Quote: "Why don't we just kill one and skin it ourselves?"

Name: Rolen

Race: Elf

Class/Level: Ranger/1

Age: 19


Ability Score Value Modifier
Strength 12 +1
Constitution 14 +2
Dexterity 18 +4
Intelligence 8 -1
Wisdom 16 +3
Charisma 11 +0
Attribute Value
Armor Class 16
Fortitude Defense 13
Reflex Defense 15
Will Defense 13
Initiative +4
Speed (squares) 7

Hit Points: 26

Bloodied: 13

Feats: Lethal Hunter

Skills: Acrobatics, Dungeoneering, Nature, Perception, Stealth

Race and Class features:


Battle Axe
Arrows (136)
Adventurer's Kit
Climber's Kit
Daggers (3)
Short Sword (loot to be sold)



Standing 5'8" and weighing 150 lbs, Rolen looks every inch the typical elven archer: his hair would have been brown were it not bleached by the sun, his skin is nut-brown, and his body is lean and hard. He wears home-made but skillfully crafted leathers and wool garmets, dyed to blend into the forest. When moving, his race and vocation make for an odd mix: Rolen is swift and sprightly by inclination but every task is done with an economy of movement. Most places, his appearance marks him as a warrior and a woodsman, self-reliant and formidable. In the City, his appearance says to passerby, "this man will overpay for services and manufactured goods." These days, Rolen has a slightly distracted air to him as he is slightly overwhelmed by the City and has not yet learned to tune it out.


Rolen, the sixth child of eight (so far), could not be described as having grown up poor, and that implies that there were enough people around to have levels of wealth. His extended family was isolated and nomadic, upholding their long tradition of tending to their forest home and leaving few footprints either literal or metaphoric. Rolen took well to this life, avoiding the temptations to run off with the occasional halfling band that would pass through or to settle with the human neighbors with whom Rolen's clan would trade. He loved silently moving in the canopy, following outsiders as they passed through. He loved the communion and rhythm of the forest, how he could mark time from the snow's melt to the first flood. He is not unintelligent, but formal education is hard to find in the wild.

Two and a half years ago, Rolen's family took leave from their home to go to a Silmeet. There he met far-distant relatives for the first time, enjoyed a great deal of indulgent celebration, and told his story to the old and childless among his sister clans. Those charitable counselors told Rolen that the best thing for him was to pack off to the City and to become a cleric. His devotion and love to his work spoke of faith, his keen perceptivity spoke of an inquiring mind, and it's something a little more glamorous and lucrative than living in trees, drinking apple brandy, and shooting anything that threaten the trees (particularly the brandy-related ones). It was so decided, with little help from Rolen, that he would pack off to the City, earn the money to join a seminary, and then become a respected and affluent priest.

The first winter Rolen could not go because the snows were too high to permit travel, even for an elf. The second winter Rolen could not go because Orcs were moving into the forest, and every hand that could pull a bowtsring or hold a spear was needed. This third and last winter, Rolen set off and has now arrived in the City.

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