Falthorn

Biography

Name: Falthorn Sylvania

Age: 22

Height: 5'7

Weight: 135

Race: Tindreme

Military Profession or Civilian Occupation: none (yet)

Social Status: Pauper

Notable Knowledge/Skills: Hunting, bush-craft, skulduggery, climbing,

Upbringing: Raised from a lower class family far away, he is now a poor immigrant to the Silver Sun Republic. His only reminder of his family is the dagger that his been in his family for generations. His father game it to him to protect himself before he left his family.

Religious beliefs: Atheist

Equipment: Wielding a wooden short bow with a few arrows quivered on his back, an elegant, family heirloom, stiletto dagger, and donning layers of rag-tag cloth garments, covered by a hooded cloak which color is faded from the elements, he is armed, but prepared to flee at a moments notice. A pair of worn leather boots cover his feet. A light pack, strapped tightly around his shoulders, holds a slice of steel and a stone for fire making, as well as bandages for minor wound treatment.

Additional Description: He is audacious, fiery, and brave. He is smart, but he is also rash. He acts before he thinks; good for escaping hairy situations, but bad for most other things. He is at home in the wilds, and a lover of nature and all it includes. He is adept at living off the land, and everything from making shelters, to finding fruits and berries to feast on. His only valuable possession, a stiletto dagger he received from his father before he left, reminds him of his home and his family.

Day One

Today, I met with the other members of this "expedition" in a nearby tavern. I noticed, upon my arrival, a mismatched group consisting of three other Tindremes: an old man - a scholarly looking gent - with a stick in his hand, another looked like a guard down on his luck, and the third, the apparent leader, was sitting at the table, reading over some old manuscripts. He started to speak about the expedition, but I didn't listen to much; I was too busy attempting to profile my companions, anyway. Also amidst the company was a busty little Sheevra. She made the night enjoyable with her intermittent comments, jokes, and bad puns.

Hopefully they'll be a pretty penny in it for me when this is all done with. Could this possibly be the start a new beginning? I hope so for the sake of myself. I've had enough of streets, and I was thinking about returning to the wilds again. I must take advantage of this luck, though.

I tried to avoid eye contact with the soldierly looking Tindreme, for if he was a guard, he could of recognized me from one of my past... "adventures". That would not bode well for me. Being thrown in prison the day before embarking on this new adventure? Pah! That would be a stint of bad luck, even for a pauper like myself.

I managed to afford a room by liberating some coin from some drunk patrons. I haven't slept in a bed for many days, so it's nice to finally lay in something soft, even though it may be dirty, and stink of... I don't even want to think about it. A new day awaits me, I have to say I'm actually excited. I wonder what fate has in store for me... though whatever it is, I'm sure I'll be able to hand it.

Day Two

I awoke on my own early this morning, as my sleep wasn't interrupted by angry guards or violent thugs or sneaky thieves... How I've missed a comfy, if dirty, bed. I didn't notice any of the others awake, so I went for a little walk on the streets in attempt to find some food. I noticed some break sitting on a table, so I grabbed. Apparently, this break belonged to a man - a large and angry one - who proceeded to curse at me. Giving him back the bread didn't help much, as there was a bite out of it already. He didn't give chase as I sprinted off in another direction. He did mention that "I'll be sorry when he sees me again". Little does he know I won't be departing in a few hours.

After my failed attempt at finding some food, I returned to the inn to find the others wide awake. I decided not to share my early morning adventure, as it was not relevant to the current conversation. He read a letter from his superiors, I'm assuming, which detailed our first orders. We were to head south to some ruins. He also mentioned that other "agents" will be tied up due to some bur-o-cratic hurdles. I pretended to know what he was talking about, a nodded, along with the rest. Orien (he's the leader... If I write it down I hopefully won't forget it) also revealed an old stone tablet with a less then detailed engraving on it. To me, it resembled a Sidoian temple. I spoke up and suggested it, but Orien was obviously looking for the mage's (the old man was apparently skilled in the magical arts, his name is Damien) input, and as he should. Him being a mage and all.

They were so kind as to share some food, and we soon after departed. We kept a quick pace, with the Sergeant urging us onward. We took a quick break, so everyone could catch their breath. He is a shady one, the "Sarge" was. (I wonder if he'll get angry if I refer to him as "Sarge"?) His face seemed cold. That's all I could gather from looking at him.

Now Orien is pressing us to leave, so I must conclude this entry. Off to the ruins, we are.

Day Three

So, we temporarily agreed that the glyph is a map. Technically I'm not wrong,as it could be a map to an old Sidoian temple. I would like to be correct, so I will hopefully impress my fellow adventurers. Most of them seem to look down on me, and I don't blame them... I look pretty dirty. We ran into some horrid creatures along the coast. The walking dead, as they were called. I've never seen such creatures before, or smelled them. We circled around them, as to avoid combat.

Orien asked the "Sarge" to scout ahead. I didn't object, even though I thought the job was more fit for someone like myself, I let it go. He reported our surroundings, and also that a pack of dire wolves. "Sarge" reported we need to engage the wolves, and that there's no way around them. I suppose it is impossible to avoid combat forever, so I guess this will be our test. I shall pack my journal at the bottom of the bag to avoid blood, be it my own or the creatures, staining the pages.

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