like you to never touch my son again.” With that the man’s features blurred and skin became mottled. He sneered at the woman and pointed to her throat, which seized up immediately preventing her from making a sound. “Seven years, I have been away on the frontlines of that ridiculous war, seven years spying for king and country.  I had hoped to return to my darling Narissina, but no, you had bewitched her to be your harlot.  Subjected to a violent death at the hands of your ignorance and indifference.  It was only with the help of much investigation and a certain mid-wife,” out of the shadows appeared an older Adelaide worn with the years, but looking wary, “that I heard about a strange changeling child being born in this despicable district.  The neglect and contempt you harbor for my son, is the same I wish to be wrought upon you.  If it were not for my duties to the kingdom, I would stay by his side.” He look gently at the small cowering lad, who held his tiny arms up in defense.  Turning his eyes back to the haggard woman, he grimaced.

“Therefore I will be relieving you of your duties as Matron and slaver to these girls and my child.” With a deft hand, he pulled his rapier and slashed Madame Gourmand’s throat, she sputtered and landed on the floor twitching and gasping a few moments and then was no more.  The man turned to a horror struck Adelaide.  “You are innocent of this disposal and you had no prior knowledge.  I am charging you to guide my son in the ways of the world, you are intelligent, wise and caring.  I feel you shall be a better example. I may check up to see if you are doing your duties.”

In a swift motion, he pulled out  a bag of powder and splashed a handful upon the corpse of the matron, he spit upon it and soon the body was dissolved into dust.  He closed his eyes and his form shifted into that of the matron, a wave of the hand and his clothes appeared as hers.  He looked at Copycat and said “Your name is Moniker, as my father was called, so shall you be named.  Moniker von Dearling.  I shall come again to see you one day…” without another word he strode out of the cellar to the floor above. 

Declaring she was going on holiday, the matron appeared to leave the business in the hands of Adelaide, “As reluctant as I am to leave.  There is a matter of an estate that needs to be settled, apparently, I may be an heiress.  Farewell you trollops.  Follow Mistress Adelaide’s instructions, I’m sure she may have use for you.  She will best suit your needs…” And thus, Madame Gourmand disappeared from the City of Wellspring forever.

What became of Copycat, now named Moniker, is different story. 

After the ownership of La Rose Rouge changed hands, there were many other altering of its business practices.  Adelaide, having both studied in medicinal arts and some textiles, closed the brothel and taught all of the girls the basics of medicine, healing, and the art of being a seamstress.  All of the girls enjoyed these new found skills, delving into books and scrolls on the healing properties of various plants, crystals and simple magic.  They learned to sow, crochet, darn and mend. Moniker tried to learn these things though he could never get the hang of slip stitching. He was even allowed to explore, very briefly, the side streets and even once went with Adelaide to the markets for ingredients and unguents.

During the girl’s retraining and Moniker’s explorations, small sums of money began to appear in various parts of the house.  No one knew who the donor was, but Adelaide suspected that it was all in the same a donation and hush money for her not to reveal the sights she saw those many weeks ago.  The gold was used to expand into the neighboring building, a slummy opium den.  Korisant especially enjoyed this part as it helped her get back to the roots of her dwarf heritage.  All of the girls pitched in, Moniker doing his best, but there is only so much a 10 year old boy can do.  Walls were knocked out, some hands were hired, everything was redecorated and white washed to a new finish.
After four months of being closed to the public, a small hospice opened up in the Red Light district.  Newly named The White Rose, it would serve as a safe haven for sick, abused, or poor women and children of the slums.  Word of mouth spread and many of the brothels and houses of ill repute would send their girls there should something happen.  Poor women from the slums would travel there with their sick children.  Payment was not accepted and only donations from those who could truly afford it were taken, not to mention the small gifts left in the night.

The White Rose was a haven for many who sought the healing and comfort many of the churches were too stingy to provide those of limited means.  The girls were comforting and helpful and the small boy who worked there was diligent and obedient to requests.

For two years the White Rose flourished and bloomed, expanding into yet another building, across the street, a young doctor heard about this idea and came from across the continent. Asking permission from Adelaide and the girls, he occupied the opposite building and set up a small alchemist shop.  He would often try out his new medicines and mixes on patients and volunteers.  Moniker became fascinated with Dr. Pesellet’s practices.  Seeing such an interest in the boy, the good doctor once again asked Adelaide if he could take the boy on as an apprentice.  She whole-heartedly agreed, and
Moniker enthusiastically took up on his role at a novice alchemist.

After a year of study, the young boy was dealing with customers personally, concocting potions, filling orders and doing general labor while the Doctor studied and experimented.  For his sixteenth birthday, Moniker received his own small alchemists lap, which he set up in his new room above the shop.  He often went to market on his own, running errands and soon he began experiments of his own. 

While he was growing up and learning the ways of alchemy, Moniker also discovered that he seemed to have certain powers.  He was able to buy items at the shops for better prices.  He made friends quickly and was even able to trick some of the more foolish and greedy purveyors by taking items from under their noses without being seen.  It was at night that he seemed to flourish though.  He would often take strolls, dressed in simple dark greens and grays.  He would walk the now familiar streets of the Red Light district and market places, finding foolish men or bumbling thieves.  Take from them carefully, or talk them into turning themselves in.  Once or twice he would find a damsel in distress and fend off her assailants. He would then escort her back to the White Rose for a good nights rest.

In Alchemy, Moniker was quite gifted. One of his first creations was a small lip balm that, when properly applied, made the victim of the kiss fall unconscious for a few hours.  He distributed this secretly among the many houses of affection, giving it to the working girls so they might get a good nights rest in every now and then.  Moniker, was certainly a ladies man in the fact he was terribly respectful of them, especially those girls left with no recourse or skill other than their physical bodies. 
By night he excelled in his vigilantism, keeping the area around the rose trimmed of ruffians and no-good outsiders. 

By the age of eighteen, Moniker became a proficient alchemist with many signature potions and balms to his name.  He is also something of a Beguiler as well.  Fooling fools and charming those who may help him achieve his goals.  While he does cherish the “family” he has come to know, he wishes to see more of the city. 
« Last Edit: April 26, 2008, 02:15:38 AM by The Skald » Logged

I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.) - From the Evil Overlord List
« Reply #3 on: April 27, 2008, 10:30:18 PM »

To be announced...
« Last Edit: June 25, 2008, 09:17:43 PM by dade_murphy » Logged
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