Bloody Good Looks

You are a rosy-cheeked shaggy-haired female human, presenting yourself as:
Andy Daraania.
Although this girl's hair barely reaches her neck, it is what sticks out most.
With vivid colours like the flames of hell, it hangs loose and unpampered,
specked with bits of blood. When she moves and her armours shift, you see a
distinct change in skin tone from well-tanned to pale.
You have scars on your nose, left cheek and right cheek.
You have dark eyes.
You have short red hair.
You are tall and lean for a human.
You are in good shape.
You are extremely alert.
You are wearing a black robe, a left black chain boot, a left black chain
gauntlet, a medium leather backpack, a right black chain boot and a right
black chain gauntlet.

Andy's Story

The carpenter had longed for a son, but not just any son; a son to carry his name proudly into the world, one who would rise up and escape the squalor that surrounded him, to fight in the glorious ranks of Asral! Yes, that was what he wanted, a way to break out of his world of being pushed around, never having enough money for food or taxes, and always living in a hellhole of a shack for a house. His son would be his ticket to fame and riches, he always told the other drunkards at the pub.

One cold winter day, a day no more exceptional than any other, his wife, a woman no less ordinary than any other, birthed a child. When the messenger found him, the carpenter rushed home from the Golden Dragon shouting “A son! Asral be praised, a SON!” His wife lay dying as he tore through the door, taking no notice of her; he only had eyes for his wonderful boy. As the exhausted midwife held the child up to him, the swaddling blankets fell to the floor and the carpenter froze, aghast and gulping in shock at what was there—or rather, what was missing.

Grabbing the naked child in both hands, he leapt to his wife’s side and shouted hopefully “Twins?!” His wife, taking in her last breath and closing her eyes for the final time, softly replied “No, you damned fool! SHE is… your son.” And with that, the woman died into her next life, beginning the journey to the fields of heaven. The carpenter, deep in shock and disbelief at his wife’s passing but especially at the loss of his son, staggered back to the pub to soak in his own misfortune.

The years slowly passed by, and the infant grew into a tough girl, ever wary of her father’s disappointment. All the same, she was not mistreated too badly. The carpenter was nearly always drunk, or recovering from being drunk, and did not have enough money for schooling. Freed from the scourge of education, the girl did as she wished, mainly spending her days with the other urchins; fighting for food, begging for money, throwing mud at noblemen and travelers, and of course—listening to the men and dwarves in black chainmail.

Whenever the priests of war held forth in the marketplace spreading the word of Asral and telling tales of battle, the girl was there. What a life they lived! …devoting themselves to Asral, showing valour and honour and bravery, living freely and fighting whatever and whomever they wished… Perhaps some day, when she was older, perhaps she could join their ranks. It would be more than a dream come true. They would not care if she came from a family as poor as dirt, only that she could devote herself to Asral. In her mind, the path of her life lay laid out before her paved in stone and blood. She would tread the path of a warrior priest.

Years came, and went, and the carpenter died shortly after the girl’s fifteenth winter—burned alive when the shack caught on fire. On her own with only the clothes on her back, a few coins, and a name, she stepped out into the world—ready to take the path she had chosen. She fought with other people for enough money to buy a decent weapon, and then the training began.

Her dream of becoming a warrior priest was accomplished around the time of her eighteenth birthday. Those who seek her often find her amidst the goriest of battles striving in dire combat with large and nasty beings—and if not there, they seek her at the pub where loud laughter, singing and the crash of heads against walls and tables can be heard.

Bits of Culture

Even warclerics have to show their soft sides, now and then!

You say in Common: Alright, A short poem then, one that I remember from my days growing up
You say in Common: There is the wonderful love of a beautiful maid
You say in Common: And the love of a staunch true man
You say in Common: And the love of a baby that is unafraid-
You say in Common: All have existed since time began
You say in Common: But the most wonderful love, the love of all loves
You say in Common: Even greater than the love for Mother,
You say in Common: Is the infinite, tenderest, passionate love
You say in Common: Of one damned drunk for another!


-While talking about epitaphs...

You say in Common: I know what mine will say
You say in Common: Here lies Andy the priest
You say in Common: She was not much a ferocious beast
You say in Common: She fought hard in battle
You say in Common: and never did tattle
You say in Common: And now she resides at Asral's feast.

Logs and things of the liking

• BettingOnBrokenBones
• StoryTimeWithAndy