Author: Chris Stevens

In years past, Sgt. Vorell was just a lad tagging along with an adventuring group – a henchman, really.  Throughout his younger years he’s seen and done a great many things.  There were goblins and orcs, zombies and werewolves, and even dungeons and dragons – he has seen and done quite a lot indeed.  As a henchman, however, he rarely received any notoriety or fame, but no matter – he did his job and he did it well.  He liked being part of a team, a group of heroes.  Sure, he was “just” a henchman, but that in itself is still an important responsibility.  He’s not just helping to protect his heroic patrons, but also helping to protect the land and populace as well.

In fact, while his particular actions and deeds did not garner much attention among the population, there was one deity who did take notice, and began following his exploits in the latter years of his career.  It wasn’t his hardiness, or skill with a weapon; it was his actions and words themselves that made such a deity pull interest.  Vorell had a kind heart and a steadfast set of morals, the kind any man or woman could aspire to have for a lifetime, but never fully attain – and he had them in spades.

In a bit of irony, though, he ended up being the last to survive amongst his band of mighty heroes.  Where his great warrior and wizard patrons fell gloriously, he barely survived, only to mourn and bury them.  In his battered heavy armor and bloody long-axe, he set off for the nearest town.

With the loss of his patrons – his friends, he decided to retire.  Well into his middle age, he took up a post as a town guardsman in Sandpoint.  The sheriff welcomed his experience, but Vorell really just wanted to relax in an easy job… he was tired.  He’d run the gauntlet of heroic adventures for twenty years and felt it was time for the younger lads and lasses to take their turn.  Of course, his post of choice was that of a town guardsman, as he still had a little trouble shaking that need to protect others.

Within a month of his new post, his patrol came across a small pack of orcs.  For some reason, this pack had a lone orc (possibly from another tribe) shackled, and was being led by another.  A fight erupted, and Vorell warned his younger partners to leave their prisoner alone, that he was not a target unless he picked up a weapon.  However, it wasn’t long into the fight that Vorell swung his long-axe wide, decapitating both his target and the prisoner.  This immediately caused his peers to give him the nickname, “The Axecutioner.”

Vorell didn’t like the events of that fight.  And he certainly didn’t want to be called “The Axecutioner.”  He knew full well that even if they let that orc go, that orc would kill them if given the chance.  He didn’t pity the death of the orc; just his error in letting the orc die.  “Betrayal, whether it is against others – or your very own morals and ethics, is still betrayal.”  Just two days later, Vorell cleaned up both his heavy armor and long-axe, bundled them carefully, and then put them away into storage.

The sheriff flat-out told him, “You are not retiring.”

To which he replied, “No sir. I’m promoting myself to Sergeant.”

Sgt. Vorell has been at this position for the last nine years, and every year he feels that he’s one year closer to bringing out his old armor and weapon, because a storm is coming, and he can feel it…

He just hopes his nickname doesn’t follow him out there…

~~~~~

Vorell is a character that was made up for our Pathfinder game.  Mechanically, he is a Paladin/Bard Multiclass, but most of his magical abilities are flavored as skills and leadership.  Divine intervention (thematically) is minimal.  Still, there is a divine presence in relation to Sgt. Vorell.  His patron deity has accepted his atonement, and (as soon as Sgt. Vorell is needed again) this deity is prepared to make him a Paladin.  All Vorell has to do is choose to get back out there…

THE PROFESSOR

When The Professor was a child, his father would bring him along on trips to Sandpoint. Sandpoint was just a small town then, but it had a great and magnificent ancient tower, one that this boy liked to play near. He imagined many great knights and princesses once lived there, and since it was still standing, it must have seen quite a few battles. Oh, the imaginations of a child.

As an adult, The Professor has no home. His trade as an alchemist makes him a decent living (one that would be better if he would just settle down and join a guild), but it’s also that trade that allows him to travel the lands. He searches high and low for new and rare ingredients, and has gotten to know the lands (and sea) quite well.

Whenever possible, he always tries to include Sandpoint in his travels, if nothing more than to stir up and relish old memories. He’s grown quite fond of the town, and has come to know and befriend many of the locals. However, his latest venture has taken him directly to Sandpoint on purpose – as word of a giant blob ooze-like monster was said to have been seen in some ruins just outside Sandpoint’s border, to the east. A sampling of that specimen would do wonders for his work. He hasn’t found the ruins yet, and he’s not leaving until he does.

He DID work for a trade guild in Magnimar for awhile, but left abruptly after an incident in his lab. He doesn’t talk about what happened, but a noted few will tell you that he left a changed man…

Image by Larry Rostant

Coramyr, Son of Grimnir
Chieftain of the Sunrunner Clan
by Craig Nelson

Coramyr grew up the spoiled prince of the Sunrunner Clan, located deep in the tundra and grasslands known to belong to the many barbarian clans there. He excelled in warfare and in a sense of justice, but had trouble in growing up inside, in showing the wisdom expected of his station and status.

This, and many more things, changed when Coramyr was sent along with a handful of other warriors to the Mother’s Womb, the heart of the grasslands, where hundreds of long mounds housed the cairns of ancient tribal chiefs and ancient kings, where the clear, strong spring of the grasslands spawned many rivers. He and his warriors went there because rumors had been told of foul tampering with the dead, and even hints that some were made to rise again.

Many desecrated cairns and bodies were found as they arrived, and they then stirred… Most of the warriors who came with Coramyr died at the hands of men long dead themselves.

Back at the longhouses of his people’s land, many foreign tribes usually loyal to the Sunrunners (the Windmanes, the Red Eyes, even the strange Moon Skins) attacked in the small of the dawn, betraying kindred oaths and even breaking traditions of bread and salt as guests within, rising with axes and swords and fire in hand to slay all.  From strong warriors to babes held close to women’s breasts, all but a few old women and children of Clan Sunrunner died that day.

Coramyr found himself having to grow up fast, sending his few remaining people far into the mountains to hide within winter caves there.

He vowed to die gloriously by confronting the enemy in single combat, but was turned from that path one night, when a mysterious and compelling dream took him further south to meet strange people and strange ways. This dream strangely turned him from hateful vengeance… Praying to Lysdanir and making a sacrifice of enemies and bison, he finally embraced his role as a warrior of his god, Lysdanir, the last Chief of his people.