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“Perhaps we have wasted our spirit in the regions of the abstract; let the world wither on the vine in prayer and contemplation.” -J’Rome

As many a tale in these days has begun, he was but a baby when they left him on the steps of that monastery. I’m sure his parents thought it was for his own good. Maybe they thought he’d escape the life that had held them prisoner for so long. Maybe they were simply trying to escape into the night themselves. In any event, it is not the sign any child would ever choose to be born under. He spent the next thirty years watching and learning from the monks in Winterhaven; filling the gaps in their teachings with those of the wayward traveler that sought shelter within the monastery’s crumbling stone walls. Cleaning, serving, mending: these are the lessons that forged J’Rome into a respectful young man. Stealth, quickness, sleight of hand: these are the less reputable skills that forged his adventurous spirit. It is this rare combination of determination and a humble servant’s heart that caught the eye of a kind old master named Sirra Tylon. He took J’Rome under his wing and taught him the basics of focusing his mental energies into the quick, efficient movements that characterize the Shung-ge monk.

“Is this all there is then?”, Master Sirra asked one day during meditation. Startled, J’Rome wasn’t sure how to respond. The Master had never spoken before during their shared time of silence. “I don’t know what you mean, master.” J’Rome said quietly. Sirra turned to J’Rome and asked in an uncomfortably loud voice “Perfection in solitude. A peaceful port in a raging storm. Is this all we were meant to be in this world?” Again, J’Rome was without words. He had felt it too, of course. The incredulity of a spotless room while the world fell apart around them. Siira could see the answer he was looking for there in J’Rome’s eyes. “Meet me at the east gate after evening prayers, J’Rome. I want to show you something.” That night Sirra took him to the shadiest tavern in the nearby village. The pair waited until the evening's activities reached alarmingly violent levels (in the form of a massive, room-filling brawl), when the master suddenly shoved J'Rome into the heart of the fray. After being pushed and jostled several times, J'Rome tried to take refuge under an overturned chair by the wall. As he reached it, the flash of a dagger near his ear caused him to instinctively grab the chair and slide it into, and capsizing, the flailing patron. Backing away, not believing what he'd done, J'Rome toppled the last remaining upright chair. Without thinking, he seized the chair, kicked its corresponding table back into its proper place, and slid the chair under it. Only then, did he notice three more patrons had been sent sprawling by his actions. Realizing that his affinity for cleaning held the key to unlocking his advancement within the Shung-ge’s Iron Soul Technique, J’Rome set about meticulously replacing the tables, chairs, and place settings throughout the room. With each swipe and shuffle, another brawler was laid low, until minutes later, only J’Rome, the master, and the tavern furniture were upright. The next day J’Rome said goodbye to his master and left the monastery, seeking to unlock the truths of his training on the adventurer’s road.

Learning how to cope with hearing other people’s thoughts is enough to leave anyone a little unhinged and so it’s not a big surprise that Vox doesn’t like to talk about the years during which she was learning to control her psionic powers as a wilder. All you really know of her is that she showed up one day on a trade caravan looking for work. Fairingray immediately saw the aid her powers could bring the guard and convinced her to sign up for militia training. During this last winter you’ve learned that she has a healthy love of art and fine things coupled with an uncanny ability to talk said items out of unsuspecting hands and into her backpack. Vox’s silver tongue has talked the group out of numerous sticky situations with the town guard and her psionic abilities have crushed many a target before they could ever get close enough to swing a sword. Even with all her charm, one gets the feeling that pressing her too hard on the wrong subject is a quick way to end up with a sudden migraine.

The Genasi are a long-lived magical race of humanoid elementals. Their race has, over time, developed the ability to adapt to whatever region they inhabit. As such a genasi from a snowy region will have very distinct physical and magical differences than a genasi from a tropical region. While Aeternal’s ancestors were native to the Elemental Chaos, a small settlement of cinderborn genasi have taken up residence in a semi-dormant volcano in the DawnForge Mountains. Theirs is a proud tribe known for their fierceness in battle and their love of sport. Amongst his peers Aeternal stood out from a very young age as being an incredible athlete. He quickly earned every accolade a young member of his tribe can earn and as such he struck out into the world to find what adventures lie in wait. During his travels, Aeternal came in contact with a sect known as the Transcendent Order from which he learned the introspective art known as “ciphering.” Utilizing this ability, Aeternal is able to act quickly in any situation, often striking before his opponents have even had time to act. Further study into how the magical arts can be intermingled with a quick sword-hand has forged Aeternal into a powerful SwordMage. Able to fend off incredible amounts of damage while protecting his party members from the same, Aeternal is a valuable tank asset to any adventuring party.

Running my first D&D campaign as a DM here in the next few weeks. I'm a little nervous about how well the group will meld as some people can turn really silly really fast. We'll see how it goes. Here's the intro I sent out to the group:

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You've been training as a class of recruits under the expert guidance of one Captain Nathan Fairingway in a small town named Fallcrest. This endeavor has consumed the better part of a particularly harsh winter but signs of Spring are slowly cropping up here and there. During this time one thing has become painfully clear: You are complete bad ****. It's not even bragging. You are just quantitatively better than any class of recruits that has come before you or any group of guards that is currently serving in defense of Fallcrest. One might think that this knowledge would endear you to the native population and to a certain extent it has. The townspeople love you and you are consistently greeted with a smile and a warm handshake. The Fallcrest militia, however, has not shown quite the same level of enthusiasm as it relates to your exploits. "Why is your group so much better? What has been lacking in the leadership up to this point? Are the towns current guardians on the take?" Regardless of the turmoil your adventures to this point have caused, you have endeared yourself to Captain Fairingway and a few of his peers. It is with these men that you find yourself, standing in a small field outside of your town. Today is to be your final day of training before you "graduate" into the prestigious group of guardians known as the Fallcrest Militia.