"Kick a dog, or obey a Master. Life here is a simple option."
-Sir Ashlane
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.LADY ROOKSTRIDE.
Darklord of the Domain of Rookhelm
She is the tall, willowy spider in the center of this intricate web in which we all struggle. The Lady allows us our precious Salubrity Powder if only we appease her with a grand tribute each and every month. Her mouth and hands are permanently stained from the noxious chemicals she mixes and ingests, but her black soul is far more tarnished. She will take everything our village has and still be unsatisfied. Around her neck rests several small vials of her alchemical creations, and I shiver to think what grotesque boon each one offers her.
Knight of the Realm, Hand of Rookstride
If Lady Rookstride is the twisted brain of the Domain she rules over, then Sir Ashlane is the brutal and crushing fist. The aging Knight does not appear to be anywhere near as formidable as he has proven himself, and I have personally seen displays of strength and vigor from him that would shatter a much younger, stronger Man. I would wager anything I own that Lady Rookstride has her bodyguard on a steady supply of her foul potions, granting him supernatural strength and toughness to more adequately dispense her horrific justice. I could not begin to imagine what price this petty Knight paid for such power, but he serves his Lady with unquestioned loyalty. He carries a dreaded spiked mace that I have heard he has named "Last Gavel".
.SHARPTONGUE.
The Ever-Starved, Fiend of Gristlewick
The people of Hallondry whisper of the wracked minds and twisted forms that comprise the gruesome cannibals of Gristlewick caverns. The debauched wretches that live in the twisting catacombs there have all succumbed to the madness of starvation, to the point where they stretch their distended bellies on the meat and blood of the living. Their foul practices has turned them into horrific creatures known as Calibans, and they skulk through the night, snatching those unwary few who wander too close to their gore-encrusted underground maze. At times, I wonder if, despite their horrific appearances, their life is better than ours. We scrape and beg for Lady Rookstride's Salubrity Ash so that we may eat, but they feast openly without need for her aid, and all it costs in return is their soul. Of all the Cannibals of Gristlewick, the vilest of the bunch is Sharptongue, the black-hearted leader of the baleful brood. If you are ever snatched in the night by filthy grey hands and awake somewhere in a dark, winding cave, better to end yourself however possible than endure what fate they have in store.
.ELDER GALLEO.
Leader of the Village of Hallondry
Hallondry's leader does what he can for the well being of his charges, and Elder Galleo has been stalwart and dependable since assuming the vaunted title of Village Elder. He is younger than most who have held the title, but he does what must be done and holds fast to the tenets of fairness and unity that our community hold dear. He has forsaken a wife and family to focus his attentions on the needs of his office, and he is a respected figurehead that whose word acts as final law to us all.
Keeper of the Faith, Cleric of The Fates
We revere the three free-roaming stallions known as The Fates, and of all the Villagers in my home, Brother Lekial holds the closest ties to them. I have seen him channel their power through miraculous deeds, and with their power flowing through him, Brother Lekial has healed the wounded with but a touch and word. The voice of reason and counsel to us all, the Cleric's wisdom and introspective nature have allowed us to remain grounded and focused even as the world around us continues to belch forth harshness and hardship. With his guidance, Hallondry will continue to fight against the darkness without, and we are fortunate to count him among us.
.VELSEY GANVALD.
Daughter of Kravo and Listraya
Since I was young, my Village has been my home and refuge from the grim, bleak world. I have never known my parents, and it has been said more than once that I court danger on a regular basis by giving in to insatiable curiosity. I cannot help that I like to meet new people, visit new places and learn new things. My elders say that I will find myself in great peril someday, but I keep a dagger with me and am not unskilled in its use. I have even given it a name, and have used "Fate's Point" on more than one occasion to see me through a treacherous situation. It is a source of tremendous sadness to me that I have never seen beyond the borders of Rookhelm. It is my most desperate wish to do so.
.PARISTAL.
The Stranger, Hermit of the Rotsplinter Woods
Elves are not native to this place, and Paristal is the first of their kind that I have ever known. He was brought here from his lush and fertile homeland by swirling, roiling mists, and I met him first on one of my sojourns through the fiendish woods of Rotsplinter. Lost and confused, he regarded me cautiously at first, but over time, I have explained this new world to him and now call him my friend. He is a kind man, but every day in Rookhelm wears on him more and more. His delicate skin blisters and sizzles in the cruel rain, and each day, he seems to detach further and further from reality. From what he tells me, his people are intricately tied to the land, and I could only imagine how hurtful it must be for him to fester in this horrible place, where nature itself does all it can to prove itself an enemy. I visit him in his lonely cabin every day and he teaches me how to read and write his beautiful language. I worry for him a great deal, as his desperation to return to his home grows with each cloudy, murky day.
.PHARLYNN.
Seamstress of Hallondry, Pharlynn the Fair
She is the spirit of our village, always armed with a dazzling smile, kind words and honest praise. Her talent at tailoring has clothed half the village, and she is always free with her time and talents. If there is a more pure soul in existence, I have yet to find it. Pharlynn can always be found at the Three Steeds Tavern, rocking in her chair by the hearth, filling the air with both her sweet perfume and perfectly pitched songs that she hums beautifully. The Halfling has made Hallondry a far better place, and enjoys the love and adoration of all its residents. I hope that my ravenous envy of her is not easily detected.
.OLD MAN ROYVOS.
The Addled Fisherman, Keeper of Lake Swillig
As tough as he is unbalanced, Old Man Royvos is something of a legend among our people. Somehow, the crazed and hermitous Fisherman has managed to survive on his lonesome in a small shack built right next to Lake Swillig since the death of his wife, Minagene. He is strange and he is unstable of mind, but the Old Man is the sole source of all of Hallondry's fish, and he is always plucking something interesting from Lake Swillig's murky depths. He is always ready with a bewildered smile and a tall tale, and he is fondly regarded by the rest of our village, despite his eccentricities.
.EGGRICK.
Repentant Wretch, Exile of Gristlewick
The newest addition to our village is the Caliban known as Eggrick. Once a disciple and follower of the foul Cannibal Sharptongue, Eggrick fled the cabal of vile flesh-eaters after finding his latent Humanity. He approached Hallondry and begged to become a part of our community, but was looked upon with reviled suspicion. After proving his worth via a dazzling display of heroics, Elder Galleo kindly admitted him into our family proper. I have not spoken much with Eggrick, but his change of heart seems genuine, and he is repulsed by the desperate deeds of his past. Currently, he aids Hallondry however he can, forsaking any and all applications of violence. The Caliban even refuses to hold anything that could be used as a weapon. I shiver to think what manners of chilling depravity he witnessed while under the cruel leadership of Sharptongue and his animalistic followers...
.THIBBLE & GROTT.
Militia Conscripts Extraordinaire
For as long as I can remember, Thibble and Grott have been best of friends and constant companions. The two seem to compliment each other well, with Thibble being the wits and quickness of the pair, and Grott being the brawn. Both serve the town Militia, and while they may seem bumbling and less than formidable at first glance, I know that they mean well and will sacrifice all they have for the good of Hallondry if it is required of them.
Proprietor of the Three Steeds Tavern
The gem of our community is the Three Steeds Tavern, where the hearth is always a golden blaze and the air is thick with mirth and relaxation. The place is a rare respite from the hardship of life in Rookhelm, and its owner, cook and Barkeep is the ever-present Blorn Blayl, who has invented a most popular drink among Hallondry's villagers called 'Maresweat Mead'. Despite its colorful name, the drink is most pleasant (and potent). A constant busy-body, there is nothing underneath the roof of the Three Steeds that Blorn does not personally tend to, from the serving, cooking, or cleaning of the place, and he is a proud man that is well liked throughout the village.
.THURDER.
Stablemaster of Hallondry, Beleaguered Suitor
The keeper of our stables is a talented, but troubled fellow. While the Dwarf named Thurder might come off as gruff upon first glance, his stern exterior hides the heart of a hopeless romantic. The on-again/off-again focus of his affections is the Shopkeep of our Village, and the two seem to play out the same volatile cycle of hellacious arguing followed by sickeningly sweet making up. The two of them are truly a sight to behold, and always add excitement to Hallondry. When he is not in the throes of his passion, Thurder tends to the beasts and mounts under his care with utmost skill, and he is truly one with the animals he keeps time with. My own horse, Pluno, was delivered and trained by Thurder himself.
.GRIVELDA.
The Strange Shopkeeper, Owner of Goods by Grivelda
Eccentric and just a tad bit high-strung, Grivelda manages the General Shop of Hallondry, where she sells a little bit of everything that you could imagine. Her impressive collection of practical (and impractical) items for sale is truly surprising, and she has a nigh-magical gift for appraising the value of anything she can examine closely. Her small, cramped shop is named after her, and 'Goods by Grivelda' is a popular one-stop destination for all your retail needs. She and the stablemaster of our Village, Thurder, are entwined in a rather chaotic love affair.
.GINDERDAINE TOLLYWADDLE.
Mysterious Traveler, Consummate Gentleman
I do not quite know what to make of the strange newcomer to our Village, but the Halfling's very existence here proves even further that there is life beyond the grim borders of our prison-home. Lively, charming, and exceedingly well-traveled, he speaks of realms and lands that I would give anything I own to visit. He claims to be at the whim of mysterious Mists that usher him onward to new, strange locations and adventures, and I am not quite sure if I should envy or pity him for that. He rides a most cantankerous Mule named Eunice that carries an abundance of supplies for Mister Tol--Ginderdaine's seemingly endless travels.
.INKWELL.
Good Boy
Our humble village has a spirited black dog as our playful Mascot, and there are few that can resist the urge to pat this curious canine on the head or give him a few moments of their time when he comes bounding forth with a twig in his mouth. Inkwell has yet to meet a soul that he didn't like, and he can always be found padding around Hallondry investigating this or that. Every now and again, he brings forth strange and interesting objects that he finds in his constant adventures.
.IRON ALICE.
Blacksmith of Hallondry
The Smithy of our Village is the striking, sardonic figure known as Iron Alice. Her nickname is triple-earned from her ashen-grey hair, affinity for smelting and hammering steel, as well as the stern presence she exudes. Many in Hallondry unfairly assume that she is distant and detached due to her wry sense of humor, but I believe that Alice merely holds a stern dislike of flowery words and pretense, preferring to cut to the heart of most matters. It was in the intense heat of Iron Alice's forge where my own dagger, Fate's Point was born, and I can personally attest to her superb craftsmanship.
.JOBAL.
The Woodworker, Refugee of Gristlewick
The leader of a band of starved, desperate survivors of the disastrous events that befell Gristlewick, I find Jobal the Woodworker obnoxious and snide. Apparently, he seemed to hold some manner of clout in the ill-fated town he and his band used to call home, and they follow him and heed his orders. I see the look of lost hope and dismal loss in the eyes of these unfortunate survivors, and know that they do what they must to survive. With each and every day that passes, their desperation becomes more and more apparent, and I wonder how long one can go without food before giving in to grim and bloody urges. All that being said, I do not find these people or their leader to be cruel for the sake of it, but I would not put it past them to see their hands bloody if such measures were required to see their lingering starvation relieved.
Ashen Imp, Steward of the Candle
The wretched, foul little Imp that has taken up residence in Thademont House was all too eager to greet us in our most recent jaunt through its blackened halls. The repugnant little fiend seems to find the charred, empty chambers of the place to be some sort of smoggy retreat, and he seemed to be the only being there not intent on immediately crisping our flesh. A curious, pot-bellied little creature, the fluttering Imp-thing seems to revel in mischief and traffic in riddles. However, Haznaggle did aid us in exchange for engaging in one of his tests of wits, and we saw our aims accomplished in part to his help. That being said, I am most glad that he resigns himself to the blasted husk of Thademont House, a place I fully intend on never setting foot in again.
.LADY THADEMONT.
Mother Ghost
I am but a handful of those who know the identity of the legendary Mother Ghost, the horrifying, grim Apparition that has been seen by several denizens of our Village. Many have reported sighting a ghostly pale Woman wearing a vibrant blue dress who clutches an unmoving bundle to her chest. Personally, I have never encountered Mother Ghost, but I have excitedly interviewed those who have, and they all shiver with dread at recounting the experience. After braving the sweltering dangers of Thademont House, my friends and I uncovered the tragic circumstances of Mother Ghost's (and her disfigured newborn's) untimely demise at the hands of none other than the ambitious, cruel ruler of Rookhelm herself. Indeed, the more of Lady Rookstride's wretched past we uncover, the more my disgust for her grows.
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