TEXT: 
  PAUL “WIGGY” WADE-WILLIAMS
  HEROES & VILLAINS
  COMPENDIUM
  
  IntroductIon
  The population of the winter-wracked northern lands 
  is not particularly high, but it is varied. Commoners 
  and nobles, mages and clerics, healers and warriors, 
  merchants and thieves, wise men and fools, heroes and 
  cowards, all walk the frozen realm.
  Most have mundane dreams. They want to feed their 
  families, earn enough money to pay their taxes, avoid be-
  ing killed by some horrible beast, serve their lord loyally, 
  survive another winter, and, when their time comes, die 
  a peaceful and painless death. But those the Norns have 
  touched have greater goals, often affecting many lives. 
  Some crave base things such as wealth and power, oth-
  ers desire revenge for actual or perceived wrongs, seek 
  to unlock the mysteries of the world, complete a grand 
  quest, slay monstrous beasts, defeat fell cults, be praised 
  and renowned for their glorious actions, or simply make 
  the world a better place. These are the men and women 
  who, while they may not be the subject of skalds’ tales, 
  will feature in them, for their destinies are intertwined 
  with those the Norns have fated to be true heroes. 
  This supplement contains over 60 NPCs, both villainous 
  and heroic, ready to be dropped into any Hellfrost campaign 
  or used as player characters. Whether you’re after a warrior, 
  mage, thief, ranger, or cleric, you’ll find an example inside.
  Stat BlockS
  Every NPC has an associated stat block. These have all 
  been designed using the rules for creating Novice player 
  characters with no advancements. These stat blocks, com-
  bined with the write ups, are intended to show players the 
  wealth of possibilities that Hellfrost presents. As fully-fledged 
  characters complete with stats and background, they can 
  also be used in convention games you might be running.
  For GMs intending to use the characters as NPCs, we 
  strongly suggest the stat blocks be modified as desired 
  to suit the Rank, playing style, and strengths and weak-
  nesses of the party they will interact with, as well as the 
  individual GM’s campaign.
  For those of you who have never created an NPC in 
  Savage Worlds, the best advice we can offer is, Don’t 
  panic! Unlike many other systems, where NPCs must 
  be created using the same rules and restrictions as 
  player characters, Savage Worlds has a much simpler ap-
  proach—just give them the abilities they need to fulfill 
  their role and you’re done!
  That’s right, you just pick the Traits, Hindrances, 
  Edges, spells, and gear you want them to have. You don’t 
  have to count advances, balance them against the he-
  roes, or even meet Edge requirements (although some 
  rationale as to how a character with Agility d4 learned 
  Acrobat and Improved Frenzy should be kept in mind in 
  case the players query it).
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  HEllFroSt HEroES & vIllaInS 
  compEndIum
  AUTHoR: PAUl “WIGGY” WADE-WIllIAMS
  EDITING: TYlER MoRRISoN, lEE F. SzCzEPANIk, JR. 
  GRAPHIC DESIGN: RoBIN EllIoTT
  lAYoUT: RoBIN EllIoTT, PAUl WADE-WIllIAMS
  CovER IllUSTRATIoN: PHIllIP SIMPSoN
  IllUSTRATIoNS: JUSTIN RUSSEll
  
                           
  
  namuS ap-Ernaut
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Freelands (Aslov); Occupa-
  tion: Paladin and murderer; Patron Deity: Dargar.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d8, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d8, Intimidation d6, Notice d6, 
  Stealth d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: –4; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Anemic, Bloodthirsty, Delusional (Minor; 
  Dargar tells him who to kill), orders
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Dargar)
  Languages: Anari, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Strength, vigor, Fighting, 
  Shooting, and Throwing only), smite
  BackGround
  Namus was born and raised in Aslov. The son of a for-
  ester and a potter, he followed in his father’s footsteps. 
  life was always a struggle for the lower echelons of so-
  ciety, but the infl ux of refugees into the city made things 
  considerably worse. Food was rationed, crime rates rose 
  dramatically, and costs of basic goods increased beyond 
  the affordability of the common citizen. like a corpse 
  beginning to fester, the city was slowly being devoured 
  by an army of human rats.
  like many natives, Namus began to question why 
  Aslov and its people should shoulder the burden of sup-
  porting the rising tide of refugees. Did they not work 
  hard and pay their taxes? Why should they starve and 
  shoulder harsh tax hikes just so that incomers might eat? 
  How could the baroness allow businessmen to fi re locals 
  and hire refugees at half the wages? While some citizens 
  turned to violence against the refugees, Namus kept his 
  feelings and growing hatred locked inside his soul. There 
  they festered, slowly consuming him.
  The forester’s life changed in 496, when plague swept 
  through the fi lthy, crowded streets of Aslov. Although his 
  family died, Namus stubbornly clung to life. Hovering 
  near death, he dreamed of a wild-eyed man with pointed 
  teeth and bestial eyes. The fi gure mocked him, snarling 
  that he was no better than those he reviled in refusing 
  to act against them. Namus awoke a changed man. Rec-
  ognizing the fi gure in his dreams as Dargar, he sought 
  out the sinister cult. That he survived the punishing 
  training regime, designed to turn men into monsters, 
  was testimony to his willpower and the cancer that had 
  consumed his soul. Namus reveled in the pain and mis-
  ery he infl icted on others, fi nally venting his pent up rage 
  against the rats who inhabited Aslov.
  He returned to the city last year. Now a paladin of 
  Dargar, he stalks the streets at night, a specter of death 
  hunting down and eradicating the weak. While many citi-
  zens are weak or dying from starvation, Namus thrives, 
  regularly dining on fresh meat hacked from his terrifi ed 
  victims. Namus kills because he must—slaughter the 
  refugees and Aslov shall rise from the ashes, glorious and 
  strong once more!
  dEScrIptIon
  To look at him, Namus is nothing special. Average 
  height, well-built but not excessively so, and with typical 
  Anari features, he is instantly forgettable—just another 
  face in the crowd. Except if one looks into his gray eyes—
  they are stone cold, devoid of any emotion even when he 
  smiles. They are not the eyes of a maniac, gleaming with 
  inner madness, but those of a man dead inside. But in 
  Aslov such eyes are growing more common.
  When stalking the streets, Namus wears a heavy black 
  cloak, and covers his hair and lower face with a thick 
  scarf. The latter is partly to conceal his features, but more 
  to ward off the night chill, for Namus is not a well man. 
  His weapon of choice is the battle axe, a common imple-
  ment of warriors and not unlike a forester’s tool.
  mannErISmS
  By day, when his public persona is in place, Namus is 
  shy and quiet. He avoids eye contact, though he remains 
  alert to danger and signs of weakness. At night, once 
  his mask is in place, he becomes a remorseless killer, a 
  shadow that haunts the night and deals death. Far from 
  a death-dealing berserker, Namus stalks his victims, tor-
  menting them with fl eeting glimpses of his concealed 
  face and vile descriptions of the torment he will infl ict 
  on them hissed from the shadows before striking.
  Namus is plagued by ill-health, the result of eating 
  the fl esh of too many diseased victims. He is frequently 
  wracked by violent coughing fi ts in which his sputum is 
  fl ecked with blood. He refuses to show any weakness—
  not because he is stoic, but because weakness would 
  label him a potential sacrifi ce in the eyes of his cult.
  HEllFroSt
  2
  
  EorBurH cadWallaSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Nordmark; Occupation: 
  Priestess and diplomat; Patron Deity: Eira.
  Attributes: Agility d4, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d4, Healing d6, Intimidation 
  d6, knowledge (law) d6, Notice d4, Persuasion d8, 
  Streetwise d4
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Code of Honor, orders, overconfi dent, 
  Pacifi st (Minor)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Charismatic, Con-
  nections (cult of Eira), Connections (Nordmark nobles)
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Giant, orcish, Saxa
  Powers: Healing, stun
  BackGround
  Eorburgh was orphaned during the civil war that fol-
  lowed the death of king kol Skulisunu. Still two years 
  away from her majority, she sought sanctuary in the local 
  temple of Eira. For two years she earned her keep, aid-
  ing the healers in tending the injuries wrought upon the 
  populace as the various factions battled for supremacy.
  on reaching adulthood she elected to train as a priest-
  ess. Having already witnessed the cost men paid for war 
  and patched up all manner of wounds, she completed 
  her training with ease. It was during this time she came 
  to realize that while her order could mend the physi-
  cal wounds infl icted by war, it could do little to rebuild 
  ruined lives or ease the mental trauma suffered by those 
  who witnessed or suffered brutality. Surely, she thought, 
  the order should be concerned not with clearing up after 
  battle, but preventing war in the fi rst place. Although a 
  qualifi ed healer of some skill, Eorburgh devoted her life 
  to diplomacy and peace mongering.
  When Geirmund returned from exile, he spent the 
  night at the temple, seeking assurances the priestesses 
  would support his cause and provide healers. late one 
  night, as the king sat by the hearth and studied reports, 
  Eorburgh brought him his evening meal. Daring to dis-
  turb his planning, she spoke with the king at length, es-
  pousing her views with elegance and calm, yet inwardly 
  fearful the king would dismiss her as a child. 
  Much to her surprise, Geirmund, who was only a little 
  older, said he agreed with her in principle, insisting that 
  he favored peace, not war. But, he added, true peace, a 
  peace that would last generations, could not be earned 
  through talk—peace must be earned through pain and 
  loss, for only by experiencing suffering can men truly ap-
  preciate the benefi ts of peace. Eorburgh protested, but 
  Geirmund could not be swayed from his course—war 
  would come to Nordmark, and through it peace would 
  ensue.
  Eorburgh knows young king Geirmund’s position is 
  far from stable. The civil war may be over and the re-
  building in progress, but Nordmark’s lord has enemies 
  within and without his domain, and his promise of peace 
  is still a dream. There is little she can do about the for-
  mer, for the wolves lie low, patiently watching for signs of 
  weakness before revealing themselves. But lurking in the 
  mountains that lie to the north and east are many hostile 
  tribes of orcs and giants. Were they to rally, Nordmark’s 
  army would be forced to move to intercept them, bring-
  ing more pain to its people and leaving the traitors a free 
  hand to act against the king.
  Without seeking approval, Eorburgh has made it her 
  goal to broker a temporary truce with the non-humans, 
  buying Nordmark precious time to build up its strength 
  (and thus deter any assault) and the king’s intelligence 
  to root out the traitors and force them to the parleying 
  table. lacking the skills necessary to survive the arduous 
  trip, and well aware that a show of force is necessary 
  to impress orcs, she is currently seeking adventuring 
  companions. That any deal she makes would be invalid 
  without the king’s approval has, in her enthusiasm, com-
  pletely slipped her mind.
  dEScrIptIon
  Eorburgh is a rather plain woman. Her nose is 
  crooked, broken in her youth; her dirty blonde hair is 
  worn long, unfettered, and unadorned; and her face is 
  just a little too serious to attract men. She wears only the 
  simple white robes of Eira’s priesthood. The only jewelry 
  she permits herself is a silver cloak clasp embossed with 
  the goddess’ holy symbol.
  mannErISmS
  The quietly spoken Eorburgh has a charisma that 
  commands attention. Even during a heated row between 
  bitter rivals, all she need do is quietly raise her hand to 
  bring silence. She endeavors to remain neutral when set-
  tling disputes, putting aside personal feelings in favor of 
  the common good.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  3
  
  lIaZE ap-JEHan
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Magocracy (Eastheath); Oc-
  cupation: Paladin; Patron Deity: Eostre Plantmother.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d4, Faith d6, Fighting d8, Notice d6, 
  Shooting d6, Stealth d4, Survival d6, Tracking d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Hard of Hearing (Minor), orders, Stub-
  born, vengeful (Major)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Eostre)
  Languages: Anari, Arboreal, Fey, Hearth Elven
  Powers: Bolt, entangle
  BackGround
  A petulant child and as stubborn as a mule, liaze saw 
  no use for plants. She hated eating vegetables (“animals 
  eat those!”), saw trees as good only for fi rewood and 
  building houses, and trampled fl owers because certain 
  types made her sneeze or had thorns. 
  Then she fell ill with chicken itch, a common child-
  hood ailment that causes unsightly itchy pustules. liaze’s 
  case was particularly severe, though, and her parents 
  feared for her life. luckily, the local priestess of Eostre 
  was an herbalist, and provided the family with a medici-
  nal remedy designed to break the fever and ease the pus 
  that threatened to poison her blood.
  Following her recovery, liaze has a complete change 
  of heart, having fi nally realized the importance of plants. 
  She pestered her parents into building her a plantiecrub 
  (a walled enclosure designed to stop livestock eating 
  the plants), which she lovingly tended through spring 
  and summer. one morning, as harvest neared, she dis-
  covered two boys from the neighboring farm stomping 
  the plants. Incensed, liaze, a skinny 12 year old girl who 
  spoke her mind but never acted aggressively, set about 
  the youths with a rake (ignoring the fact she would have 
  joined the boys just a year ago). Had her parents not 
  dragged her off the screaming youths, she would likely 
  have killed the pair, such was her rage.
  liaze was dragged to the temple of Eostre, kicking 
  and screaming, and vowing she would reap a bloody 
  harvest for the loss of her plants (much to her father’s 
  shock and mother’s eternal embarrassment). Instead of 
  chastising the child or explaining that the plants could 
  be re-grown, the priestess actually smiled, albeit out of 
  the corner of her mouth. Although liaze was still young, 
  the priestess asked her parents to let the girl join the cult 
  and train as a cleric. Sensing that a strict regime would 
  do the girl good, and provide her with a much needed 
  education and future prospects, they relented.
  liaze’s training did nothing to quench the fi res that 
  burned in her when she saw plants needlessly destroyed, 
  but it did give her focus and reason. Her mentor intro-
  duced her to the hearth elves of Angarion, who taught 
  the human child of the history of the great forest and its 
  decline, and told her of the ways of orcs and the greed 
  of men, who tore down forests to fuel their homes and 
  clear land for crops. To no one’s surprise, liaze chose to 
  become a Reaper after fi nishing her basic training.
  Now a full paladin, liaze has left the temple to travel 
  the northlands. She greatly desires to see the relatively 
  untouched wilderness of the High Winterlands, espe-
  cially the Great Forest, and to pay tribute to Eostre Plant-
  mother at the edge of the Frozen Forest. Along the way, 
  she lends her steel and spells to any who are fi ghting 
  against despoilers.
  dEScrIptIon
  liaze has hard features and a stern demeanor, though 
  some of the latter is actually down to her having to con-
  centrate to hear quiet conversations (see below). Her 
  dark eyes light up when she is discussing the wondrous 
  beauty of plants, or when she comes across fl owers or 
  woodlands she has never seen before. Her hands and 
  face are usually dirty, for she is always rooting about in 
  the soil or tending damaged plants.
  liaze wears a brown cloak trimmed with fur, practical 
  woolen shirt and trousers (the knees of which are usually 
  encrusted with dirt), and high leather boots. Concealed 
  beneath her cloak hangs a short sword.
  mannErISmS
  liaze is partially deaf, a side-effect of her childhood 
  illness. She doesn’t like to discuss her infi rmity, espe-
  cially with strangers. Unfortunately, this means she can 
  come across as snobbish or arrogant, seemingly ignoring 
  people for no apparent reason. 
  She is a fanatical defender of plant life, showing no 
  mercy to those who despoil the forests or destroy crops 
  (harvesting is a natural act).
  HEllFroSt
  4
  
  EoFrIca Black-armS
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: vestmark; Occupation: 
  Priestess and weaponsmith; Patron Deity: Ertha.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d8, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d4, Faith d6, Fighting d6, Intimida-
  tion d6, knowledge (Area: Underearth) d4, knowledge 
  (Craft: Smithing) d6, Notice d4, Stealth d4, Survival d6, 
  Swimming d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: loyal, orders, Pacifi st (Minor), Phobia (Ma-
  jor: Claustrophobia)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Ertha), New Power*
  Languages: Earthtongue, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Armor, burrow, smite*
  * Eofrica wanted the smite power, something Ertha 
  does not grant, as it ﬁ ts her occupation. The GM allowed 
  her to own an enchanted whetstone. It is unusual in 
  that it only functions for clerics of Ertha and activates 
  using the wielder’s Faith roll.
  BackGround
  Eofrica was in her early teens when the orcs stormed 
  through southern vestmark. At fi rst the war was a distant 
  event, troubling for sure, but with little effect on daily 
  life in the north. But like countless other souls, it would 
  change Eofrica’s life forever.
  Time passed, Eofrica grew to womanhood, and mar-
  ried a farmer, a poor man but a good husband. Her plans 
  to become a mother were cut short when her husband 
  was conscripted into the army. Unable to manage the farm 
  alone, Eofrica decided to aid the war effort. Many young 
  men had been drafted, and metalworkers were short of 
  apprentices. The masters, their trade vital to keeping the 
  army supplied, were desperate for assistants.
  Eofrica worked hard and learned quickly, for fate de-
  creed her a talent for working metal. Her master, a priest 
  of Ertha, suggested she could improve her art and better 
  help vestmark by taking holy vows. With no other ties, 
  and being patriotic, Eofrica began her religious training.
  Her fi nal examination was no different to those who 
  came before her—a solo journey through the Under-
  earth. She has never revealed what she saw in the sunless 
  depths, but she emerged into the light screaming in utter 
  terror, vowing never to return to Ertha’s Realm until the 
  goddess called her to join her in eternity. Although she 
  entered armed with just a dagger, grasped tightly in her 
  left fi st was a magical whetstone marked with a strange 
  dwarven rune. Despite her vow and her terrifi ed appear-
  ance, she had passed the test.
  A decade on, Eofrica, now in her early thirties, still 
  works as a smith. As the war drags on she has become 
  slightly more militant. Each time she arms a soldier with 
  one of her creations she dies a little more, knowing that 
  many of these brave sons, brothers, and fathers will 
  never return home. But, she believes, there is still hope, 
  still a chance for victory. orcs may dominate the south, 
  but there are small bands of rebels operating there, wag-
  ing a guerilla war, and kings Wood remains free. While 
  she cannot provide them with leadership, she can equip 
  them with the tools they need to strike at the heart of 
  the enemy. Her plan has been turned down by Marshal 
  Theodred, who can ill-afford to spare skilled workers. 
  She now plans to enter orcmark and locate such a rebel 
  band under her own volition. All she needs is someone 
  to ferry her there and help her locate the rebels.
  dEScrIptIon
  With her fl owing red hair and dark eyes, Eofrica is the 
  living embodiment of the hearth. Her arms and face are 
  covered in hundreds of tiny scars caused by hot embers 
  and sparks. These are usually invisible, concealed be-
  neath a layer of soot. This is the origin of her nickname. 
  Although wiry, Eofrica has great strength in her arm. She 
  prefers not to show off, having learned that is never wise 
  to reveal all one’s strengths. She wears a thick leather 
  apron (equivalent to a leather shirt) and carries a ham-
  mer (treat as a mace).
  mannErISmS
  Eofrica is humorless, dedicated solely to her work 
  and her goal to end the war. She cannot understand why 
  others laugh and joke while vestmark is on the verge of 
  destruction, having yet to learn that humor is used by 
  warriors to combat stress and despair. The traumatic 
  experience of her training has never gone away, and 
  she suffers intense claustrophobia. It strikes quickly and 
  without warning, leaving her a screaming wreck. She 
  refuses to venture underground for extended periods, 
  giving all manner of excuses.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  5
  
  tYko HIEtanEn
  Race: Finnar; Homeland: lakeland; Occupation:
  Paladin and explorer; Patron Deity: Foldardróttann (see 
  Region Guide #11).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d6, Faith d6, Fighting d6, knowledge 
  (Underearth) d6, Notice d4, Stealth d6, Survival d6, 
  Swimming d6
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Cautious, loyal, outsider (among Finnar)*, 
  Small
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Dungeon Crawl-
  er
  Languages: Dwarven, Earthtongue, Finnari, Trader
  Powers:
  Boost/lower trait (Agility, Strength, vigor, 
  Climbing, Survival, and Swimming only), light
  * Tyko never passed her adulthood test. Now 26 years 
  old, she is considered mentally inﬁ rm by Finnar (word 
  spreads, even in the wastes) and treated accordingly.
  BackGround
  Tyko was born to a nomadic family whose ancestral 
  grounds encompassed part of northern lakeland. Unlike 
  most of her family and friends, who were born in tents, 
  Tyko’s mother gave birth to her only child in a cave, her 
  labor coming on suddenly while she was hunting in 
  the mountains. Born prematurely, Tyko was a tiny baby. 
  Staunch traditionalists, her parents left the newborn in 
  the cave, for a weak child is a drain on valuable resources. 
  They returned a day later intending to bury the girl, only 
  to fi nd her alive and healthy.
  Tyko’s next adventure involving a cave came many 
  years later. Her clan had migrated to their summer hunt-
  ing grounds in the foothills of the World’s Edge Moun-
  tains, seeking to replenish their stores with rabbits and 
  deer that thrived on the hardy mosses. When one of the 
  young men failed to return to camp, every member of 
  the clan mobilized, Tyko included. His spear was found 
  close to a crack in the ground, a gap too wide for an 
  adult to slip through. His family was ready to give the 
  hunter up for dead, when faint calls were heard, echoing 
  up through the crack. While many adults made protec-
  tive signs and murmured about fell earth spirits, Tyko, a 
  mere child, volunteered to go into hole.
  Armed with just a short spear and fl aming torch, she 
  was lowered into the crack. knowing nothing of the 
  Underearth, Tyko expected to see a featureless cave, 
  something akin to the interior of a stone tent. Her gasp 
  when she cast her eyes on glittering stalactites and stalag-
  mites, curtains of rock seemingly frozen as they fl owed 
  like water, and the vast cathedral-like dome was clearly 
  audible on the surface. The lad was safely rescued, hav-
  ing suffered only a broken leg.
  Tyko became fascinated with the Underearth, for her 
  brief visit had opened up a new world. She longed to 
  know what lay beyond the illumination of her torch, 
  where the tunnel mouths she glimpsed led. She returned 
  to the cave as often as possible, neglecting her duties to 
  delve ever deeper into the sunless realm.
  Just before her 14th birthday she encountered a cleric 
  of Foldardróttann, who was intent on exploring “her” 
  cave. Man and child spoke at length, the cleric spell-
  bound by the young girl’s knowledge of spelunking. 
  He returned with Tyko to her camp and spoke with her 
  parents, offering to take her under his wing and train her 
  as a cleric. Although upset to see her go, Tyko’s parents 
  knew that the earth that lay beneath their feet was always 
  going to be her main focus in life.
  When not engaged in her own exploration, she hires 
  herself out as a guide to those wishing to venture into 
  Ertha’s Realm or whose battles against hostile creatures 
  take them into the bowels of the earth.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tyko is short for a Finnar, standing just a fraction over 
  fi ve feet tall, and has a waifi sh build. She wears her near-
  white hair short. Her skin is paler than most Finnar, a 
  result of spending almost as much time within the bow-
  els of the earth as walking upon the surface. She is self-
  conscious about her nose, which is slightly upturned, 
  and her chin, which she thinks is far too angular.
  mannErISmS
  Fully aware of the many dangers that lurk in the 
  Underearth, planning and safety are always her fi rst 
  concerns, never speed. Although not stubborn, she re-
  fuses to be rushed, even when danger looms. She makes 
  friends quickly, for there is no room for animosity in the 
  utter darkness of Ertha’s Realm. Although not suicidal, 
  she has made it a rule never to leave a comrade behind.
  HEllFroSt
  6
  
  EadGYtH tHE undYInG
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Seithrby; Occupation:
  Priestess and necromancer; Patron Deity: Hela.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d6, Healing d6, Intimidation 
  d6, Investigation d4, knowledge (Arcana) d6, Notice d4, 
  Stealth d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Cautious, Death Wish, orders, vow (Major: 
  free the liche-Priest)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Hela), Semi-Undead*
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Black Tongue, Trader
  Powers: Fear, zombie
  Special Abilities:
  * Semi-Undead: +1 Toughness. +1 to recover from be-
  ing Shaken. No additional damage from Called Shots. 
  +2 to vigor rolls to resist disease and poison. Ignores 
  one point of wound penalties.
  * Eadgyth used one of her starting Edges to take the 
  unique Semi-Undead Special Ability.
  BackGround
  Eadgyth still remembers how as a child she feared the 
  icy hand of death, how she recoiled from the withered 
  husks of the elderly, their features marred and ravaged 
  by age; how she ran from the sick lest she catch their 
  disease; and how she avoided graveyards. She still re-
  members how the fear grew steadily stronger as she 
  entered adolescence and slipped toward adulthood, and 
  vividly recalls the recurring nightmares she suffered, in 
  which her fl esh slough off to reveal the gleaming bones 
  beneath. She still remembers the day her parents died, 
  hearing in her mind the incantations the cleric recited 
  over their corpses in the hope they would avoid eternity 
  in the Abyss, seeing the wrapped bodies lowered into the 
  ground to be devoured by worms. Most vividly of all, she 
  still remembers the day she died.
  So afraid of dying was she that Eadgyth sought sol-
  ace in the dark embrace of Hela, whose cult promised 
  eternal life to those who served the mistress of death. 
  like all potential recruits, Eadgyth had to overcome her 
  greatest fear and stare death in the face. She remembers 
  the poison she ingested coursing through her veins, the 
  darkness descending, her struggle to breathe, and then 
  the sudden burst of light as her eyes opened.
  Believing she had died, the dark cleric Eadgyth had 
  sought out quickly cast zombie, seeking to turn her body 
  into his mindless slave. But Eadgyth’s soul had not been 
  claimed by Scaetha’s heralds, for it clung to her corpse, un-
  willing to pass beyond the veil of mortality. Guided by the 
  fate the Norns had woven, the unholy magic fused Eadgyth’s 
  lingering soul to her body, which hung in a state between 
  life and death, one heartbeat away from dying. Eadgyth 
  awoke neither alive nor dead, and yet not undead.
  Now over 100 years old, Eadgyth craves death, but not 
  the fi nal death suffered by mortals. Still technically alive, 
  her body continues to age, albeit at a greatly reduced 
  rate, and remains susceptible to injury. All Eadgyth’s 
  research into her unique status has failed to answer the 
  most important question on her lips—if she dies, will 
  Hela grant her the status of a truly sentient undead? 
  She believes that only the liche-Priest can supply that 
  answer, and he is still imprisoned. Growing ever more 
  desperate as the years drift by, Eadgyth has become 
  fi xated on awakening the master of the undead. After 
  much research, she now believes she holds the key in 
  her hands, for she has uncovered fragments of an an-
  cient ceremony laid down by the liche-Priest before his 
  defeat. All she need do is collect the blood of 13 clerics 
  of Scaetha and Sigel slain by an undead, and smear them 
  on the great wards.
  dEScrIptIon
  Despite straddling the line between life and death, 
  Eadgyth appears much as she did in life. Her skin is pale 
  and cold to the touch, though not as icy as a corpse. 
  Her heart still beats, though only slowly. Her dark hair 
  is streaked with gray, and her once smooth face is fi nally 
  showing signs of age. Her gray eyes are like cold embers, 
  lifeless save for a tiny spark of inner strength.
  mannErISmS
  Fearful of dying and not returning as a sentient un-
  dead, Eadgyth has become extremely cautious, always 
  planning contingencies and never acting rashly. She 
  plots and plans, always trying to ensure she is two steps 
  ahead of her enemies.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  7
  
  varocHEr GlaSS-EYES
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Freelands; Occupation: 
  Paladin and scholar; Patron Deity: Hoenir.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d4, Faith d6, Fighting d8, Investigation 
  d4, knowledge (Folklore) d4, knowledge (History) d4, 
  lockpicking d6, Notice d6, Stealth d6, Streetwise d6
  Charisma: –1; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Bad Eyes (Minor)*, Curious, Habit (Minor: 
  talks to himself), orders
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Hoenir)
  Languages: Fingerspeak, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Smarts and Smarts-linked 
  skills only), detect/conceal
   * Has a set of ground lenses he purchased from a 
  merchant hailing from Al-Shirkuh. They are virtually 
  irreplaceable outside of the desert realm. He is long-
  sighted. Without his glasses, the penalty applies to any 
  sight-based roll under 10”, not over, as normal.
  BackGround
  varocher has long been interested in the past, though 
  not always from a scholastic stance. Born to a poor fam-
  ily, he discovered an ancient grave after the plow he was 
  guiding strayed off course and gouged through a layer 
  of buried stones on the edge of his family’s plot. Within 
  the shallow depression he found a handful of coins and 
  a small stone statue, the grave goods of some ancient no-
  bleman or warrior. Although the statue was well carved, 
  varocher saw no intrinsic value in the lump of stone. Why 
  he placed it outside the family home and did not simply 
  throw it away he cannot remember, but the Norns work 
  in mysterious ways. Many months passed, and varocher 
  had all but forgotten about his fi nd. A merchant, in the 
  village to buy surplus grain, noticed the statue. After in-
  specting it he offered varocher’s father 200 gold scields, 
  hardly a princely sum, but a fortune to poor farmers.
  Realizing that seemingly worthless objects could 
  bring wealth, if the right buyer could be found, varo-
  cher became a tomb robber. Although many of his fi nds 
  ended up in private hands, more than a few were sold to 
  the cult of Hoenir, within which he developed numerous 
  contacts. over time, and through countless discussions 
  with clerics of Hoenir, varocher’s view began to change. 
  More and more artifacts were given over to the cult, and 
  varocher spent more time in study, investigating likely 
  sites of interest rather than plundering any old ruin he 
  happened across.
  His decision to join the cult and take holy vows was 
  prompted by an accident. While exploring a ruin in Heli-
  gioland he triggered a trap, which sprayed strange spores 
  into his face. only his quick decision to dowse his face 
  in water saved his sight, for the trap was intended to rob 
  tomb raiders of their vision. Unfortunately, he was not 
  quick enough to escape unscathed—over the next few 
  weeks his eyesight gradually deteriorated. Although the 
  degeneration stopped, it left him severely long-sighted. 
  varocher thought his life over, for he could neither read 
  clearly nor stop the tell-tale signs of traps before he 
  stumbled into them. 
  It was then he recalled reading a manuscript translated 
  from the fl owing script of the desert realm of Al-Shirkuh, 
  in which it spoke of special glass discs which could cor-
  rect vision. varocher spent his life savings traveling to 
  Sethnor City and purchasing a pair of these seemingly 
  magical discs from a merchant.
  Convinced Hoenir granted him a second chance in 
  life, varocher has devoted his remaining years to serving 
  Hoenir. He still robs tombs, but he does so in the name 
  of discovery and knowledge, not profi t.
  dEScrIptIon
  varocher has neatly combed light brown hair, inquisi-
  tive light green eyes, and a friendly smile. Perched on his 
  nose is a pair of ground lenses encased in a wire frame. 
  When not wearing his glasses he is forced to squint to 
  see nearby objects clearly. He wears the standard gray 
  robes of a scholar over his armor, and carries a satchel 
  crammed with writing material and his explorers gear.
  mannErISmS
  For the most part, varocher is quiet, thoughtful, and 
  attentive, the stereotypical trademarks of a scholar. He 
  often talks to himself, asking and answering questions 
  about items he is seeking or ruins he is exploring in an 
  attempt to put himself in the mindset of the builders and 
  better understand the current situation. 
  Although not reckless by nature, his desire to learn 
  often leads him to make rash decisions or become dis-
  tracted by a curiosity.
  HEllFroSt
  8
  
  volaS tHE GrIm
  Race: Tuomi; Homeland: Drachenlands; Occupa-
  tion: Paladin, champion, and enforcer; Patron Deity: 
  Jarngrímr (see Region Guide #9).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d8, Intimidation d6, knowl-
  edge (law) d6, Streetwise d6, Survival d6, Tracking d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Code of Honor, orders (Ramel), Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), First Strike
  Languages: Chalcian, Trader, Tuomi
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Spirit, Intimidation, and Per-
  suasion only), puppet
  BackGround
  volas was a small child when voivode Ramel ascended 
  the Dragon Throne. Although Ramel was a tyrant, one far 
  worse than the fi ve generations of his family who came 
  before, volas was brought up to respect his liege, for he 
  and his line had united the squabbling and power-hun-
  gry mormaers under strong leadership, which in turn 
  strengthened the Drachenlands.
  As a youth, he watched the annual tax spectacle, revel-
  ing in the deadly battle as the village champion sought 
  to secure a better tax rate for his kith and kin. At the 
  age of 11, he watched impassively as his father fought 
  Ramel’s champion. Although he put up a mighty fi ght, 
  he was defeated and killed. volas felt no grief or desire 
  for vengeance, for the law was the law, and his father’s 
  noble sacrifi ce had earned the village tax exemption for 
  the next year. He waved aside the condolences of his 
  neighbors, for in his heart he felt naught but pride.
  volas’ fi rst act of loyalty came two years later. volas 
  was playing outside a friend’s house when he overheard 
  the boy’s parents speaking poorly of Ramel and his harsh 
  laws. Ramel and his entourage entered the village a week 
  later to set the annual taxation level. volas tried to alert 
  one of the guards to the seditious talk, but the youth was 
  ignored. Frustrated, he struck out at the guard, knock-
  ing him off balance. volas was quickly overpowered and 
  dragged before the voivode. Ramel casually pronounced 
  the death sentence, the standard punishment for those 
  daring to strike against his guards. volas, unafraid, spoke 
  out. With a strong voice he informed Ramel of what he 
  had overheard, pointing out the shocked perpetrators, 
  and then indicating the guard who had refused to take 
  his accusations seriously.
  Ramel selected volas’s friend’s father as the village 
  champion, pitting him against the unfortunate guard. 
  The villager lost easily, burdening the inhabitants with 
  a crippling tax bill. The guard, although victorious, was 
  executed as a warning. Accompanying him to the grave 
  were volas’ friend, his siblings, and his mother.
  Ramel threw a coin purse to volas, but the boy re-
  turned it, claiming he had acted not through desire of 
  reward, but through loyalty to his liege and his divine 
  right to rule. His curiosity aroused, for such loyalty was 
  rare, Ramel asked volas would reward he would accept. 
  Unfl inching, volas asked to be trained as a cleric of 
  Jarngrímr, so that he might help ensure the population 
  obeyed the will of the voivode. Praising the boy’s devo-
  tion in front of his peers, Ramel granted the request.
  Now a paladin of the small cult, volas has served 
  voivode Ramel tirelessly. Although he has acted as the 
  voivode’s champion when setting taxes and as an execu-
  tioner, he primarily serves as an enforcer, rooting out 
  sedition and punishing perpetrators in full accordance 
  with the draconic laws. He has recently been given per-
  mission to operate beyond the Drachenland’s borders. 
  Disguised as a bounty hunter, he ruthlessly hunts down 
  and exterminates political refugees fomenting rebellion 
  against the voivode. 
  dEScrIptIon
  volas is of average height for a Tuomi, standing 5’ 5” in 
  his socks, and of average build. His blonde hair is swept 
  back from his forehead, his mustaches droops below his 
  chin, and his beard is woven into a single braid. volas 
  sports two tattoos, one running from the bridge of his 
  nose across his left cheek, the other curving across the 
  right brow. He wears a plain gray cloak over his armor, 
  symbolizing his adherence to conformity.
  mannErISmS
  volas lives up to his nickname. Stern and humorless, 
  he lives solely to uphold the law and enforce the will of 
  rulers. When it comes to matters of law he is fi ercely stub-
  born—refusing to bend either the letter or spirit. Those 
  who break the law or act in a non-conformist manner, 
  such as daring to speak out or act against a legitimate 
  ruler, he punishes quickly and ruthlessly.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  9
  
  anduIn ap-lotHar
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Heligioland; Occupation:
  Paladin; Patron Deity: kenaz.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d8, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d10, Notice d6, Stealth d4, Sur-
  vival d6, Tracking d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 7; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Code of Honor, Delusional (Minor: kenaz 
  speaks to him), orders, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of kenaz)
  Languages: Anari, Frosttongue, Trader
  Powers: Burst, deﬂ ection
  BackGround
  Anduin has no knowledge, no memories, of his par-
  ents. His mentor and father fi gure, a priest of kenaz, 
  claims he was dozing beside the fi re one night when the 
  wood suddenly began to crackle loudly. Awakened, he 
  had the sudden urge to open the temple doors, despite 
  the lateness of the hour and the inclement weather. ly-
  ing on the temple steps, wrapped in a red blanket, was 
  a newborn man child. Despite the howling blizzard that 
  blanketed the landscape, no snow lay in the immediate 
  proximity of the gurgling babe. Seeing no tracks, and 
  his later investigations unearthing no trace of the boy’s 
  parents, the priest decided to raise the child.
  Although he raised the boy as his own son, bringing 
  him up in strict accordance with kenaz’s code of behav-
  ior, the priest never deluded himself that he was Anduin’s 
  father, nor did he keep the truth from his young charge 
  once we has old enough to understand his mysterious 
  origins. Anduin proved an adept pupil, grasping the 
  nuances of kenaz’s dogma easily, and constantly asking 
  questions that forced his father to delve deeper into the 
  cult’s workings and mysteries. Convinced the boy was 
  fated to be a cleric, and a powerful one at that, the priest 
  began formal training when Anduin was still a child.
  Anduin awoke one mid-winter morning after a trou-
  bled sleep, his eyes ablaze, his face caught in an expres-
  sion of rapture. He ran to his father, informing him that 
  kenaz had visited him in his dreams. The black-skinned 
  god, his beard and hair living fi re, dim yet still fl ickering 
  wildly, informed the boy a great destiny lay before him, 
  that he was the chosen one who would free kenaz and 
  his father, Sigel, from their imprisonment and return 
  them to their rightful place in the heavens.
  Anduin’s father was skeptical, for the boy’s passion 
  bordered on fanaticism at times. Far older and wiser, he 
  had seen many clerics adopt the lofty quest of discover-
  ing the whereabouts of kenaz, clerics who more often 
  than not died alone in some remote wilderness or con-
  sumed by madness and despair when their goal proved 
  unreachable. But he said nothing, for the gods work in 
  mysterious ways, and Anduin’s appearance on the temple 
  steps during a winter storm had often vexed him.
  Anduin switched his training to that of a paladin, for 
  his desire to fulfi ll the quest given him by divine origin 
  had grown steadily stronger over the years. Although 
  his father tried to delay the inevitable, Anduin eventu-
  ally prepared to begin his quest. Standing on the temple 
  steps one last time, Anduin brushed the tears from his 
  father’s eyes, telling him not to worry, for the long winter 
  was almost at an end—a new spring would soon dawn.
  Anduin did not expect his task to be easy, and he has 
  not been disappointed. He has followed many leads, but 
  all have come to naught. Undeterred, he continues to 
  wage a one-paladin war against Thrym and his fell min-
  ions, never wavering from his quest.
  dEScrIptIon
  Although an adult accustomed to the rigors of life, 
  Anduin retains boyish qualities. His chin is smooth, 
  without a trace of stubble; his cheeks freckle in summer; 
  and he has yet to develop the grim countenance worn 
  by seasoned warriors. His brown eyes are lit with inner 
  determination that belies his appearance. He wears his 
  hair long in the Saxa fashion, dying it a deep red each 
  year in honor of kenaz.
  mannErISmS
  Anduin adamantly believes that kenaz speaks to him 
  and directly guides his actions. These communications 
  come solely through dreams—Anduin does not talk to 
  himself. 
  Such is his belief that he has been singled out, Anduin 
  refers to himself as “the Chosen one” and “Favored Dis-
  ciple” when introducing himself. Anduin rigidly adheres 
  to kenaz’s moral code and expects others to do the same 
  when in his presence, regardless of their patron deity.
  HEllFroSt
  0
  
  lIlIanE ap-FIErBraS
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Alantaris Isle; Occupation:
  Priestess and Reclaimer; Patron Deity: Maera.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d4, Investigation d8, knowl-
  edge (Arcana) d8, knowledge (Folklore) d8, Notice d4, 
  Shooting d6, Streetwise d4
  Charisma: –1; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Delusional (Major: believes non-Anari are 
  inferior), Habit (Minor: speaks down to non-Anari), or-
  ders (cult of Maera), orders (Reclaimers)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Maera)
  Languages: Anari, Aspirian, Chalcian, Classical Anari
  Powers: Detect/conceal, dispel
  BackGround
  liliane’s family can trace its lineage back to the glory 
  days of the Anari Empire, when they numbered among 
  the nobility. Although noble titles mean nothing in Alan-
  taris Isle these days, she was brought up knowing her 
  ancestry and the power her family once wielded. She 
  was also tutored in the Empire’s many achievements, 
  especially its conquest of the Hearthlands, an era which 
  brought peace to the northern continent until the bar-
  barian Saxa rebelled against their rightful masters.
  Unsurprisingly, her one-sided education led her to 
  adopt views of Anari supremacy. She blamed the de-
  struction of the Empire not on the liche-Priest, whose 
  armies ravaged the northern expanse of the Empire, nor 
  at Thrym, whose legions ravaged Alantaris Isle. In her 
  mind, the blame lay squarely in the laps of the “lesser” 
  races, especially the barbaric Saxa.
  liliane never bit her tongue when it came to her views 
  of history, loudly espousing them to all who would lis-
  ten. She even took part in acts of vandalism against the 
  homes and businesses of non-Anari residents, though 
  she refrained from physically assaulting people, consid-
  ering it beneath her. She did use her family’s wealth to 
  pay others to beat non-Anari, though.
  She became a cleric of Maera primarily because her 
  family had long ties to the cult, seeing it as her duty to 
  continue the association with the goddess of magic as 
  her ancestors had done. She also hoped that through her 
  research she could discover the resting places of Anari 
  relics lost in the mayhem that ripped apart the Empire or 
  stolen by rebellious barbarians, thus allowing paladins 
  of the cult to restore the treasures to their rightful place 
  in Imperial City.
  liliane was a natural recruit for the Reclaimers, a band 
  of fanatics who seek to rekindle the last embers of the 
  glorious Empire. Her extremist views quickly earned her 
  a place in the Emperor’s Fist, a secret, violent cabal.
  Although Imperial City boasts a fi ne library, she has 
  reluctantly been forced to leave Alantaris Isle to continue 
  her research. She has helped unearth a handful of very 
  minor relics, all of which have been funneled to the 
  Emperor’s Fist for use in their attacks rather than to the 
  cult. Her long-term goal is to uncover the four elemental 
  rings. Her plan is to gift them to Anari elementalists who 
  share her views, enabling them to usurp control of the 
  Convocation and return it to a pure Anari organization. 
  With such power at their disposal, the Anari will surely 
  rise up once more to impose fi rm rule over the beasts 
  that walk the northern lands.
  dEScrIptIon
  liliane has all the hallmarks of a pure-blooded Anari, 
  a living representation of the statues that still adorn parts 
  of Imperial City. She has black hair, which she wears long 
  and unfettered, bright green eyes, high cheek bones, and 
  olive skin. She dresses in fi ne robes, cut to the fashion 
  worn by nobles at the height of the old empire, and 
  adorns herself in jewelry of traditional Anari design.
  mannErISmS
  liliane is a racist of the fi rst water. It is her fi rm belief 
  that only pure-blooded Anari are fi t to rule, and that 
  the other races and cultures are little more than beasts, 
  sheep in desperate need of shepherds. Those who have 
  partial Anari blood are guilty, by dint of their ancestors, 
  of having committed bestiality. Her racism extends even 
  to the Convocation, for she sees the inclusion of non-
  Anari as an insult to the founders. 
  She refuses to speak any languages not rooted in Clas-
  sical Anari, and most times speaks even modern Anari 
  and its two sub-languages through gritted teeth. If some-
  one cannot understand her, it is further evidence of their 
  backward nature.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  
  
  raImon ap-pIccolEt
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Coglelund; Occupation: 
  Priest, gambler, and thief; Patron Deity: Auðun (see 
  Region Guide #10).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Gambling d8, Intimidation 
  d6, lockpicking d6, Notice d6, Stealth d6
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Greedy (Major), quirk (wagers on any situ-
  ation), Ugly
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles)
  Languages: Anari, Fingerspeak, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Gambling and Streetwise 
  only), lock/unlock
  BackGround
  The son of a poor Coglelund farmer, Raimon was al-
  ways envious of those who had wealth, for in Coglelund 
  wealth allowed one to rise above the rabble and purchase 
  both power and status, as well as lead an easy life. While 
  many Coglelund nobles were merchants, just as many 
  were crafters who had earned their status through years 
  of hard work. Raimon, though, was a lazy child, aspiring 
  to wealth and status without having to toil for a living, 
  As a youth, Raimon bullied his peers into handing 
  over anything of value he could sell down the market, 
  happily resorting to his fi sts when threats failed. Unfor-
  tunately he was not alone in this thinking, and he in turn 
  was bullied into parting with his pathetic income.
  over time, the desire to accrue money became an ob-
  session, gnawing away at his soul. He gave up bullying, 
  which netted him very little return and only attracted 
  stronger bullies, and switched to gambling, which prom-
  ised better returns, especially to one wily enough to 
  cheat undetected. It quickly became an addiction, a habit 
  he fuelled by committing acts of burglary (a risky ven-
  ture in Coglelund, where it carries very stiff penalties). 
  Although a moderately talented thief who could have 
  earned a decent living as an adventurer or tomb robber, 
  his true passion remained gambling, which was much 
  less like hard work. quite how he did not fall prey to the 
  cult of vali, which preys on greedy souls like Raimon, is 
  more a matter of luck than design.
  Raimon, who like all natives of Coglelund was well-
  versed in the doctrine of the cult of var and its sub-cults, 
  became attracted to the cult of Auðun, the minor deity 
  of wealth, not because he felt particularly religious, but 
  because it offered him a way to procure more money. 
  Membership came with drawbacks, such as having to 
  sacrifi ce half of his income each year, but the abilities he 
  would gain more than made up for this.
  While the cult of Auðun enjoys a generally good repu-
  tation for being honest, albeit one tempered with being 
  seen as scield-pinching misers out to line their own 
  purses at the expense of others, Raimon is a bad egg. 
  Armed with spells and new methods of cheating, but not 
  wishing to develop a bad reputation in Coglelund, he 
  has traveled further afi eld to ply his craft. once he has 
  accrued enough money, he intends to return home, pur-
  chase a noble title, and maybe open a gambling house (a 
  crooked one, naturally).
  dEScrIptIon
  Raimon calls his body well-traveled, but most just 
  call him ugly. His beard is wiry and unkempt, his thin-
  ning hair is lank and greasy, he is missing several teeth, 
  a scar cuts across his nose and right cheek, his nose is 
  bulbous, and his dark eyes are too cold, coming to life 
  only when he spies gold and silver. Although his face is 
  ugly, he dresses in expensive clothes of ermine and silk 
  and wears many items of gold and silver jewelry.
  mannErISmS
  Although he dresses in fi ne clothes and wears con-
  spicuous amounts of jewelry, Raimon is still very much a 
  peasant, as evidenced by his lack of manners and coarse 
  language. The illusion of wealth he has created about 
  himself allows him to mix with high society, but he fi ts in 
  about as well as a cultist of Hela at a funeral.
  Most gamblers accept that luck runs in good and 
  bad streaks, and that losses are to be expected. Raimon, 
  though, is a very poor loser. Those he loses to may fi nd 
  their houses burgled or, on rare occasions, their heads 
  bashed in as the scoundrel recoups his losses (and takes 
  a little extra to pay for the insult). An unscrupulous cur, 
  Raimon would quite happily cheat a peasant out of his 
  last silver scield. 
  A compulsive gambler, he accepts wagers on almost 
  anything—from the color of the next dog to cross his 
  path to whether it will rain to the outcome of fi ghts.
  HEllFroSt
  2
  
  taImEnEllIn “taI” SEarIdEr
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: Angarion; Occupation:
  Priestess and pretend pirate; Patron Deity: Neorthe.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Boating d8, Faith d6, Fighting d8, Intimidation 
  d6, knowledge (The Seas) d6, Notice d4, Swimming d6
  Charisma: –1; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Cautious, loyal, one-Eye, or-
  ders
  Edges: Agile, Arcane Background (Miracles), Connec-
  tions (cult of Neorthe), Forest Born, low light vision, 
  Natural Realms, Sea legs*
  Languages: Anari, Hearth Elven, Trader
  Powers: Environmental protection (water only), water 
  walk
  * See Region Guide #8.
  BackGround
  Taimenellin (who goes by the abbreviated name Tai) 
  almost died of heart attack when she fi rst saw the ocean, 
  for being born in the enclosed depths of Angarion she 
  could not comprehend so vast and empty a wilderness. 
  Yet as much as she feared it, she was drawn toward its 
  awesome power and majesty, and seemingly limitless 
  expanse. Although elves honor Neorthe as the elemental 
  god of water, few feel the lure to set sail on the ocean—
  Tai had become one of those few.
  She learned the arts of sailing and swimming on the 
  Greenstream before traveling to leirvik (in Angmark) 
  to sign on with a ship. Her fi rst captain was wary of ac-
  cepting an elf, a race little known as mariners, but Tai 
  quickly earned his respect by demonstrating her talents 
  at handling a ship. Although the captain was a merchant 
  sailing only between Angmark and Chalcis, it gave Tai her 
  fi rst taste of life on the open sea, and she was not disap-
  pointed by the experience, nor put off by the rigors.
  The calling of the sea pulled more and more at her 
  heart. In order to fi ll the burning need to grow closer to 
  the ocean she joined the cult of Neorthe. Her previous 
  experience as a mariner enabled her to progress rapidly 
  through her training. Even her fi nal test was a mere for-
  mality, for she was accustomed to handling small boats.
  Tai had intended to become a navigator, and even-
  tually a captain, but the Norns wove a different fate. 
  Although something of a novelty among mariners, Tai 
  could fi nd little work of interest. She sailed the ocean as 
  she hoped, but the work was repetitive and dull, save for 
  the occasional storm. Tai’s dream began to sour.
  Things changed when her ship docked in Aith. Tai, 
  whose reputation was widely-known due to her race, 
  was contacted by the resident high priest of Neorthe. 
  He spoke with her in private, explaining that lord Black-
  hand of Freetown had grown more brazen in recent 
  years—his pirate fl eet was rapidly becoming a threat, and 
  his opening of the port to merchants endangered lawful 
  trade. The priest sought someone to infi ltrate the seedy 
  port-city and gather information on the mysterious lord 
  Blackhand. Relieved that adventure had fi nally come her 
  way, Tai accepted with little hesitation.
  Tai has spent three years posing as a pirate and smug-
  gler, surviving the treacherous city largely unscathed 
  (she recently lost an eye in a knife fi ght) through her wits 
  and her value as a skilled mariner, but she is no closer 
  to discovering anything about Blackhand than she was 
  when she fi rst entered Freetown—and asking too many 
  questions is a danger to one’s health. Paranoid after liv-
  ing a false life for so long, Tai is of the opinion that Black-
  hand has uncovered her true identity and seeks to have 
  her murdered. She is currently looking for allies from 
  outside Freeport to help her in her quest. What was once 
  an adventure is becoming too dangerous, and she wants 
  to get her mission over with as quickly as possible.
  dEScrIptIon
  As lithe and graceful as any elf, Tai is a slender woman 
  of average height. Her thick, light brown hair is encrust-
  ed with salt and brittle due to exposure to the wind and 
  waves. Her remaining eye is deep green. In order to bet-
  ter play her part she wears large gold earrings, and her 
  fi ngers are adorned with gold and silver bands.
  mannErISmS
  Naturally cautious, Tai has become almost paranoid 
  since going undercover. Fully aware that if the truth ever 
  came out her so-called comrades would execute her 
  without a moment’s thought, she takes great pains to act 
  the part of a pirate and smuggler, and conceal her true 
  identity and loyalty.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  3
  
  nIGHtSHadE
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Coglelund; Occupation:
  Paladin and assassin; Patron Deity: Niht.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Healing d4, knowledge (Al-
  chemy) d8, lockpicking d4, Notice d4, Persuasion d4, 
  Stealth d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Anemic, orders, vengeful (Major), Wanted 
  (Minor)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Niht), Hedge Magic
  Languages: Anari, Fingerspeak, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Bolt, obscure
  BackGround
  Born Anseir ap-Maugris, the only child of a poor 
  Coglelund family, the deadly assassin known as Night-
  shade had few aspirations as a child. Anseir married once 
  she reached womanhood because that was what was 
  expected of her. Her dreams of how married life should 
  be were shattered when she discovered her husband was 
  a lazy, brutal thug. While she worked as an herbalist and 
  healer, he spent his days drinking and gambling, and his 
  nights beating and mocking her. Unable to escape the 
  marriage (the length of which had been set at ten years) 
  and too fearful to try and fl ee (she tried once before, but 
  was caught and beaten senseless). Anseir saw only one 
  course of action to earn her freedom. 
  Playing the devoted wife, she cooked her husband a 
  meal, lacing it with several poisonous herbs and species 
  of fungi. As he died in agony, his organs failing and his 
  muscles spasming violently, she calmly continued eating 
  her supper, ignoring his pleas for help. Anseir grieved 
  openly at her husband’s funeral, questioning with tear-
  fi lled eyes as to why he chose to eat mushrooms without 
  fi rst checking with her as to their edibility. Next to die 
  were her parents, who had arranged the marriage, and 
  then the priest who performed the ceremony.
  By now bordering on insanity, for the taking of a life is 
  not without punishment, Anseir fl ed Coglelund. Driven 
  by her madness to avenge any slight against her, she tried 
  to poison a stranger whom, she believed, had insulted 
  her. To her surprise, he not only survived the attempt, 
  but he detected and named the poison.
  Instead of punishing her, the stranger spoke with his 
  would-be assassin, asking whether she had ever taken a 
  life. Anseir, her will suddenly enslaved to the man, heard 
  herself reply affi rmatively. Instead of handing her over to 
  the authorities, the man offered her a choice. He could 
  kill her where she stood as punishment for failing to 
  murder him, or she could put her talents to good use. 
  Having no wish to die, Anseir chose the latter, and was 
  inducted in the sinister cult of Niht.
  Now a fully-trained paladin of Niht, Anseir is a killer-
  for-hire. She has discarded the last vestiges of her former 
  life, and now goes only by the name Nightshade. She 
  maintains a disguise as a healer and herbalist.
  dEScrIptIon
  Anseir is attractive, though not physically beautiful. 
  Her charm comes from her innocent appearance, the 
  girlish way she averts her glittering green eyes from the 
  stares of men, and the way she twirls strands of her long, 
  dark hair in her slender fi ngers. The tips of her fi ngers 
  are stained black, a result of handling toxic plants, and 
  her lips are tinged blue, a side effect of ingesting poisons 
  (to build up an immunity).
  mannErISmS
  Anseir is not a cold-hearted killer—she gets a visible, 
  childlike thrill from committing murder. A true psychotic, 
  she remains cheerful even when watching a victim choke 
  on his own vomit. She cares nothing for causes, nor does 
  she baulk at murdering those of good heart
  crEatInG HErBal poISonS
  As well as curative balms, herbalists can create a range 
  of poisons from plants, herbs, and roots. See Savage 
  Worlds Deluxe for the four types of poison an herbalist 
  can create (knockout replaces the usual soporifi c rem-
  edy). Unlike other herbal remedies, the purpose modi-
  fi er for poisons is variable, set by the herbalist at the start 
  of the process. This allows them to create weak, mild, or 
  strong poisons. The modifi er chosen for the poison also 
  applies to the victim’s vigor roll, and a healer’s Healing 
  roll. Player characters who use poisons should suffer a 
  Glory penalty—poisoning is not a praiseworthy or heroic 
  act, even when employed against monsters.
  HEllFroSt
  4
  
  cEntWInE tHE IdIot
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Angmark; Occupation:
  Priest, idiot savant, and seer; Patron Deity: The Norns.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d4, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d4, Intimidation d6, knowl-
  edge (Riddles) d8, Notice d4, Streetwise d4, Taunt d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Clueless, Illiterate, orders, Poverty
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of the Norns), Strong Willed
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Saxa
  Powers: Boost/lower trait, precognition
  BackGround
  Centwine’s parents always thought him a little odd. 
  At fi rst they just thought he was a slow developer, for 
  he did not speak until he was three, and even then his 
  words were gibberish. He exhibited repetitive behavior, 
  lacked any interests, and seemed unable to form social 
  bonds outside his immediate family. While his parents 
  loved him, many in the village believed him possessed by 
  evil spirits sent by vali.
  As he grew older even his kin began to fear him, for 
  what little he did speak in understandable terms revealed 
  an uncanny knowledge of the future, especially regard-
  ing the time and manner of deaths. Scared witless and by 
  now convinced their son actually had the power to cause 
  death, rather than just foretell it, they abandoned their 
  child in the wilderness, trusting in the mercy of the gods 
  to grant him a swift, painless death. No one questioned 
  Centwine’s parents when they returned home without 
  him, and none ever spoke his name again. But the strand 
  of Centwine’s life, woven by the Norns at his birth, was 
  not yet at an end. 
  Guided by a cryptic omen, a cleric of the weird sis-
  ters found Centwine sitting by a brook, laughing at the 
  gurgling water. Realizing his patrons had fated their 
  paths to cross, the cleric spoke with the youth, slowly 
  deciphering Centwine’s cryptic replies. He recognized in 
  them a mortal blessed by the Norns with the true gift of 
  prophesy, yet cursed to reveal the future without a clear 
  understanding of what he was saying.
  The cleric took Centwine under his wing, patiently in-
  structing him in the dogma of the Norns, trying to teach 
  him the basic skills he would need to survive the harsh 
  world, protecting him from predators who preyed on 
  the weak, and helping him phrase his visions in ways that 
  would benefi t others, as the Norns intended. Although 
  the cleric hoped he could stay with Centwine, his fate 
  took him in a different direction.
  once again Centwine found himself alone in the 
  world. He has earned a meager living as a seer, though 
  his answers are still highly cryptic and open to interpre-
  tation. Recently, though, his visions have become more 
  persistent, revolving around a common theme rather 
  then being general revelations. When his visions strike 
  he speaks of the shadow of a black raven rising in the 
  mountains, of ancestors returning to the world of the 
  living, and of a dark master who is also a slave. What 
  scares those who know of recent events is that he always 
  faces toward the liche-lands when reciting his cryptic 
  messages. Centwine feels compelled to journey to that 
  desolate realm, though he does not understand why, nor 
  does he have an inkling about what awaits him when he 
  gets there. While he knows much about the future, the 
  Norns have kept his fate a closely-guarded secret.
  dEScrIptIon
  Centwine places little emphasis on his appearance. 
  His dark hair, which he cuts himself, is coarse, wiry, and 
  sticks out at all angles; his chin is covered in rough stub-
  ble, and his clothes are little more than grubby rags. He 
  frequently forgets to wash for days on end. Aside from 
  his patched cloak, his only other possession of note is his 
  staff, a fallen tree branch used as a walking stick rather 
  than a weapon.
  mannErISmS
  Centwine has the mind of a child. He is trusting, 
  innocent, and naive, and largely unaware of the world 
  around him. He rarely speaks clearly, instead phrasing 
  his words and revealing his visions in riddles and cryptic 
  messages. Although basically clueless about the world, 
  he has phenomenal talent when it comes to riddles.
  He has no real understanding of money, and is con-
  stantly poor—robbed by greedy shopkeepers who take 
  advantage of his mental infi rmity, conned by beggars 
  into handing over large sums, or just giving it away to 
  whoever happens to cross his path.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  5
  
  catHElInItH (cat’S paW)
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: Freelands (Stone For-
  est); Occupation: Paladin and rat catcher; Patron De-
  ity: veth (see Region Guide #13).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Healing d6, Notice d6, 
  Shooting d6, Stealth d6, Survival d4, Tracking d6
  Charisma: –3; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Habit (talks to his cat like it is 
  sentient), Mean, one Hand (as one Arm)
  Edges: Agile, Arcane Background (Miracles), Beast Mas-
  ter (hunting cat), Forest Born, low light vision, Natural 
  Realms
  Languages: Fey, Hearth Elven, Trader
  Powers: Beast friend (cats and ratting dogs only), fear 
  (only affects mice and rats)
  BackGround
  Although it meant spending long months away from 
  home, Cathelinith enjoyed being a hunter. Returning 
  from a long hunt late one fall, Cathelinith and his fellow 
  hunters were surprised that no one came to greet them, 
  for they had launched signal arrows to indicate to the 
  sentries they were close to home. Weapons drawn, they 
  stole into their village, only to fi nd a scene of devasta-
  tion. Bodies lay scattered among the undergrowth, their 
  fl esh torn and partly devoured.
  They did not have long to wait to learn the culprits’ 
  identity, for within moments a swarm of giant rats rushed 
  from the vegetation, their long front teeth stained with 
  fresh blood, long shreds of fl esh hanging from their dis-
  ease-ridden jaws. Cathelinith slew two with his bow and 
  his hunting cat, Pouncer, mauled one before the elf was 
  knocked to the ground by a monstrous specimen. As the 
  beast tore at his left hand, Cathelinith repeatedly stabbed 
  the beast with his dagger, feeling its hot blood soak his 
  clothes, while Pouncer’s long claws gouged out its eyes.
  The rats fi nally slain, Cathelinith’s surviving com-
  panions bandaged his grisly wound—the rat had bit-
  ten off all the fi ngers on his left hand and had clawed 
  off part of his right ear. Seeking to alleviate the horror 
  and grief they felt, one of his fellow hunters joked that 
  Cathelinith’s mangled limb now resembled a cat’s paw. 
  The name stuck. While the others sought solace among 
  more distant kin, Cat’s Paw vowed to reap a bloody har-
  vest for his dead kith and kin. After much searching, he 
  fi nally located a cleric of veth, goddess of vermin slaying. 
  Showing the cleric his mangled hand and telling him of 
  the carnage he witnessed, he begged the cleric to take 
  him as an apprentice. Already a trained hunter, Cat’s paw 
  needed only minimal training.
  Cat’s Paw and Pouncer spent many months tracking 
  a paladin of vali, Gautrek, across the Freelands after 
  learning he was planning to raise an army of rats using 
  a fell relic. Delayed by bad weather and numerous giant 
  rats, the pair arrived too late to save the small village 
  of Dunross, and later discovered that others had already 
  slain the unholy paladin. After defeating a small cell of 
  cultists lurking in the Icebarrier Mountains, Cat’s Paw 
  has learned that Gautrek, powerful as he was, was a 
  mere pawn in a greater game. The cult of vali is planning 
  something bigger, something that threatens more than a 
  few villages. Unfortunately, the trail has gone cold.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tall and lean, Cat’s Paw lacks the natural grace of the 
  other elves, which is ironic since he follows a cat god-
  dess. His eyes are large and luminous, constantly darting 
  to and fro. By day they appear pale green, but when illu-
  minated at night they shine a vibrant shade of green, not 
  unlike a feline. He wears his light brown hair swept back. 
  Cat’s Paw is missing the fi ngers and thumb on his left 
  hand, and half of his right ear has been chewed away.
  His clothes are sturdy and practical but of poor qual-
  ity—he sees little point in investing in fi ne garments 
  given his profession. Dozens of dead rats hang from his 
  belt, evidence of recent kills and snacks for Pouncer. He 
  shuns bathing, preferring to mask his natural odor in 
  grime and fi lth.
  mannErISmS
  Sullen and ill-tempered, Cathelinith is an atypical 
  hearth elf. He prefers his own company, though he will 
  work with others when it suits his needs. Such friend-
  ships are usually short-term affairs, and Cat’s Paw sees 
  little need in trying to forge any lasting bonds.
  Although Cathelinith talks to his hunting cat like it 
  can understand him, the elf isn’t mad. He knows full well 
  his companion is just a regular cat, but life on the road is 
  lonely and rat catching is not a profession in which one 
  makes many friends.
  HEllFroSt
  6
  
  EdGErt WulFHErESunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Royalmark; Occupation: 
  Novitiate and Deathdealer; Patron Deity: Scaetha.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d4
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d8, knowledge (Battle) d4, 
  knowledge (Undead) d6, Notice d6, Persuasion d4, 
  Stealth d6, Streetwise d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Cursed*, loyal, Novitiate (Major), orders 
  (cult of Scaetha), orders (Deathdealers)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Scaetha), Connections (Deathdealers), Deathdealer**, 
  Gravetouched
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Black Tongue, Trader
  Powers: Weaken undead
  * This unique Hindrance gives Edgert –2 to Vigor rolls 
  during periods of the Deorcmonan, on other days holy 
  to Hela, and within 5” of a Wild Card undead.
  ** See Region Guide #6.
  BackGround
  Edgert’s fi rst encounter with undead came while he 
  was training to be a paladin. Born and raised in Hereford, 
  a town accustomed to fending off undead, it was a career 
  choice for many youths seeking to prove their bravery 
  and patriotism, though few ever made the grade. 
  Edgert was part of a group of novitiates serving under 
  the command of a paladin. Full of the rashness of youth, 
  Edgert charged ahead of the party, venturing onto the 
  mist-shrouded Mounds of the Dead in search of a nec-
  romancer the band had been tracking for many weeks. 
  Unfortunately for Edgert, the necromancer had already 
  summoned allies from beyond the grave.
  Badly mauled, Edgert survived only thanks to the 
  quick actions of a cleric of Eira who was accompany-
  ing the cultists in order to gain experience of treating 
  wounds infl icted by undead. Although he survived, Edg-
  ert has never fully recovered—his health is very poor, 
  especially when Hela holds power, the shadow of death 
  hovering constantly over his shoulder.
  Convinced the youth needed to taste true battle to 
  temper his recklessness, his superiors sent him to serve 
  with the Deathdealer mercenary company, a position 
  many clerics must endure at some stage. Edgert surprised 
  his superiors by not only surviving his tour, but asking to 
  be seconded to the company for an indefi nite period. 
  Although the call to serve Scaetha as a cleric still fi lled 
  his soul, he had found true kindred spirits among the 
  mercenaries. The request was unusual, but there were 
  precedents for clerics who had come close to death at 
  the hands of undead. Sensing an extended tour would 
  make him a better cleric in the long run, Edgert was 
  granted permission to join the company.
  Edgert has served with the Deathdealers for six years. 
  He is currently on sabbatical. As a servant of Scaetha, 
  albeit still a novitiate, he considers it his holy duty to 
  visit the prison of the liche-Priest and report on the state 
  of the seals. Along the way, he intends to slay as many 
  undead as he can.
  Although he has been a member of the cult for some 
  seven years, Edgert has not yet completed his religious 
  instruction. Until he does (achieved by taking the New 
  Power Edge), he is forbidden from holding either the 
  Eulogist or Divine Slayer title. He introduces himself by 
  his Deathdealer title, Sergeant of Infantry.
  dEScrIptIon
  Unusual for a Saxa, Edgert prefers to be clean shaven 
  and wear his dark hair short. Several scars mark his face, 
  and his forearms and chest are badly marred, permanent 
  reminders of his close encounter with death. Those on 
  his face are not numerous or livid enough to attract 
  much attention.
  During the Deorcmonan and on other days holy to 
  Hela, and in close proximity to major undead, the scars 
  cause Edgert to suffer a debilitating loss of stamina, 
  seeming to suck the life force from his body. Edgert is 
  left handed. His sword, chipped from years of battling 
  undead, is inscribed with prayers to Scaetha and serves 
  as his holy symbol.
  mannErISmS
  Edgert tries to do right by others, as any good soul 
  would. He is modest about his exploits, seeing them as 
  his duty, not something of which to boast or scare peas-
  ants seeking tales of glory. Although he has long rid him-
  self of his rashness, he remains willing to place himself 
  in danger for the sake of a comrade.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  7
  
  alIX lIGHtBrInGEr
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Heligioland; Occupation:
  Priestess and standard bearer; Patron Deity: Sigel.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d6, Healing d4, Intimidation 
  d8, knowledge (Battle) d6, Notice d4, Persuasion d4, 
  Riding d4, Survival d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: loyal, orders, overconfi dent, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Command, Con-
  nections (cult of Sigel), New Power
  Languages: Anari, Frosttongue, Trader
  Powers: Bless, deﬂ ection, light
  BackGround
  Growing up in southwest Heligioland, Alix spent her 
  youth watching Hearth knight patrols traipse through 
  her village and running for shelter when marauding orcs 
  were spotted by the small settlement’s sentries. Brought 
  up on stories of the destruction wrought by the Blizzard 
  War and of the warmer days that existed beforehand, Alix 
  hated Thrym and his all servants with a passion.
  She always dreamed of becoming a Hearth knight, 
  but her weak body prohibited that career. Seeking to as-
  sist the struggle against Thrym’s minions in any way she 
  could, she instead joined the cult of Sigel, learning the 
  art of healing while secretly studying the more militant 
  arts of tactics and strategy.
  As a novitiate she was sent to accompany a trainee 
  Hearth knight squad on a routine patrol through Heli-
  gioland. Although the area was supposedly safe, the re-
  cruits were ambushed by orcs. The knights’ commander 
  and instructor was slain in the early stages of the attack, 
  deliberately targeted by cowardly orc snipers. Suddenly 
  bereft of leadership, the young recruits’ morale faltered. 
  Without thinking, Alix grabbed the fallen standard and 
  raised it high, screaming out that Sigel shone on the 
  knights this day and that they would emerge victorious if 
  they kept their faith. The knights rallied to the standard, 
  eventually winning the day.
  on their return to Hellfrost keep, Alix was taken to 
  see lord Marshal Jaufre, head of the order. Expecting a 
  dressing down, for as a healer and a civilian she had no 
  right in issuing orders to Hearth knights, Alix spoke fi rst, 
  explaining that her actions were born out of devotion 
  to Sigel’s cause and her love of Heligioland, and that 
  had the patrol fl ed or been destroyed without a fi ght 
  the orcs would have secured a propaganda victory that 
  would have led other tribes to grow bolder. Jaufre, to her 
  surprise, agreed completely, praising the young healer 
  for her leadership qualities. Although he could not ac-
  cept her as a knight, he offered her a post as a standard 
  bearer. Sensing Sigel had rewarded her for her devotion, 
  she accepted without hesitation.
  Although still a civilian, Alix holds a special position 
  with the Hearth knights. As standard bearer she is re-
  sponsible for morale, instilling courage into the hearts 
  of the warriors. She is also an adjutant to the local com-
  mander, offering advice on military matters and, in battle, 
  permitted to issue orders at a tactical level.
  The abortive goblin assault on Watchgap Fort has 
  led her to become more militant. While the knights are 
  primarily a defensive force, Alix constantly pushes for a 
  more aggressive stance. While the Hearth knights falter, 
  Alix knows there are adventurers set on destroying frost 
  giants and their minions. Such groups can secure her 
  services for a suitable donation to the cult of Sigel.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tall and possessed of noble bearing, Alix could be an 
  attractive woman were it not for her constantly furrowed 
  brow, mirthless brown eyes, and stern demeanor. Her 
  hair, naturally brown, is dyed brilliantly yellow. She wears 
  it long, tying it back with a simple leather band except in 
  battle, when she allows it to blow freely in the wind. She 
  wears her armor beneath her robes, and wields a short 
  spear, which doubles as a standard.
  mannErISmS
  Alix is a serious woman, totally devoted to the cause 
  of Sigel and fanatically loyal to the Hearth knights with 
  whom she serves. She is fearless in battle, wading into 
  the fray to raise the morale of the warriors with magic 
  and shouts of encouragement. 
  Unfortunately, her total faith in the righteousness of 
  Sigel’s cause leads her to take unnecessary risks. She 
  distrusts frost dwarves, frost born, and taiga elves as a 
  matter of course, though those who prove their worth 
  can earn her friendship.
  HEllFroSt
  8
  
  WHItEBladE
  Race: Frostborn (Tuomi parentage); Homeland: The 
  Borderlands; Occupation: Paladin and Iceblade; Patron 
  Deity: Hrimheorte (Thrym).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d8, Hrimwisardry d8, Intimida-
  tion d6, Stealth d4, Streetwise d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: God Cursed (kenaz), Heat lethargy, or-
  ders, outsider, quirk (marks victims with a cut to the 
  forehead), Wanted (Minor: cult of Sigel)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of Thrym), Frigid Form, Winter Soul
  Languages: Frosttongue, Trader, Tuomi
  Frostborn Powers: Armor, environmental protection 
  (cold only), smite, speed
  Miraculous Powers: Burst, entangle
  BackGround
  Whiteblade is one of those rare frostborn, sired by 
  parents of human stock. originally taking the name Win-
  terchild, she suffered little intolerance as a child, though 
  she had very few true friends. That changed one fall, 
  when an itinerant priest of kenaz came to her village. 
  While there the cleric learned that sheep had been going 
  missing. A zealot, he quickly convinced the simple peas-
  ants that frostborn were to blame, calling them minions 
  of Thrym, and accusing them of trying to starve the vil-
  lagers into submission.
  Stirred by his impassioned speech, the villagers raised 
  a mob. All frostborn in the community were dragged 
  from their homes, Winterchild, barely in her teens, in-
  cluded. She watched helplessly as her fellow frostborn 
  were beaten and then burned alive by the crazed mob. 
  While awaiting her turn in the fl ames she was violently as-
  saulted by those she once called neighbors, her forehead 
  cracked open by a cudgel, her face bleeding profusely 
  from numerous other injuries.
  At last her time to burn in the “purifying fl ames” came. 
  kicking and screaming in fear, Winterchild’s inherent 
  magical powers manifested. A shield of thick ice grew 
  over her fl esh, while her feet became encrusted with ice. 
  Startled by her sudden transformation, the peasants re-
  coiled, allowing Winterchild to make good her escape.
  She drifted across the low Winterlands, eventually 
  joining with other frostborn refugees headed for the Bar-
  ony of Cul. There she received a warm welcome, fi nally 
  feeling that she had found a home. Seeking to ensure 
  others of her kind did not suffer persecution, she joined 
  the cult of Hrimheorte and began her religious instruc-
  tion. Sensing an innocence in the girl he could corrupt 
  to suit his goal, Frostweaver gently indoctrinated the 
  naive girl in his malicious fallacies, fuelling the ember of 
  hatred that already burned in her heart.
  A fi rm supporter of the baron, she spoke often and 
  openly about the vile cult of kenaz, a topic that soon 
  brought her to the attention of the Iceblades. Playing 
  on her now deep-seated hatred, Winterchild’s recruiters 
  convinced the teenager they were dedicated to ridding 
  the world of those who used fi re to punish frostborn, 
  neglecting to mention their true goal of bringing about 
  the Fimbulvintr.
  offi cially changing her name to Whiteblade, the 
  frostborn maiden secretly trained as an assassin (Thrym 
  does not wish Frostweaver to openly worship him, lest 
  his enemies strike hard to crush the barony, and so the 
  Iceblades are outlawed in Cul). For several years she has 
  served her people by striking at their foes, acts of terror 
  and retribution that have earned her a price on her head 
  and the eternal animosity of the god of fi re.
  dEScrIptIon
  Were it not for the deep, jagged scar that runs across 
  her forehead and numerous smaller scars across her 
  cheeks, Whiteblade would be an attractive woman. Her 
  skin is the deep blue-white of a glacier, her hair as pure 
  white as fresh snow, and her eyes a vibrant shade of blue. 
  Her woolen clothes and cloak are lined with polar bear 
  fur. Around her neck she wears a torc made from teeth 
  pulled from her victims.
  mannErISmS
  Although possessed of a deep hatred of clerics of ke-
  naz and fi re elementalists, Whiteblade is otherwise very 
  personable, even among races who consider her a freak. 
  She is also a cruel, calculating assassin, merciless in end-
  ing the lives of those who seek to destroy her kind. She 
  honors Thrym not as god of winter, but in his guise as 
  Hrimheorte, patron of frostborn.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  9
  
  raEdWalda cHaInBrEakEr
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: orcmark; Occupation: Pala-
  din and slave liberator; Patron Deity: Haptsönir (see 
  Region Guide #9).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Intimidation d6, knowl-
  edge (orcs) d6, lockpicking d4, Notice d6, Persuasion 
  d6, Stealth d6, Streetwise d4, Survival d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Cautious, Enemy (Minor: Nagrat), Heroic
  Edges*: Arcane Background (Miracles), I Hate You, orc 
  lore, vengeance Shall Be Mine
  Languages: orcish, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Spirit, Strength, vigor, Fight-
  ing, Intimidation, lockpicking, Persuasion, Stealth, and 
  Streetwise only), charismatic aura
  * Has the Orcmark package from Region Guide #4.
  BackGround
  Raedwalda was 11 when orcs conquered his village. 
  While the men folk were butchered, Raedwalda, the oth-
  er children, and the women were shackled together and 
  marched to the foothills of the Mace Mountains, where 
  the great iron mines had already fallen to the invaders. 
  Here he was forced to toil under the lash of the whip 
  for 16 hours a day. life in the camps was brutal—disease 
  was rampant, injuries festered, and any signs of weak-
  ness meant someone stronger took your daily ration, 
  a few mouthfuls of thin soup and black, coarse bread. 
  Raedwalda survived through cunning, though not with-
  out sustaining injuries from his cruel masters.
  Raedwalda eventually escaped the mines, though it 
  took many years. Crafting a crude lockpick from a nail, 
  he spent long months learning to pick the lock on his 
  shackles. His fellow captives pleaded with him to liber-
  ate them as well, but Raedwalda knew that whereas a 
  lone slave would not be missed for many days, a mass 
  breakout would result in orc warriors scouring the hills. 
  Fighting back the tears, he refused, though he did vow 
  he would return one day. Raedwalda made his way north, 
  eventually reaching the banks of the Elverun. Although 
  weak, he threw himself into the cold water and began 
  swimming. Fate decreed he would survive, for although 
  he passed out he was washed up on the far bank, his frail 
  body discovered by a huscarl patrol.
  Throughout his lengthy debriefi ng, Raedwalda repeat-
  edly asked the vestmark army to storm the mines and 
  liberate their kin. Hard-pressed by the advancing tide 
  and struggling to hold the border, the offi cers refused. 
  Disgusted that his kith and kin were being abandoned, 
  Raedwalda refused to join the army—he saw little gain in 
  spending his days sitting in a fort gazing out over the river 
  or sacrifi cing his life on a foolish attempt to gain a sliver 
  of land. Instead, he sought out the cult of Haptsönir. As a 
  former slave who knew the abject misery of bondage, his 
  application was quickly accepted.
  Since becoming a paladin, Raedwalda has made fre-
  quent forays into orcmark, usually operating alone. He 
  has liberated many slaves and guided them to the north, 
  acts which have earned him the animosity of the orc 
  king, including some of those he previously left behind 
  (many had died by the time he returned), but there are 
  countless others suffering under the yoke of orc oppres-
  sion. Rawedwalda knows he cannot save them all, but he 
  intends to give it a good try.
  dEScrIptIon
  Forced to grow his beard and hair by his orc captors 
  to make him resemble an animal, Raedwalda now keeps 
  his chin clean shaven and his hair shorn. He has a seri-
  ous countenance, rarely smiling. His blue eyes have a 
  haunted look, the look of a man who has suffered more 
  than his fair share of hardship. His back is a mass of scars, 
  the result of frequent scourging by orc slave masters.
  mannErISmS
  Raedwalda refuses to be rushed when making deci-
  sions, and he does nothing without carefully thinking 
  through all available options. Some may think him in-
  decisive, but he has suffered at the hands of orcs, and 
  he has no wish to become a prisoner again by rushing 
  into a situation before knowing all the facts. Despite his 
  refusal to act on impulse, he never turns down a request 
  for help from those suffering oppression.
  Despite his years of imprisonment and mistreatment, 
  Raedwalda has no desire to slay orcs. He prefers to hurt 
  them by liberating their slaves, scoring propaganda vic-
  tories that give heart to vestmark’s defenders.
  HEllFroSt
  20
  
  orlaItH “draGonBanE”
  BlIESBlItutH
  Race: Tuomi; Homeland: The Borderlands; Occupa-
  tion: Paladin and dragon slayer; Patron Deity: Sigmundr 
  (see Region Guide #10).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d8, knowledge (Dragons) d6, 
  Shooting d6, Stealth d6, Throwing d4, Tracking d4
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Death Wish, Heroic, orders (Dragon 
  Guard), Ugly
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections 
  (Dragon Guard), Dragon Guard*
  Languages: Anari, Draketongue, Tuomi
  Powers: Deﬂ ection, smite (spells only function against 
  dragons)
  * See Region Guide #44
  BackGround
  A native of Scayle, orlaith had her life mapped out from 
  an early age. She would marry a good man, raise many 
  children, and die old, surrounded by grandchildren. The 
  Norns, though, had other plans for the once-attractive 
  girl. orlaith managed to achieve two of her goals, marry-
  ing a humble but gentle sap gatherer and giving birth to 
  twin sons, before her life changed forever.
  orlaith often accompanied her husband into the 
  fringes of the marshes to harvest the thick, sticky tree sap 
  that formed a vital part of Scayle’s exports, bringing the 
  twins along once they were old enough. The warning 
  shouts of the Dragon Guard that accompanied the gath-
  ering party came too late. A monstrous, one-eyed marsh 
  dragon rose from the mire, slashing wildly with its claws 
  and spitting its acidic sputum at the panicked humans.
  orlaith’s next memory was waking in the healing 
  house, her face wrapped in thick bandages, the pungent 
  aroma of the herbal paste used to treat acid burns fi lling 
  her nostrils. Although still weak, she demanded the heal-
  ers tell her what had happened. With tearful eyes they 
  told her the beast had been driven off, but not before 
  killing eight villagers, her husband and children among 
  them. They informed her she was lucky to be alive, for 
  she had suffered hideous injuries, but orlaith did not 
  hear their words—her heart was full of grief and rage.
  Bereft, orlaith tried to commit suicide that winter by 
  consuming poison. As she lay there, her life ebbing away, 
  a huscarl armed with a long spear knelt down beside her. 
  He stroked her brow, gently telling her that she would 
  join her family in death, but not yet. First, the fi gure said, 
  she had a duty to perform, one that would purge her 
  soul of sin and ready her for the Afterlife.
  orlaith awoke once more in the healing house. She 
  asked the healers who had brought her there, for she 
  recalled the fi gure lifting her. The healers told her she 
  was found on the steps of the building, her hand clutch-
  ing a silver dragon head pendant with red gem chips 
  along its severed neck. Recognizing the symbol at once, 
  for Sigmundr, god of dragon slaying, was popular among 
  the Dragon Guard, and believing the god had intervened 
  to save her, orlaith devoted herself to the deity. Through 
  prayers, meditation, and training, she became a paladin, 
  though it took several years.
  once well enough to leave the healing house, orlaith 
  sought out the Dragon Guards who had accompanied 
  them into the marshes that fateful day. She ignored their 
  condolences, demanding to know every detail about the 
  marsh dragon who took her family, her life. The follow-
  ing year she entered, and won, the contest to become a 
  Dragon Slayer, slaying a juvenile dragon single-handedly. 
  She has spent fi ve years hunting for the one-eyed beast 
  that killed her family, yet the fi end eludes her. The fi re 
  that fuels her heart has not diminished, though.
  dEScrIptIon
  orlaith still bears the scars of her fi rst encounter with 
  a marsh dragon. The right side of her face is marred by 
  long, vivid scars, while the left side and much of her scalp 
  is a mass of scars, the result of the dragon’s acidic breath. 
  When not wearing her coif, she wears a hat to conceal 
  her head. She makes no attempt to conceal her face.
  mannErISmS
  Although fi xated on protecting Scayle and slaying the 
  dragon that marred her features, orlaith has a fi ne wit, 
  though it tends toward gallows humor. She cares little if 
  men stare at her ravaged face, but any who dare taunt her 
  quickly learn that orlaith is no meek and mild woman.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  2
  
  mÄkItammI JÄÄSkElÄInEn
  Race: Finnar; Homeland: Unclaimed lands; Occu-
  pation: Paladin; Patron Deity: Earhclud (see page 69).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Notice d6, Riding d6, Shoot-
  ing d8, Stealth d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Clueless, loyal
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Steady Hands
  Languages: Finnari, Frosttongue, orcish
  Powers: Aim, boost/lower trait (Notice, Shooting, and 
  Stealth only)
  BackGround
  Mäkitammi, who goes by the shortened Mäki, did ev-
  erything his culture expected of him. He learned to hunt 
  and butcher game, and tend the reindeer herds that pro-
  vided his family’s wealth, he memorized the folklore and 
  history of his people, he honored the ancient gods who 
  had guided and watched over his people since time im-
  memorial, and he learned to survive in the arctic wastes 
  his family called home. A skilled archer and competent 
  hunter, he became an initiate of Earhclud the day after 
  he reached adulthood, and earned his right to use the 
  title paladin before his 16th birthday.
  Mäki had always intended to marry a fi ne Finnar 
  woman and start a family, for that was also expected of 
  him. But as with so many others across the land, the 
  Norns had other plans for the young hunter.
  Separated from the rest of his hunting party in a bliz-
  zard, Mäki was making his way alone back to his family’s 
  camp when he spied a battle. Half a dozen strangers, 
  southerners he judged by their strange garb and lack 
  of proper footwear, were fi ghting for their lives against 
  twice their number of orc warriors.
  Without hesitating, Mäki kicked the fl anks of his rein-
  deer mount and charged forward, unleashing arrow after 
  arrow with unerring accuracy. Caught by surprise and 
  with their numbers being whittled down, the orcs fl ed. 
  one of the strangers spoke Finnar, though his mastery 
  of the tongue was poor. Eventually Mäki learned they 
  were on a quest, but had been forced to abandon much 
  of their equipment after the rations ran out. Though his 
  kin were far from rich, Mäki invited the outsiders to his 
  family’s camp, for hospitality is important to the Finnar.
  They stayed in the camp for several weeks, regaining 
  their strength, and earning their keep by performing 
  minor chores. In the dark evenings, they told stories of 
  their homelands, of realms where the snow did not lie 
  on the ground all year, of camps where people lived all 
  year round in great numbers, and of the hornless rein-
  deers that men rode.
  Eventually the strangers departed to continue their 
  quest. Entranced by their stories, Mäki decided that 
  before he married he would visit these distant realms 
  and see the things of which the strangers spoke with 
  his own eyes. Packing his saddlebags, Mäki mounted 
  his trusty reindeer and headed east and then south, his 
  eyes continually scanning the horizon for the line of end-
  less mountains that separated the north lands from the 
  warmer realms in the south. Mäki has recently entered 
  the Hearthlands. Friendless and unable to make himself 
  understood, he is a fi sh out of water.
  dEScrIptIon
  Mäki is tall for a Finnar, standing 5’ 9” in his reindeer 
  fur socks. His long, black hair is carefully tied back with 
  a strip of dried reindeer hide to prevent it falling across 
  his blue eyes. Although life in the wintry wastes is harsh, 
  Mäki has a strong sense of humor, as evidenced by the 
  many laugh lines that mar his weathered face. 
  He dresses in traditional Finnar garb—reindeer hide 
  trousers and shirt, a fur cloak, and fur-lined reindeer 
  hide boots. The little jewelry he owns is made of bone.
  mannErISmS
  Born and raised in a harsh environment where per-
  sonal possessions are freely shared and communities are 
  small and quickly moved, Mäki has no understanding of 
  privacy, personal possessions, or how to cope in a place 
  crowded with people. outside of the High Winterlands, 
  he is very much a stranger in a strange land.
  Mäki avoids technological devices to avoid embarrass-
  ing himself—he has no understanding of even simple 
  devices such as locks and crossbows.
  one strength of his sheltered upbringing is that he 
  forms strong bonds of loyalty, treating his friends as he 
  would his family. of course, this also means that he freely 
  helps himself to their possessions.
  HEllFroSt
  22
  
  dodErIc
  Race: Engro; Homeland: None (nomadic); Occupa-
  tion: Priest; Patron Deity: The Unknowable one.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d6, knowledge (Riddles) d6, 
  Notice d6, Stealth d6, Survival d4, Taunt d8, Throwing 
  d6
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 4; Parry: 5; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Big Mouth, lame, orders, outsider, Sea 
  Fear (Minor), Small
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections (cult 
  of the Unknowable one), luck, Sneaky, Spirited
  Languages: Anari, Engrosi, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait, shape change
  BackGround
  Shunned by other races, mocked by his peers because 
  of his deformed leg, and bullied by the strong because 
  of his weak frame, Doderic is well aware of the misery 
  prejudice can cause. Believing his infi rmity would pre-
  vent him being a useful member of the tribe, his parents 
  abandoned him, sending him ashore from their river 
  barge at Scathmoor and then quickly setting sail.
  A bright child, Doderic hoped to train as a skald. Un-
  educated and knowing only engro tales, he was ridiculed 
  by his fellow students, eventually abandoning his stud-
  ies. He drifted from settlement to settlement along the 
  Crystalfl ow, begging and stealing to survive, continually 
  persecuted and mocked for his many fl aws.
  Doderic spiraled into a deep depression. As he sat by 
  the banks of the river, heavy stones tied around his legs, 
  an itinerant skald deliberately made camp beside the sui-
  cidal engro. She said nothing beyond a polite greeting, 
  but offered him a slice of fresh rabbit once her meal was 
  cooked. Without knowing why, Doderic told the stranger 
  his life story, lamenting his many weaknesses and the 
  many strengths of others. The skald smiled, replying that 
  everyone was fl awed—they just needed to be reminded 
  occasionally. As the sun set, she told Doderic to sleep 
  and think about her words before throwing himself into 
  a watery grave, for things could always get better.
  Doderic awoke to fi nd the skald gone. Disconcerting-
  ly, there was absolutely no evidence she had ever existed. 
  Even more troubling, Doderic instinctively knew he had 
  awoken possessed of strange powers. Recognizing the 
  hand of the Unknowable one at work, for the trickster’s 
  antics and methods, are well known to engro, Doderic 
  untied the knots from around his legs and limped off 
  into the new dawn, his heart fi lled with fresh purpose.
  Since that day Doderic has used tricks and words to 
  teach others, forcing them to confront their own fl aws, 
  reminding folk to be humble, and showing the persecut-
  ed how to stand up against their oppressors. For all the 
  people he has taught, Doderic knows there are countless 
  others fi lled with vanity and pride. He only walks slowly, 
  but he’ll get to them in due course.
  dEScrIptIon
  Doderic is short and thin. Were it not for his aged 
  and weathered face he could be mistaken for a human 
  child. His eyes are dark green, gleaming brightly with 
  mischievous intent one minute and betraying the deep 
  unhappiness he feels within the next. His face is gaunt, 
  his cheekbones so high and pronounced they hide his 
  lower face in shadow. 
  Doderic’s right leg is badly malformed, the result of 
  a childhood illness. Although he walks with a very pro-
  nounced limp, he is remarkably nimble.
  Slightly vain, he hides his thinning brown hair be-
  neath a brightly colored headscarf. Doderic wears gaudy 
  clothes, and he positively jingles when he walks, such is 
  the amount of brightly polished jewelry he wears. Much 
  of this is costume jewelry, intended to be discarded to 
  fool thieves or distract pursuers.
  mannErISmS
  Doderic’s mouth works faster than his brain. He 
  lets slip the plans of his companions, insults kings and 
  beggars alike, and has a habit of revealing embarrassing 
  facts about his friends at the most inappropriate times. 
  Although Doderic claims he cannot help himself, many 
  suspect his ill-timed words are merely part of his clerical 
  activities, and thus deliberate. 
  After nearly drowning in the Crystalfl ow after falling 
  from a barge (Doderic maintains he was pushed by his 
  brother), he has developed a fear of large bodies of water. 
  He tries to make light of his fear, and has slowly grown 
  more accustomed to it, but seeing lakes, rivers, and the 
  ocean still causes him to shiver involuntarily.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  23
  
  aElWYnnE HarIkSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: ostmark; Occupation:
  Priestess and corrupter; Patron Deity: vali.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d4, lockpicking d6, Notice d4, 
  Persuasion d8, Streetwise d6, Taunt d6, Throwing d4
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Cautious, orders, Pacifi st (Minor), venge-
  ful (Major)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Charismatic, Con-
  nections (cult of vali)
  Languages: Anari, Engrosi, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait, charismatic aura
  BackGround
  Even as a child, Aelwynne understood that people 
  had unspoken desires, things they craved and for which 
  they would bend or break the unwritten rules of soci-
  ety, not to mention the law. At fi rst her acts were trivial, 
  guiding her young peers into committing petty crimes 
  or breaking minor taboos. Inevitably her victims suffered 
  in some way, but watching them plummet from grace, 
  no matter how slight the fall, gave her a thrill. As she 
  grew older, so her schemes grew in vileness, the falls of 
  her victims were deeper, and the excitement she felt was 
  more intense. For those skilled at corruption, the stain 
  on the soul of a kindred spirit is easily discerned. So it 
  was that Aelwynne became known to the cult of vali. Ut-
  terly debased and corrupted by her mentors, Aelwynne 
  fi nally understood the depths to which men could fall 
  in the fulfi llment of their dreams, and it drove her into a 
  state of sheer ecstasy. Her life fi nally had meaning.
  like all novitiates of vali, Aelwynne was betrayed to-
  ward the end of her training, accused of a heinous crime 
  and turned over to the authorities. Her judge was a bitter 
  man with a strong dislike of women, especially those ac-
  cused of murdering a “client.” Aelwynne was sentenced 
  to indentured servitude with the city guards, forced to 
  serve their manly needs. Down but not out, Aelwynne 
  turned her manipulative charm on the soldiers, slowly 
  transforming herself from helpless slave to domineering 
  mistress. Intelligent and cunning, Aelwynne quickly real-
  ized the trail pointing to her supposed betrayer was a 
  false lead—the evidence was too damning, the clues too 
  easy to follow. Although it took her two years and several 
  disgusting favors, she eventually tracked down the true 
  culprit. His death followed swiftly, but Aelwynne’s hands 
  were physically clean of blood—it was the city guards’ 
  daggers that pierced his fl esh over and over.
  Her sentence complete, Aelwynne quickly left the city 
  behind, lest the guards realize they had been manipu-
  lated. Her actions during those three years were fun, but 
  they left her urge to corrupt the innocent unfulfi lled. 
  Her hunger could only be sated by some grand scheme
  She has chosen Nordmark for her new schemes. The 
  young king’s grip is far from secure, and recent raids 
  against caravans in the south are straining relations with 
  ostmark, her native realm. Aelwynne has no intention of 
  directly targeting the king—although young, Geirmund 
  is no fool, and is likely capable of securing his heart’s 
  desire by legitimate means. Aelwynne intends to stir up a 
  lesser noble, her long-term plan to bring Nordmark and 
  ostmark to war. only then will she turn her attention to 
  Geirmund.
  dEScrIptIon
  Aelwynne is not particularly attractive, but she has an 
  aura that quickly enables her to earn confi dences. She 
  varies her appearance and attire to fi t the social status of 
  her latest plaything, as at ease in fi lthy peasants garb as 
  in exquisite noble fi nery. Her thick, black hair is similarly 
  worn in a variety of styles.
  mannErISmS
  Aelwynne is manipulative in the extreme. Every per-
  son has a weakness, a vice. Through subtle questioning 
  she roots it out and exploits it, carefully leading her prey 
  down the path of corruption into a life of wickedness. 
  Aelwynne never rushes her prey into taking his or her 
  fi rst tentative steps—such behavior only scares the un-
  willing back onto the path of righteousness. Her concept 
  of corruption is remarkably fl exible—leading a follower 
  of Dargar into adopting civilized behavior is just as cor-
  rupting as debasing a servant of Eira.
  Aelwynne tries to avoid violence, not because she 
  thinks life is sacred or abhors infl icting pain, but because 
  she has no wish to be injured. If she needs someone 
  killed, she can always manipulate a dupe into fi ghting 
  her battles for her.
  HEllFroSt
  24
  
  GEnEvIEvE ap-GalIEn
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Crystalfl ow Confederacy 
  (Drakeport); Occupation: Priestess and thief hunter; 
  Patron Deity: Forseti (see Region Guide #10).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Investigation d8+2, Notice 
  d6, Persuasion d4, Streetwise d8+2, Tracking d6
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Code of Honor, loyal, Pacifi st (Minor)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Attractive, Inves-
  tigator
  Languages: Anari, Engrosi, Fingerspeak, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Agility, Strength, vigor, Inves-
  tigation, Notice, and Streetwise only), entangle
  BackGround
  Born to a moderately wealthy family, Genevieve, an 
  only child, was doted on by her father, her mother hav-
  ing died when Genevieve was just four. That she never 
  grew up a spoiled brat is testament to her character. A 
  merchant by trade, he paid for his daughter to receive 
  a good education, hopeful that one day she would join 
  the family business. Naturally intelligent and quizzical, 
  he nurtured her desire to solve problems by hiding small 
  items around the house and leaving clues for her to fi nd. 
  This was his great mistake.
  After completing her schooling, Genevieve announced 
  she planned to join the cult of Forseti, intending to 
  put her education and natural problem-solving talents 
  to good use by investigating crimes. Her father’s heart 
  broke, for while he was a merchant, he also happened 
  to be a senior member of Drakeport’s thieves’ guild. Un-
  willing to refuse his daughter anything she had set her 
  heart on, he arranged for her to be trained at a temple 
  in ostmark. Although it would break his heart to see his 
  daughter leave, he knew that if she uncovered the true 
  source of his wealth his larcenous comrades would ar-
  range for her to suffer a fatal accident. (And he had no 
  hope of inducting her into the family business.)
  Genevieve was upset at the notion of having to leave 
  home, what with Drakeport having a perfectly good tem-
  ple of var, but her father convinced her that ostmark was 
  beset with thieves (which is true), and that she would 
  receive better training and job prospects there.
  on arriving in ostmark with letters of recommenda-
  tion from the high priest of var in Drakeport, a friend 
  of her father, she was inducted into the cult. She almost 
  quit in the fi rst year, during which novitiates learned to 
  appraise the value of goods, but her instructors con-
  vinced her to stay. She fl ew through the remainder of the 
  course, being granted full priestess status a year ahead 
  of her peers.
  With glowing praise from her instructors, Genevieve 
  quickly found work as an agent of the Trada Counseil. 
  She was given a one year contract and charged with root-
  ing out and bringing to justice the many thieves’ guilds 
  that plague ostmark. Her diligence quickly netted her a 
  string of high profi le arrests, securing her a permanent 
  post, as well as benefi tting with her a lucrative sideline in 
  private investigations from wealthy patrons.
  She has recently uncovered evidence indicating that 
  at least one of Sandvik’s powerful merchant families has 
  ties to one or more of the city’s many thieves’ guilds. 
  Unsure how far the corruption has spread, and unsure 
  who she can trust with such sensitive information, she is 
  looking to hire outsiders to begin an unoffi cial investiga-
  tion on her behalf.
  dEScrIptIon
  Genevieve is an attractive, slender young woman in 
  her late teens. Her hair is light brown, matching the color 
  of her eyes. Her skin is paler than most Anari, a gift from 
  her Saxa mother. Although an adult, she retains a youth-
  ful charm and innocence that is refl ected in her face. As 
  an agent of the law, she takes pride in her appearance. 
  Her clothes, while not extravagant, are of good quality, 
  as is her jewelry.
  mannErISmS
  Genevieve is absolutely honest and a stickler for fol-
  lowing both the letter and spirit of the law, even if that 
  means a criminal has to go free. As a cleric of Forseti, she 
  technically has jurisdiction in any realm. Anyone travel-
  ing with her who breaks the law may fi nd themselves re-
  ported to the local constabulary. Although close-mouthed 
  about on-going investigations so as not to jeopardize 
  them, she is openly friendly and quite jovial.
  She considers violence a last resort, and never strikes 
  fi rst unless her life, or that of a close friend, is in danger. 
  Should violence be necessary, she calls on paladins or 
  local constables to carry out the deed.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  25
  
  marIGold
  Race: Engro; Homeland: The vale; Occupation:
  Druid and Bludgeoner; Patron Deity: Eostre Plantmo-
  ther.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Druidism d6, Fighting d4, Healing d4, Intimida-
  tion d6, Notice d4, Shooting d8, Stealth d6, Survival d6, 
  Taunt d6
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Habit (Major: pipeleaf), Illiterate, loyal, 
  orders (Bludgeoners), outsider, Small
  Edges: Arcane Background (Magic: Druidism), Blud-
  geoner, Connection (Bludgeoners), luck, Sneaky, Spir-
  ited
  Languages: Engrosi, Fey, Trader
  Powers: Beast friend, deﬂ ection, smite
  BackGround
  Marigold is the niece of Jym Ivens, perhaps Weem’s 
  most famous (some might say infamous) resident, by his 
  sister, Peony. She has no idea who her father is, and her 
  mother refuses to speak of events that led to her only 
  child’s birth. Marigold grew up listening to tales of the 
  wild from her mother, a druid, and her uncle’s wild sto-
  ries of adventure. Torn between which path to follow, 
  for both appealed greatly to her spirit, she opted to walk 
  both. She did not tell her mother of her desire to fol-
  low in her uncle’s footsteps, for it was well-known she 
  frowned on his youthful antics. Marigold fi rst studied 
  to become a druid, for the magical art required much 
  patience, as well as a deep understanding of the natural 
  world. When time allowed, she secretly practiced with 
  her sling behind her uncle’s shop, copying moves she 
  had witnessed the Bludgeoners performing during their 
  regular drill practices. only after becoming a fully fl edged 
  druid did she apply for membership in the Bludgeoners. 
  Her mother tried to dissuade her from her chosen path, 
  but Bludgeoners and druids had long served together in 
  defending the engros from their persecutors, and Mari-
  gold argued she was merely combining both roles.
  Despite fi erce competition and some prejudice, Mari-
  gold earned her place in the elite unit, becoming only 
  the second female currently serving with Weem’s de-
  fenders. She served loyally for four years, but her uncle’s 
  tales still resounded in her ears, and the nomadic blood 
  coursing through her veins made her restless. Eventually 
  she could resist the lure no longer. Resigning her posi-
  tion, though still sworn to protect engros wherever she 
  traveled, Marigold left the vale to see what lay beyond its 
  borders. Her uncle loaned her equipment he had once 
  carried, ensuring she at least had some protection.
  There is much Marigold wants to see and do, but so 
  far she has just followed her feet, wandering without 
  rhyme or reason, and enjoying whatever adventures she 
  happens to come across. She is shocked by the persecu-
  tion suffered by her people, for folk outside the vale are 
  less understanding of engro ways. She hopes her brave 
  deeds will help set the record straight.
  dEScrIptIon
  Marigold has hair the color of autumnal leaves. Dislik-
  ing attention, she usually hides it beneath a plain white 
  headscarf. Her bright green eyes have a mischievous 
  twinkle and her lips are set in a constant sly smile, the 
  sort of expression that leaves one with the impression 
  she knows something the viewer does not.
  She wears garments of browns and greens, over which 
  is a heavy, fur-lined, sleeveless jacket. like most engro 
  she prefers to display her wealth, wearing it as rings and 
  large, hooped earrings. She carries her sling wrapped 
  around her left arm, and a pouch crammed full of sling 
  stones hangs from her wide, leather belt. She is rarely 
  seen without a pipe full of smoldering leaf clenched be-
  tween her yellowed teeth.
  mannErISmS
  Marigold is a mischievous creature, always ready to 
  tease or trick, but never with malicious intent, at least 
  not among those she calls friend. She takes her oaths as 
  a druid and bludgeoner very seriously, never turning her 
  back on any engro or animal in need, even at the risk of 
  her own safety. She applies the same rule to her close 
  friends, regardless of their race or faith.
  She is addicted to pipeleaf, though she vehemently 
  denies this is confronted about her habit. Coming from 
  a culture that favors oral passing of lore, Marigold never 
  bothered to read and write. Now exposed to the wider 
  world, she is slightly embarrassed by her inability to de-
  cipher written words.
  HEllFroSt
  26
  
  HErmEnGart ap-HuIdEmar
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Chalcis; Occupation: El-
  ementalist; Patron Deity: Neorthe.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Boating d6, Elementalism d8, Fighting d4, knowl-
  edge (Arcana) d8, Notice d4, Shooting d6, Stealth d4, 
  Swimming d6+2
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Delusional (Major: thinks she’s from the el-
  emental realm of water), outsider, Phobia (Minor: fi re)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Magic: Water Elemental-
  ism), Merman Blood (see Region Guide #8)
  Languages: Chalcian, Fey, Seatongue*, Trader
  Powers: Beast friend (aquatic beasts only), elemental 
  manipulation (water only), environmental protection
  (underwater only)
  * Dialect spoken only by water-dwelling fey.
  BackGround
  Hermengart trained in the art of water elementalism 
  at the Tower of the Four Paths in Highmoor. Although her 
  tutors saw in her the potential to become an arkhwisard 
  in due course, Hermengart lacked all interest in studying 
  air, earth, and fi re. While the other graduates from her 
  class went on to study a second element, Hermengart 
  devoted her time to researching elemental water loci and 
  the nature of the elemental realm of water.
  A keen and competent swimmer, the young elemen-
  talist often swam in the cold waters of the Inner Sea, 
  fi nding the exercise invigorating and relishing the oppor-
  tunity to immerse herself in the physical embrace of her 
  chosen element. Here she learned to communicate with 
  the havmandr who inhabited the area, gaining much sea 
  lore from the aquatic race, and swam with whales.
  one fateful day, Hermengart suffered a fi t while far 
  from the shore. Having lost consciousness, her envi-
  ronmental protection spell failed. Weighed down by 
  her heavy robes, she slowly began to sink into the dark 
  depths of the ocean she so loved. Fortunately, a fi sher-
  men saw her plight and hauled her onto his boat before 
  Neorthe could claim the young woman.
  Hermengart has no memory of any of this. Her fi rst 
  memory is waking up on a beach (the fi sherman left her 
  there while he went to fetch help), her robes and hair 
  sodden and covered in thick strands of seaweed. Her 
  sudden fi t damaged part of her brain, scrambling her 
  memories. Hermengart immediately came to the conclu-
  sion she was a native of the realm of water, an elemental 
  spirit in service to Neorthe reborn in human form so as 
  to experience life as a mortal.
  Without waiting, Hermengart dove back into the 
  ocean and began swimming, only to realize she no 
  longer had a natural ability to breathe in water. At least 
  Neorthe had seen fi t to grant her some magical pow-
  ers. Since then, Hermengart has traveled far and wide, 
  usually staying near the coast, but sometimes venturing 
  far inland to see what wonders lie there. She has seen 
  many wonders—vast forests; awe-inspiring mountains; 
  and majestic rivers of frozen water—but she has also 
  witnessed greed, disease, treachery, death, and misery.
  Now thoroughly bored with mortal existence, Her-
  mengart wants only to return to the endless waters of 
  her native realm. Neorthe has ignored her prayers, lead-
  ing the elementalist to conclude that in order to return 
  home she must locate a suitable portal. Unfortunately, 
  that has proven more diffi cult than she expected.
  dEScrIptIon
  Convinced she is an otherworldly entity in human 
  form, Hermengart has woven strands of dried seaweed 
  and shells into her hair. Her deep green eyes stare into 
  the distance, as if she is perpetually lost in thought, and 
  her lips are curled in strange expressions. She moves 
  with a languid motion, as if unaccustomed to walking.
  Her long, fl owing robe is dark green, the color of the 
  deep ocean, her shirt a light shade. Silver thread resem-
  bling stylized waves runs through the rich, heavy fabric. 
  She wears a single ring of polished coral on the index 
  fi nger of her right hand.
  mannErISmS
  Hermengart’s belief that she hails from the elemental 
  realm of water and her resultant phobia of fi re stem from 
  her near-death experience. Unfortunately, no amount of 
  evidence or reasoning can shake her out of this delusion. 
  Her persistence in sharing knowledge of her “unearthly 
  origins” with everyone, coupled with her strange expres-
  sions, bizarre way of walking, and often erratic behavior 
  quickly alienates her from those around her.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  27
  
  maGE-Baron StEFan
  oF rEnvIk
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Chalcis (The Magocracy); 
  Occupation: Heahwisard; Patron Deity: Ullr.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d8, Heahwisardry d6, Intimidation d4, 
  Notice d4, Riding d6, Shooting d6, Stewardship d6*, Sur-
  vival d6
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Heroic, loyal, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Magic: Heahwisardry), No-
  ble
  Languages: Anari, Chalcian, Classical Anari, Trader
  Powers: Armor, boost/lower trait, fear
  * If you’re not using the Resource Management rules, 
  exchange this for Persuasion d4 and Streetwise d4.
  BackGround
  Mage-Baron Stefan of the First Sphere, head of House 
  Esther, vassal of House Darovia, is something of an oddity 
  among the nobles of the Magocracy, and especially those 
  of the Principality of Darovia. Since returning from his 
  adventures, Stefan has become loved by his peasants. 
  As a boy he was a typical noble, pompous, arrogant, 
  domineering, and oblivious to the needs of the people. 
  Following the death of his father, Stefan, an only child, 
  inherited the barony. quickly bored by affairs of state, he 
  left his Council Elect vote in the hands of Mage-Prince 
  Dartuk, placed his steward in charge of governing the 
  village, and left to seek adventure and excitement, plan-
  ning on returning in middle age to enjoy his wealth and 
  social position.
  Stefan unexpectedly returned home two years ago, a 
  little over a decade since he left. His behavior was im-
  mediately odd—he took control of running the estate, 
  dismissing his former steward; he joined the peasants 
  in their hunts; he lowered taxes; and he even helped 
  gather the harvest. Through careful investment, Stefan 
  has raised the rundown estate to one that generates a 
  modest income. The peasants are beginning to wander 
  what happened on his sojourn to change his personality 
  so drastically.
  What they do not know is that Mage-Baron Stefan is 
  an impostor. Actually a Chalcian hunter by the name of 
  Mayeul ap-Gontier, he befriended the real Stefan nine 
  years ago. Believing himself hunted by a sinister cult 
  whose treasure he had stolen, the real mage knew he 
  could not return home. A devious cur, he spun a web 
  of lies, telling the hunter that he had tired of leadership 
  and sought only a life of adventure. As a nobleman, he 
  could not simply abandon his people, and he had no kin 
  to whom he could pass the title. The two men were of 
  similar appearance, and any differences could easily be 
  explained away by the passage of time.
  The pair slowly traveled south, Stefan teaching the 
  hunter the basics of heahwisardry (a crime), how the 
  government operated, and enough history to avoid rais-
  ing immediate suspicion. The tutoring cost Stefan two 
  years of his life, but it was better than the other option 
  fate had decreed him. Unwilling to waste any more time 
  training Mayeul, Stefan declared his replacement ready 
  to assume his role. With any luck, the cult would fi nd 
  and execute his double, allowing Stefan to reemerge a 
  few years later and proclaim the corpse a usurper.
  Stefan recently learned the cult had been destroyed, 
  leaving him free to return home. His spies have informed 
  him his double is a popular ruler and that no one doubts 
  his identity. Worried that simply turning up and claiming 
  he is the real Stefan won’t work, he now intends to have 
  Mayeul discredited and then assassinated.
  dEScrIptIon
  Unlike the normally pale-skinned nobles who lurk in 
  their courts, Stefan has a weathered face from his years 
  as a hunter. His hands are rough and calloused from 
  hard work, and his long brown hair is sun-bleached. His 
  gray eyes are kind, though they can become stern in an 
  instant if his anger is riled. Stefan’s robes are cut in the 
  latest fashion, but they are also of drab brown and green, 
  toughened to serve as outdoor wear rather than courtly 
  garb intended to impress.
  mannErISmS
  Stefan is an atypical Magocratic noble—he cares about 
  his people, speaks out against the excesses of his peers 
  and superiors (in carefully worded form), and takes an 
  active role in the running of his estate. His one negative 
  trait is his stubbornness, but his people do not mind that 
  he wants his own way—he is their lord and master.
  HEllFroSt
  28
  
  BEtH ap-acoStant
  Race: Anari; Homeland: The Magocracy; Occupa-
  tion: Hrimwisard; Patron Deity: Maera.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d4, Hrimwisardry d8, Investigation d6, 
  knowledge (Arcana) d8, knowledge (Religion) d6, No-
  tice d4, Shooting d6, Survival d4
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Bad Eyes, Black Sheep, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Magic: Hrimwisardry), Spell 
  Finesse (Selective: stun)
  Languages: Anari, Classical Anari, Frosttongue, Trader
  Powers: Armor, stun
  BackGround
  Beth (she refuses to use her birth name, Bethilie) was 
  born the third child of an infl uential Magocratic fam-
  ily beholden to House Tharkness. Her older siblings, a 
  brother and sister, were both given away at birth by her 
  parents for they had been born frostborn. like many par-
  ents, they considered the siring of frostborn shameful, 
  and certainly had no desire to see one in power.
  Although she was sent to a fi ne school and had a pedi-
  gree (and potential future) many heahwisards would kill 
  for, Beth had no interest in the ancient art of her ances-
  tors. Having accidentally discovered the family’s dark 
  secret, she took an intense interest in the nature of the 
  Hellfrost, the disappearance of kenaz and Sigel, and the 
  rise of the frostborn. Had her siblings not been affl icted 
  with the “winter curse,” perhaps this would have been a 
  phase she was going through, but she remained fi xated 
  with the subjects. Refusing to bow to pressure from her 
  family to cease her studies and to the family line, she 
  quit school. Traveling to neighboring Eastheath, where 
  her family had no infl uence over the clergy, she began 
  studying hrimwisardry at the temple of Maera.
  Unable to bring their last child back in line, and fear-
  ing a political backlash if they allowed a non-heahwisard 
  to continue as heir, her parents publicly disowned their 
  young daughter, stripping her of all titles and inheritance, 
  removing her name from the family tree and banishing 
  her from their holdings. In her place, a distant cousin 
  was named as heir to the title and estates. Unperturbed, 
  for she considered the abandoning of her siblings based 
  on their race abhorrent, she shortened her name and 
  took the name of a rebellious ancestor, another black 
  sheep, in place of her father’s.
  Beth headed north, spending several years explor-
  ing and studying the Hellfrost fi rst hand. Although she 
  respected and feared the awesome might of Thrym, she 
  sensed that something else lay behind the rise of the 
  Hellfrost, something far beyond the power of a god to 
  control. She cannot prove it, but she suspects the phe-
  nomenon somehow ties into the elemental realms.
  Although the cult of kenaz considers her a potential 
  agent of Thrym, Beth is actually a supporter of their 
  cause. Her magical power may stem from the winter, but 
  she has no desire to see the northern lands succumb to 
  permanent ice and snow.
  Now well-versed in winter magic, Beth has taken leave 
  from her studies to undertake a personal quest. know-
  ing that her siblings were given up to frostborn families 
  rather than murdered, she plans on tracking down the 
  brother and sister she never knew.
  dEScrIptIon
  Beth’s study and practice of hrimwisardry is chang-
  ing her body. Her dark hair is turning snow white, her 
  skin is much paler than other Anari, her eyes, pupils and 
  whites, have become a brilliant, glacial blue (she sees as 
  if looking through a constant blizzard), and her fi nger-
  nails have transformed into solid shards of ice.
  Although resistant to freezing temperatures by dint 
  of her art, she continues to wear a heavy, fur-lined cloak. 
  This is partly because it is comfortable, and partly be-
  cause it conceals the most shocking aspect of her trans-
  formation—her torso is bone white, with a spider web of 
  thick, blue-black lines emanating from the heart, as if her 
  veins are literally turning to ice.
  mannErISmS
  Beth is immensely stubborn, a trait which led her 
  to forsake her heritage and begin her study into hrim-
  wisardry. She doesn’t believe she is always right—she 
  merely seeks to follow her own path in life, and dislikes 
  being given orders. She does not speak of her past, avoid-
  ing the subject by quickly changing the topic. She has a 
  curious streak, but only with regard to matters relating 
  directly to the Hellfrost.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  29
  
  mJÖdvItnIr BrEakSpEar
  Race: Frost dwarf; Homeland: karad zor; Occupa-
  tion: Rune mage and huscarl; Patron Deity: Tiw.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d8, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Cut-Rune d8, Fighting d8, Intimidation d6, No-
  tice d4, Survival d6, Throwing d6
  Charisma: –4; Pace: 5; Parry: 6; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Heat lethargy, Insular, Mean, Slow, vow 
  (Minor: never drink alcohol), vow (Major: recover lord’s 
  standard and restore his honor)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Magic: Rune magic), low 
  light vision, Mountain Born, Tough, Winter Soul
  Languages: Dwarven, orcish, Trader
  Powers: Cut-Rune (boost/lower trait (Strength and 
  Fighting only), battle song, smite)
  BackGround
  A huscarl who learned rune magic to bolster his fi ght-
  ing prowess, Mjödvitnir (“Mead-wolf”) served in the 
  bodyguard of Jarl Thorgrim Frostmane, lord of karad 
  zor. Considered well past his prime and too fond of 
  strong alcohol, Mjödvitnir’s duties largely consisted of 
  guarding unimportant locations within the city. Given the 
  chance to escort a caravan carrying supplies to Dvergton 
  on the outskirts of the Frozen Forest, Mjödvitnir leapt 
  at the opportunity, partly to prove his critics wrong and 
  partly because he suspected it would be his last chance 
  to wield his axe in anger.
  Technically the most senior huscarl in the party, Mjöd-
  vitnir was placed in charge of protecting the caravan 
  leader, Thorgrim’s youngest grandson, Thegn Gloin. As 
  a member of the jarl’s immediate family and journeying 
  as a representative of his lord, Gloin would be traveling 
  under the royal standard. The trip began well, the cara-
  van winding its way through Hellfrost Pass and up the 
  trade roads into Heligioland. Here, though, things took 
  a drastic turn for the worse.
  After getting steaming drunk one night, Mjödvitnir 
  was left behind with a handful of huscarls as the caravan 
  carried on northward, the thegn intending to punish the 
  drunkard by making him catch up on foot. When Mjöd-
  vitnir did catch up with the caravan he found only burnt 
  out wrecks and dead dwarves, slain by orc raiders. Thegn 
  Gloin numbered among the dead, his head cleaved from 
  his shoulders by an orc blade, but of the royal standard 
  there was no sign.
  Mjödvitnir blamed himself for the slaughter, for 
  his inebriation had left the caravan with fewer guards. 
  After burying and lamenting the dead, he ordered the 
  remaining huscarls to return to karad zor with the 
  thegn’s mortal remains and carry news of the disaster 
  to Jarl Thorgrim. Filled with remorse, self-loathing, and 
  anger, Mjödvitnir declared himself an exile, vowing that 
  he would die unmourned and in ignominy, or return the 
  royal standard to his lord’s keep.
  To Mjödvitnir’s horror the orcs had split into three 
  separate parties. He chose to follow the largest group 
  back to their lair, but his efforts were for naught. Driven 
  by righteous rage, he slew a dozen orcs, but the standard 
  was not among the booty they had plundered from the 
  caravan. With the other trails now obliterated by snow, 
  Mjödvitnir began the long process of hunting down 
  every orc he could fi nd, torturing them for information 
  before sending their souls to their fell gods.
  Mjödvitnir’s quest has consumed fi fty years of his 
  life, and yet there is no end in sight. He has traveled 
  far and wide, bathed in orc blood, and still his quarry 
  eludes him. A human might have given up after such a 
  lengthy endeavor, but Mjödvitnir is a dwarf. Even if it 
  takes another century, he will complete his quest or die 
  trying—he has nothing else to live for. 
  dEScrIptIon
  Well-muscled, Mjödvitnir is almost as wide at the 
  shoulder as he is tall. He is completely bald, a natural oc-
  currence (he began to lose his hair shortly after becom-
  ing an adult). He still wears his beard into three braids, 
  the mark of a dwarven huscarl, though he dyes it bright 
  yellow, a symbol of shame among the dwarves of karad 
  zor. When he chooses to speak (he normally grunts a 
  lot), he has a deep, rough voice.
  mannErISmS
  Since his self-imposed exile, Mjödvitnir has forsaken 
  alcohol, refusing to touch a single drop. He vehemently 
  berates those who drink too much, especially warriors 
  and sentries. Although all dwarves appear gruff to outsid-
  ers, they have a sense of humor. Mjödvitnir lost his long 
  ago, his once jovial nature now replaced by an ill-temper, 
  general surliness, and a burning desire to complete his 
  task so that he might restore his honor.
  HEllFroSt
  30
  
  nYlE duttSunu
  Race: Anari/Saxa; Homeland: Angmark; Occupa-
  tion: Song mage and retired adventurer; Patron Deity:
  The Unknowable one.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d4
  Skills: Climbing d4, Fighting d4, Intimidation d4, 
  knowledge (Area: Alantaris Isle) d4, knowledge (Area: 
  Aspiria) d4, knowledge (Area: Glittersands) d4, knowl-
  edge (Area: The Great Swamp) d4, knowledge (Area: 
  The liche lands) d4, knowledge (Area: The Magocracy) 
  d4, knowledge (Area: Royalmark) d4, knowledge (Area: 
  Unclaimed lands) d4, knowledge (Folklore) d8, knowl-
  edge (Heraldry) d4, Persuasion d6, Notice d6, Riding d4, 
  Shooting d4, Song Magic d8, Survival d4
  Charisma: +3; Pace: 5; Parry: 4; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Bad Eyes, Elderly, Enemy (Major)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Magic: Song magic), Noble, 
  World-Wise
  Languages: Anari, Auld Saxa, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Healing, stun, wilderness step
  BackGround
  Nyle is the living embodiment of the old saying that 
  money can buy anything but happiness. Born to a noble 
  Saxa family (his mother is Anari), Nyle grew bored with a 
  life of privilege. His education fi nished and with an older 
  brother due to inherit his father’s title and lands, Nyle 
  set out to fi nd excitement.
  He eventually joined up with a band of similar bored 
  nobles, who together adventured under the name the 
  Seven Sons. For 15 years they wandered the length and 
  breadth of the northern realm, hunting undead, engaging 
  in revolutions against corrupt leaders, fi ghting orcs, and 
  defeating bandits. Although one would be hard-pressed 
  to imagine it now, Nyle was one of the Sons’ warriors.
  Their greatest adventure, which would also prove 
  to be their last, ended in tragedy. After crossing paths 
  with a priest of Hela on multiple occasions, they eventu-
  ally tracked their quarry into the haunted liche lands. 
  Through skill, magic, and a little good fortune, the Seven 
  Sons managed to seal the cleric in a cairn, though not 
  before two of their number, the founder and co-founder 
  as fate would have it, fell in battle. These were the fi rst 
  casualties the Sons had suffered, and the loss of them 
  as friends and leaders weighed heavily on the survivors’ 
  hearts. Recriminations and guilt sundered the once tight 
  bond, the fi ve remaining members going their own ways. 
  Unwilling to take up adventuring with new comrades, 
  and seeking to keep the memory of the Sons’ exploits 
  alive, Nyle turned to more cerebral arts, forsaking the life 
  of a swordsman for that of a song mage and skald.
  Thirty years have passed since the Seven Sons went 
  their own ways. Although Nyle’s father and brother are 
  dead, his grand-nephew, the current ruler, has allowed his 
  uncle to retain his noble title and stipend. In those three 
  decades, Nyle heard nothing from his former comrades, 
  save in gossip and news passed on by fellow skalds. At 
  least he had heard nothing fi rst hand until a month ago. 
  Disturbed by knocking at his door in the dead of night, 
  Nyle found odel lowthwaite, the younger brother of the 
  Sons’ late co-founder, standing outside.
  odel informed his old friend that his retirement was 
  over. Two of the fi ve survivors, all of whom had lived to 
  old age, had recently been viciously murdered. Traveling 
  to the liche lands on a hunch, odel discovered the tomb 
  in which they imprisoned the cleric of Hela so long ago 
  now open to the elements. Convinced their old nemesis 
  is seeking revenge and hunting down the surviving Sons, 
  Nyle has taken up adventuring once more. His fi rst task is 
  to fi nd, Grindan, the last remaining Son accounted for.
  dEScrIptIon
  Nyle’s memory of the adventures of his youth may be 
  fresh in his mind, but the passage of time has taken its 
  toll on his body. His once luxuriant dark hair has turned 
  white with age, his brown eyes are cloudy, his muscles 
  have atrophied through inaction, and his fi ngers are bent 
  with arthritis. His clothes, though of good quality, fell 
  out of fashion three decades ago.
  mannErISmS
  The fi re of adventuring has been rekindled in Nyle’s 
  heart, but the fl ame burns weakly. While he retains all 
  his mental faculties, his body is that of a frail old man. 
  He refuses to admit his weakness, especially when in the 
  company of young adventurers. He is fond of reminisc-
  ing about the “glory days” through song and verse, even 
  though few alive today remember the Seven Sons.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  3
  
  tElEtHalItH
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: Dreamwood (Royal-
  mark); Occupation: Paladin and bodyguard; Patron 
  Deity: kvara (see Region Guide #26).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d8, Healing d6, Intimidation 
  d6, Notice d6, Stealth d4, Survival d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Heroic, loyal, Pacifi st (Minor)
  Edges: Agile, Arcane Background (Miracles), Forest 
  Born, low light vision, Natural Realms, Two-Fisted
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Health Elven, Saxa
  Powers: Armor, deﬂ ection
  BackGround
  Telethalith’s name is actually a title granted him by 
  king Geirmund of Nordmark. It translates very loosely 
  as “shield of the king.” He is usually addressed simply as 
  Tel, a diminutive of the hearth elven word for a shield.
  Tel always dreamed of becoming a bladedancer, the 
  elite bodyguards of the elven nobility. Naturally grace-
  ful and skilled at wielding two blades, Tel purposefully 
  delayed his candidacy in order to fi rst train as a paladin 
  of kvara, the deity goddess of bodyguards, believing it 
  would ultimately make him a better bladedancer.
  A native of Dreamwood, he watched with concern as 
  neighboring Nordmark was torn apart by bloody civil 
  war on the death of king kol. Although several factions 
  tried to secure elven support for their cause, the elves 
  refused to participate in human affairs.
  Three years ago, the then Prince Geirmund, rightful 
  heir to Nordmark’s throne, made camp not far from 
  the forest’s borders during his preparations to claim his 
  birthright by force of arms. Several elf nobles went to 
  meet the king in order to discern his intentions and to 
  reaffi rm their neutrality. Tel, by now a paladin of kvara, 
  was acting as bodyguard to one of the nobles. He listened 
  intently as the young human spoke of his dreams for a 
  united Nordmark, of his ambitions to impose fair laws 
  and equality so that all might prosper, and his promise 
  that the elves would not be drawn into the war. Tel felt 
  a strange attraction to the youth, for here was a human 
  talking of putting others before his own needs. 
  That night, Tel awoke from a nightmare in which he 
  had seen the young prince murdered. Without a fi rm 
  leader, Nordmark become embroiled in a lengthy war, 
  a confl ict which spread to encompass the entire region 
  in blood and misery. Believing that as king, Geirmund 
  might not only bring peace and prosperity to Nordmark 
  but initiate a new era for mankind, Tel begged permis-
  sion from his lord to serve with the human, sensing that 
  unless he did his dream would come to pass.
  Permission was granted, though Tel would have to 
  serve as a mercenary, not as an offi cial agent of the neu-
  tral elves. Geirmund accepted the elf into his retinue, for 
  he needed all the blades he could muster if he was to be 
  victorious, and held no racial prejudices. Tel served the 
  prince throughout the war, thwarting several assassina-
  tion attempts. His heart was fi lled with immense pride as 
  Geirmund was crowned, for Tel was one of a chosen few 
  huscarls permitted to stand at his side.
  Although Geirmund still has many enemies, Tel has 
  left the king’s retinue. He senses there are others with 
  important destinies that will help shape a better future, 
  and he aims to ensure they live to fulfi ll them. He still 
  dreams of becoming a bladedancer, but as an elf he 
  knows that time is something he has in abundance.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tel is a typical elf—tall, slim, and graceful. His blonde 
  hair is well groomed, swept back behind his fi nely-ta-
  pered ears and held in place with a silver band decorated 
  with a single sightstone. His green eyes are wide and 
  alert, constantly scanning for danger.
  His clothes, a gift from king Geirmund, are fi nely 
  made yet practical, and lavishly embroidered. He prefers 
  light armor, relying on his magic and whirling blades to 
  defl ect blows rather than encumbering metal.
  mannErISmS
  Tel takes his role as a bodyguard extremely seriously. 
  He understands that it is his job to lay down his life to 
  protect his charge, and puts himself in harm’s way with-
  out a moment’s thought. Although technically a warrior, 
  he disdains violence. He’ll happily end a threat, doing so 
  with brutal effi ciency, but he refuses to initiate trouble.
  When on duty he is extremely serious and focused, 
  letting nothing distract him. like most elves he enjoys 
  singing and dancing. Two years serving the king has also 
  given him a fondness for human ale, though he never 
  drinks to excess.
  HEllFroSt
  32
  
  GalarItHIEl darkGladE
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: kings Wood (orcmark); 
  Occupation: Priest and hunter; Patron Deity: Tvíblindi 
  (see Region Guide #20).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d4, Notice d6, Shooting d6, 
  Stealth d6, Survival d8, Tracking d8
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Cautious, orders (lord of 
  kings Wood), Yellow
  Edges: Agile, Arcane Background (Miracles), Forest 
  Born, low light vision, Natural Realms, Woodsman
  Languages: Arboreal, Hearth Elven, orcish, Saxa
  Powers: Invisibility, obscure
  BackGround
  Before the creation of orcmark, Galarithiel served 
  his community as a hunter. He had an inherent feel for 
  the forest. He could spot the bent twig that showed the 
  route of prey, move without disturbing a single leaf or 
  cracking a dry twig, and live off the land for months.
  once it became clear the orc advance had been 
  stalled and their attention had turned to kings Wood, 
  the lord of the elves commanded all hunters to take up 
  arms, as is the way of elves. Although a competent ar-
  cher, Galarithiel’s talents were stealth and tracking. At 
  fi rst, Galarithiel served as a scout, helping to hunt down 
  orcs daring to cross the leafy border. It was during this 
  time he experienced the carnage and misery of battle, 
  the brutal exchange of blows, the screams of the injured, 
  and the passing of the living into the realm of the dead. 
  What he witnessed scared him to the depths of his soul.
  Afraid of dying young, Galarithiel sought refuge in re-
  ligion. Although Rigr or Ullr would have served him well, 
  as they had generations of elves, the young hunter began 
  to worship Tvíblindi, the minor god of concealment. 
  Although now a priest of Tvíblindi, he has no loyalty to-
  ward either Nauthiz or Niht. Pragmatic and cowardly, he 
  chose Tvíblindi simply because the god granted abilities 
  that would keep him concealed from enemies.
  Now isolated by a ring of orc encampments and 
  constantly under attack by probing patrols, the elves of 
  kings Wood were desperate for information regarding 
  their enemy’s strength and plans, as well as the intent 
  of their allies in vestmark and the besieged city of oster-
  sund. In order to gain that knowledge, warriors had to 
  leave the safety of the wood, and infi ltrate orc camps or 
  capture prisoners. Unfortunately for Galarithiel, his skill 
  as a tracker, his ability to move silently, and his talent for 
  living off the land had not gone unnoticed. Although he 
  protested, he was sent to serve with one of the ranger 
  units tasked with carrying out operations beyond the 
  forest, and often deep behind enemy lines. For 15 long 
  years he has ranged far and wide across orcmark, stalk-
  ing orc patrols, conducting ambushes, locating camps, 
  passing messages to resistance groups or fi ring them 
  across the Elverun or into ostersund, always knowing 
  that death could strike at any moment. And yet despite 
  all his victories, he has become ever more afraid.
  dEScrIptIon
  Galarithiel lacks the grace of other elves. Although 
  humans see him as equal to a normal member of their 
  species, to elves his is clumsy and ungainly. He wears his 
  light brown hair swept back in the traditional fashion. 
  His pale green eyes are ever active, darting to scan every 
  shadow. His nose is long and sharp. Galarithiel’s face 
  bears a constantly worried look. 
  He disdains metal jewelry, wearing only a single 
  bone cloak pin. Unlike most hunters, he prefers metal 
  armor—the more protection it offers, the better.
  mannErISmS
  A young elf, Galarithiel greatly fears death. His head 
  constantly twists to and fro as his eyes scan for danger, 
  he bites his bottom lip in worry, and he dives for cover 
  at the slightest noise. He serves with the army because 
  he sees it as his duty to help protect his homeland from 
  orcs, not because he wants to be a hero. A coward by 
  nature, he would think nothing of abandoning his com-
  rades in order to save his own skin. In order to reduce 
  the risks, he plans meticulously, always ensuring he has 
  multiple escape routes.
  like all clerics of Tvíblindi he never discusses his faith 
  with outsiders. Because the Unknowable one is the only 
  benevolent deity to grant both miracles Galarithiel has 
  learned, he claims to be a cleric of the trickster when 
  pressed as to the origin of his powers. Since there are no 
  standard trickster clerics, few can argue otherwise.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  33
  
  SalaBErGE ap-Burcan
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Seithrby; Occupation:
  Paladin, murderer, and thrall; Patron Deity: vakr (see 
  Region Guide #2).
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d6, Faith d6, Fighting d6, Notice d6, 
  Stealth d8, Streetwise d6, Throwing d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Delusional (Major: believes Hela will help 
  her liberate Seithrby), Poverty, vengeful (Major)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Assassin
  Languages: Anari, Black Tongue, Saxa
  Powers: Deﬂ ection, summon beast (bat, giant bat, or bat 
  swarm only)
  BackGround
  Salaberge grew up on a small but prosperous farm 
  in Seithrby. Although her parents were Anari, over half 
  the farm laborers were Saxa, freemen earning a decent 
  income. Her father was highly respected in the commu-
  nity, serving as a doomsman on multiple occasions, and 
  privately settling many trivial cases to everyone’s benefi t. 
  His eldest daughter had many Saxa friends, and was even 
  betrothed to one, the son of a farmer in the next valley. 
  With the arrival of Aethling Cuthwulf and his warlike kin, 
  all that changed. 
  Salaberge’s family was one of many Anari whose lands 
  were confi scated. Her father was murdered, his throat 
  slit in front of his family’s gaze. Salaberge, her mother, 
  and her two younger sisters were taken as thralls by 
  the victorious invaders. Salaberge, who once enjoyed a 
  comfortable life of comparative luxury, was put to work 
  plowing fi elds and collecting dung.
  At night, while her master slept, Salaberge would sit 
  outside the hovel she now called home, gazing at the 
  bats that lived in the barn and hunted by the moonlight, 
  wishing she could be free like them, wishing she could 
  avenge herself on those who had taken away her life. 
  Children have long been warned to be careful what they 
  wish for, and Salaberge was about to fi nd out why.
  A few days after her 17th birthday, her nocturnal mus-
  ings were disturbed by a stranger who appeared out of 
  nowhere. Clad all in black and wrapped in a voluminous 
  cloak, he confronted the startled girl with her words, 
  claiming he had heard them whispered on the wind and 
  could, if she were willing, help her achieve her dreams. 
  Although he professed to be an outsider, he claimed he 
  too despised the invaders. Serve him, he said, and not 
  only could Salaberge fulfi ll her desire for vengeance, but 
  he would help her liberate Seithrby from its oppressors.
  Blinded by hatred, Salaberge failed to see the dark 
  road onto which the stranger was leading her. She ac-
  cepted his offer. over many months he visited her again, 
  always at night, instructing her in the ways of murder 
  and the cult of vakr, patron of the bats she so envied. At 
  fi rst she had doubts, suspecting she had walked down 
  a path to damnation, but her mind was fi lled only with 
  thoughts of vengeance, and such thoughts were soon 
  banished forever. Salaberge’s fi nal test, the one that 
  would make her a true paladin, was to murder her mas-
  ter. She slipped unseen into his bedchamber and slit his 
  throat, before vanishing into the night.
  Since then she has drifted across Seithrby, infi ltrating 
  the homes of her enemies and enacting a bloody revenge. 
  She has killed many, but there are always more waiting.
  dEScrIptIon
  Salaberge is fairly non-descript. once she hated being 
  ordinary, possessed of typical Anari features like so many 
  others, but she has come to love her appearance, for it 
  allows her to be anonymous, another thrall among many. 
  Her dark brown eyes are cold and alert, the eyes of a 
  predator seeking prey.
  mannErISmS
  Salaberge’s lust for revenge has warped her mind. 
  once she blamed only Aethling Cuthwulf’s kin for the 
  cruelty infl icted on her, but now she tars all Saxa with the 
  same brush. In her madness she also blames the Hearth 
  knights and cult of Scaetha, who did nothing to stop the 
  conquest, instead bartering with the new ruler to ensure 
  their activities continued without interruption. 
  Except when in the company of bats or taking a life 
  from those she calls enemies, she rarely smiles. Any smile 
  toward her foes in a public place is forced, her true feel-
  ings betrayed by her eyes, which burn with vengeance.
  HEllFroSt
  34
  
  HEnGISt aEScWInESunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Royalmark; Occupation:
  Priest, herbalist, and brewer; Patron Deity: Gullveig 
  (see Region Guide #0).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d4, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d6, Intimidation d4, knowl-
  edge (Alchemy) d8, knowledge (Craft: Brewing) d8, Sur-
  vival d6
  Charisma: –4; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Mean, Small, Ugly
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Hedge Magic
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Fey, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Smarts, Spirit, vigor, knowl-
  edge (Craft: Brewing only)), feast (alcohol only)
  BackGround
  Hengist’s parents never had much time for their son. 
  As proprietors of a busy brewery, their work left them 
  little time to entertain a child. Not only that, but they 
  found their son’s appearance repulsive, secretly suspect-
  ing that Hengist was actually a fey changeling swapped 
  for their real son. Having no friends, and with his parents 
  uncaring about his activities, he would spend long hours 
  roaming the fi elds and hills. over time he became inter-
  ested in the many plants that grew there, experimenting 
  with herbal remedies to help pass the time. That early 
  hobby quickly consumed much of his time, and he made 
  a modest income selling his remedies to local villagers.
  Despite his father’s refusal to let him learn the family 
  trade (although he did fetch and carry for him), Hengist 
  silently watched his father at work, developing an under-
  standing for the brewer’s art. one night, just before his 
  father was due to deliver a consignment of mead to the 
  local noble, Hengist added something to the mix.
  Unaware, Hengist’s father faithfully delivered the con-
  signment to his lord’s feast hall in time for a major feast. 
  After sampling the brew, the nobleman praised Hengist’s 
  father, for this mead was the fi nest he had ever tasted. 
  He then asked the brewer to reveal the ingredients that 
  gave it such a fi ne fl avor. quickly sampling the mead, his 
  father was fl abbergasted to discover he did not know, for 
  the mead was not his recipe. He tried to bluff the noble, 
  claiming that a brewer never revealed a secret, but this 
  only served to offend his liege, who changed his request 
  to a demand. Hengist stepped forward and said that his 
  father could not name the ingredient because he had not 
  added it to the mead. Avoiding his father’s fi st, Hengist 
  admitted that it was he who had altered the recipe, add-
  ing to the honey common heather fl owers. Amused at 
  the ugly creature in front of him, the noble questioned 
  Hengist as to his skill. Hengist replied honestly, claim-
  ing that he knew much about both fl owers and brewing, 
  though he admitted he was self-taught. Impressed by the 
  boy’s skill and openness, he offered him a post as his 
  personal brewer, terminating the contract with Hengist’s 
  father there and then.
  Hengist served the nobleman for 10 years, slowly 
  perfecting his craft. In that time he joined the cult of 
  Gullveir, eventually becoming a priest. Having achieved 
  the status of master brewer, Hengist quit the noble’s 
  household to open his own brewery. 
  Although he earned a decent living, Hengist knows 
  competition is fi erce. In order to stay ahead of his rivals 
  he craves new recipes from distant lands, especially those 
  of the frozen north lands and the scorching desert to the 
  south. He has taken a gamble by leaving his business in 
  the hands of his apprentice while he journeys.
  dEScrIptIon
  When it came to looks, the Norns dealt Hengist a cruel 
  fate. He is short, hunchbacked, and with arms that seem 
  too long for his body. His face is permanently scrunched, 
  his nose large and beak-like, his eyes too close together 
  and deeply set, and his mouth thin. old age has further 
  added to his misery, for his pate is bald and what remains 
  of his hair is thinning rapidly. His bald spot and forearms 
  are frequently covered in angry, red bee stings.
  mannErISmS
  Taunted all his life because of his appearance, Hengist 
  has grown into a bitter and twisted man. He rejects at-
  tempts to befriend him, believing that such people only 
  want to try and hire his services at a reduced rate, or set 
  him up for a fall later, building up what little remains of 
  his self-respect before cruelly mocking him. He prefers 
  his own company, something hard to achieve for a master 
  brewer and herbalist whose talents are much in demand. 
  When he does work with others, he does so reluctantly, 
  and never without charging for his services.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  35
  
  avalancHE
  Race: Frostborn (Saxa stock); Homeland: Hrimthyr 
  Isle; Occupation: Paladin; Patron Deity: langbarðr 
  (see Region Guide #12).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d4, Spirit d6, Strength d10, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d10, Hrimwisardry d6, Intimi-
  dation d6, Notice d4, Survival d4
  Charisma: –8; Pace: 6; Parry: 7; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Bloodthirsty, Heat lethargy, Mean, outsid-
  er, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Frigid Form, Win-
  ter Soul
  Languages: Frosttongue, Saxa
  Frostborn Powers: Armor, environmental protection 
  (cold), smite, speed
  Miraculous Powers: Barrier, boost/lower trait (Spirit, 
  Strength, and vigor only)
  BackGround
  Avalanche’s parents served a frost giant jarl as minor 
  members of his court. Born to a frostborn hrimwisard 
  and frostborn priestess of Thrym, Avalanche grew up 
  listening to tales of his race’s chosen status, of the perse-
  cution they suffered at the hands of others, and how the 
  god of winter would one day make the world a paradise 
  for his kin. He also learned that many frostborn denied 
  their rightful heritage, seeking to live among the other 
  races, although in doing so they submitted to being sec-
  ond-class citizens, little better than thralls.
  Avalanche, who made up in brawn what he lacked in 
  brains, was never going to follow in his father’s foot-
  steps. He decided that he would join the army as one of 
  king Nagal’s frostborn heavy infantry. There he learned 
  a fundamental lesson—only the strong survive. Mercy 
  and compassion were beaten out of him by his instruc-
  tors, and his place in the pecking order was achieved by 
  defeating his peers. Possessed of phenomenal strength, 
  Avalanche quickly rose up the ranks. 
  His training complete, Avalanche was assigned to serve 
  under a frost giant priest. During a raid against the hated 
  inhabitants of the Battlelands, the priest found himself 
  surrounded by foes. Without thinking (never his strong 
  suit, at the best of times), Avalanche waded into the fray, 
  his body clad in a sheath of ice, his weapon bristling with 
  jagged icicles. Faced with a seemingly unstoppable foe, 
  the humans fl ed, allowing the priest to make good his 
  retreat from the battlefi eld.
  The priest paid for the failure of his raid with his life, 
  but not before he reported the prowess of Avalanche to 
  his liege. Pleased by the frostborn’s willingness to lay 
  down his life for a giant, and sensing his strength would 
  be better utilized elsewhere than as a common soldier, 
  king Nagal ordered Avalanche to begin training as a 
  cleric of langbarðr. Having more interest in slaying than 
  saving, Avalanche followed the path of a paladin. Though 
  Avalanche’s low intellect meant his training took many 
  years, he eventually became a Crushing Hand of Thrym.
  Avalanche was selected as one of the guards to a dip-
  lomatic team sent to White lake, where a powerful frost 
  giant had apparently taken up residence. By the time 
  they arrived, the giant had been defeated and his army 
  scattered. Before they could return home, the party was 
  ambushed by Hearth knights. Although he fought well, 
  Avalanche was subdued and captured. on the journey 
  back to Hellfrost keep, where he was to be interrogated, 
  he snapped his manacles and killed his guards, fl eeing 
  into the wilderness. Unsure how to get home, Avalanche 
  has decided to stay on the mainland and wage a one-
  frostborn war on the accursed races.
  dEScrIptIon
  Avalanche’s physical build—tall, muscular, and wide 
  at the shoulders—combined with his frostborn physical 
  traits give him the appearance of a walking glacier. His 
  dirty-white hair is thinning with age, though his beard is 
  thick and luxuriant, a fi tting sign for one who worship’s 
  Thrym’s beard. When he speaks, his voice is a low rum-
  bling, fi lled with menace.
  mannErISmS
  Avalanche is everything Thrym expects from his 
  minions. He is as stubborn and relentless as his patron, 
  refusing to bow before any man (or frost giant). He is 
  ill-tempered and surly, cooperating with others of his ex-
  tended faith only to promote the Fimbulvintr, and even 
  then he dislikes doing so. A fanatic, he believes that the 
  weak are not fi t to live in the coming Fimbulvintr—he 
  shows no mercy toward captives, and it takes a creature 
  with a will comparable to that of Nagal to halt his bloody 
  rampage. Avalanche’s faith, coupled with his low intel-
  ligence, make him slow to act. He is not cautious—it just 
  takes his brain a while to form a plan of action. once he 
  makes a decision, he is a force of nature.
  HEllFroSt
  36
  
  coEnHElm aElFrIcSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Coglelund; Occupation:
  Priest and rat catcher; Patron Deity: Haratt (see Region 
  Guide #24).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d6, Healing d4, Notice d6, Per-
  suasion d6, Stealth d6, Streetwise d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Enemy (Major: cleric of veth), Greedy (Mi-
  nor), Phobia (Minor: cats)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Charismatic
  Languages: Anari, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Beast friend (rats and giant rats only), summon 
  beast (rats and giant rats only)
  BackGround
  Coenhelm was once a merchant, a wealthy citi-
  zen of Coglelund with friends, infl uence, and a title. 
  His fall from grace was as spectacular as it was sud-
  den—even by Coglelund standards, where wealth is 
  often fl eeting. Today, ten years on from the shameful 
  event, skalds sing of it in the taverns of Halfway as a 
  warning to others of the perils of straying into sin.
  Homeless, destitute, and a social pariah (and lucky 
  not to be outlawed), Coenhelm took the only work he 
  could fi nd—rat catching. The work was fi lthy, and not 
  without hazards, and the wages pitiful, but at least it was 
  an income. Rat by rat, he dreamed of rebuilding his life.
  often working alongside clerics of veth, especially 
  around harvest time, Coenhelm gradually became aware 
  of the cult of Haratt, the minor god of rats. At fi rst he 
  thought little of it, for there were countless minor deities, 
  and there was no reason rats shouldn’t have one. Then 
  an idea dawned. Although he had no desire for revenge 
  (he had no one to blame but himself), and saw little to 
  be gained by destroying granaries, he immediately recog-
  nized a business opportunity in following Haratt. Spend-
  ing what little he had saved on loosening tongues, and 
  employing all his charm in the seediest parts of Halfway, 
  Coenhelm eventually located a temple of Haratt. Here he 
  pledged loyalty to the god.
  Now a priest of Haratt, Coenhelm is a con artist of the 
  highest caliber. He employs two methods. If rats already 
  exist in a settlement, he approaches the local ruler and 
  claims he can rid him of the problem in record time, in 
  return for a sizeable fee, of course. once a deal is struck, 
  he uses his beast friend spell to lure the rats away, mask-
  ing his miracle behind a song he invented. Should there 
  be no rats, he creates a problem through his summon 
  beast miracle, before approaching the ruler. once he is 
  paid, he quickly disappears, allowing any native rats to 
  return to their lairs. In the event he is cheated by his 
  employer, he uses his miracles to bring forth greater 
  numbers of rats.
  Unfortunately, Coenhelm’s devious money-making 
  scheme has not gone entirely unnoticed. A cleric of veth 
  stumbled across his latest dupes and deduced a cleric of 
  Haratt was at work. Although Coenhelm cannot be called 
  a devotee of the rat god, clerics of veth do not make dif-
  ferentiations. Coenhelm has had several run-ins with his 
  antagonist, always managing to escape, but never able to 
  defeat his nemesis.
  dEScrIptIon
  Coenhelm’s appearance changes as readily as the wind. 
  knowing that should he be recognized by his former 
  clients, he may face retribution, he changes the length, 
  style, and color of his hair regularly. Sometimes he grows 
  a mustache, other times a beard, and sometimes he goes 
  clean shaven. He never uses his given name, adopting 
  an alias at each settlement he calls. He bathes frequently, 
  though the stench of sewers and rat fi lth is never entirely 
  washed away. He carries a bag full of dead rats. All died 
  of natural causes, but Coenhelm claims them as his kills 
  in order to impress potential clients.
  mannErISmS
  Coenhelm cares little for Haratt’s cause, seeing rats 
  only as a way to make easy money. Since he operates 
  in society, Coenhelm is loathe to kill cats in public, lest 
  it attract attention. Unwilling to sin, he has trained his 
  vicious dog not to hunt rats, but to hunt cats. of course, 
  he is very apologetic to anyone witnessing the mauling, 
  claiming that his dog simply made an honest mistake.
  As a side-effect of his faith (possibly a curse from 
  Haratt for taking his name in vain and misusing his 
  miracles), he has developed a fear of cats. He explains 
  this away to others as a severe allergy to felines or having 
  been attacked by a wild cat as a baby.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  37
  
  GrEYSEr doomWalkEr
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Crystalfl ow Confederacy; 
  Occupation: Song mage; Patron Deity: None (though 
  he makes sacrifi ces to both Nauthiz and the Norns).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d6, knowledge (Area: Heligioland) d4, 
  knowledge (Area: Nordmark) d4, knowledge (Area: 
  Seithrby) d4, knowledge (Area: Sutmark) d4, knowl-
  edge (Area: vestmark) d4, knowledge (Folklore) d8+1, 
  knowledge (History) d6+1, Notice d6, Song Magic d6, 
  Streetwise d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: +1; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Apprentice (Minor), Bad luck, vow (Mi-
  nor: recover idol)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Song Magic), World-Wise
  Languages: Anari, Auld Saxa, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait, stun, warrior’s gift
  BackGround
  Greyser was born in Scathmoor, where he attended 
  the Three-Notes Academy, learning the art of song magic. 
  Raised on tales of great heroes, he was struck by the de-
  sire to adventure, to see the world, and to leave his mark 
  in legends. He joined up with a small band of adventur-
  ers seeking glory in the foothills of the Sigil Peaks, where 
  an old temple had been discovered by silver miners.
  After driving out the small tribe of orcs who had 
  taken up residence, the adventurers began to explore 
  the ruined structure in earnest. The hand of fate guided 
  them to a hidden chamber deep beneath the crumbling 
  structure, wherein lay a small golden idol in the shape of 
  a coiled sun dragon.
  That night, while his comrades sat around the camp-
  fi re discussing the value of the idol they had taken from 
  the crypt, Greyser slept a troubled sleep. Nightmares 
  plagued him until dawn, fi lling his mind with images of 
  clashing armies, terrible monsters ravaging towns, and 
  citizens suffering from famine and pestilence.
  As the sun rose, he pleaded with his companions to 
  return the idol to its resting place, lest doom befall them 
  all. They met his pleas with mockery and laughter, dis-
  missing his cries as the ravings of an old woman. Greyser 
  hastily collected his belongings, bade his friends farewell, 
  and departed for Chalcis. Three days after he crossed the 
  border, Silverdale was swallowed by mist.
  A decade later he found himself in vestmark when the 
  orcs began their conquest of the southern lands. He was 
  visiting Seithrby when Aethling Cuthwulf and his warlike 
  kin invaded. He departed ostvik shortly before the liz-
  ardmen’s vast armies lumbered out of the Great Swamp 
  and began their siege. He was exploring Nordmark when 
  the king’s return sparked a bloody civil war. He had 
  passed through Watchgap Fort just days before a goblin 
  army attacked. He vacated the Freelands’ settlement of 
  Dunross just a day before it was overrun by an army of 
  rats. Wherever Greyser has walked since helping steal the 
  idol, death and misery have followed in his wake, though 
  not always to such notable and catastrophic degrees.
  Greyser fervently believes he is cursed for his part in 
  removing the idol, a curse that can only be lifted by fi nd-
  ing the golden dragon idol and placing back on its plinth. 
  Unfortunately, he has no idea if his former companions 
  managed to fl ee Silverdale before the mists blanketed the 
  land. That his presence in areas that subsequently suffer 
  some disaster could be nothing more than coincidence 
  has never crossed his mind.
  dEScrIptIon
  Weather-beaten by a life on the road and on the run 
  from his fate, Greyser looks (and feels) a decade and 
  more older than his 47 years. His long hair is gray and 
  bedraggled, his skin sallow, and his sunken, pale green 
  eyes have a haunted look. A worried look mars his fea-
  tures, creasing his brow into deep furrows. His shoul-
  ders are permanently slumped, as if he carries on them 
  the weight of the world. Greyser’s heavily-patched and 
  frayed clothes are the rugged garb common to adventur-
  ers. Around his neck he wears holy symbols of Nauthiz 
  and the Norns. Across his back is strapped a battered 
  lute, while dangling from his belt is a short sword.
  mannErISmS
  Greyser is of an extremely nervous disposition. He 
  constantly fi ddles with his holy symbols and rubs his lips 
  with his long, bony fi ngers.
  Whenever he encounters strangers he asks of news 
  from lands he has just departed, always asking if there 
  have been any wars, plagues, or other disasters. Should 
  he hear bad news, he mutters over and over that it was 
  his fault, rebuking himself for going there and bringing 
  catastrophe on the citizens.
  HEllFroSt
  38
  
  maGE-Baron dEvan vEIGHt
  Race: Frostborn; Homeland: The Magocracy; Occu-
  pation: Heahwisard; Patron Deity: Maera.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d4
  Skills: Fighting d6, Heahwisardry d10, Hrimwisardry d6, 
  Investigation d6, knowledge (Arcana) d8, Notice d4, Per-
  suasion d10
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Arrogant, Elderly, Heat lethargy, outsider, 
  Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Heahwisardry), Frigid Form, 
  Noble, Winter Soul
  Languages: Anari, Classical Anari, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Armor, bolt, fear
  BackGround
  Born the third child of a minor Magocratic family be-
  holden to House Haldir, Devan is a frostborn. His father 
  is said to have gazed upon his newborn son, a creature 
  of his blood but not his race, for long minutes before 
  proudly proclaiming him a true scion of House veight. 
  Bullied by his peers for his frostborn heritage, Devan, 
  who was never physically strong, quickly learned to ma-
  nipulate others into fi ghting his battles.
  The nobleman has made it his life’s goal to locate one 
  of the missing staffs of the mage-princes. In the innocent 
  days of his youth he traded thoughts of his tormentors 
  for dreams of gifting the staff to the ruler of Haldir, whose 
  family had fallen from power centuries ago. Such an act 
  would earn him widespread recognition, noble titles, 
  wealth beyond imagination, and perhaps even marriage 
  into the ducal line.
  As he grew to maturity and fully grasped what the 
  staffs represented, his aims changed. Yes, he would still 
  locate one of the missing staffs, but now he would present 
  himself as its rightful owner, claiming the title of Mage-
  Prince and becoming founder of a new principality. His 
  name would live on forever through his descendants, the 
  future Mage-Princes of House veight.
  After completing his Staff Day rite, Devan was award-
  ed the title Mage-knight and given lordship over a small 
  agricultural village. Never one for the endless politicking 
  of court and caring little for the workload involved in 
  running a village, he placed a steward in charge of his 
  holdings and set out into the world to begin his quest.
  For nigh on 40 years he has wandered the length and 
  breadth of the continent, following up every rumor that 
  might lead to the discovery of one of the precious staffs. 
  So far he has had little success, though he has grown 
  wealthy from plundering ruins, and gained much arcane 
  knowledge and power. But not even the gods can halt 
  the tide of time. 
  Now an old man, Devan has but few remaining years 
  to complete his lofty goal. Each day of failure wearies 
  his soul further, and what began as a noble quest has 
  become an all-consuming ambition.
  dEScrIptIon
  A frostborn in his 60s, Devan’s skin is wrinkled and 
  weather-worn, more gray than blue-white, and his hair 
  is turning dark. only his eyes, piercing blue, show any 
  signs of youth.
  As a member of the nobility, Devan likes to dress the 
  part. His shirt is made from silk imported at great ex-
  pense from the Jade Empire, his ornately embroidered 
  jacket is white leather, and his trousers are soft kidskin. 
  Whatever the weather, he wears a sable cloak trimmed 
  with ermine and mink. Devan also believes in publicly 
  displaying his wealth, primarily to remind people they 
  are dealing with a nobleman. His cloak clasp is a silver 
  disc emblazoned with the holy symbol of Maera and 
  studded with small moonstones. on his fi ngers he wears 
  rings of gold and silver, many of which are alchemical 
  devices. Atop his head is an iron skull cap covered in 
  beaten gold and adorned with a single moonstone. Even 
  his staff is conspicuous—a length of ash tipped with yet 
  another moonstone, this one the size of a child’s fi st.
  mannErISmS
  Devan is a typical member of his culture—arrogant, 
  haughty, and self-obsessed. He rarely engages in conver-
  sation with those he considers his inferiors, though he 
  regularly issues them orders. He expects these to be car-
  ried out without hesitation. When he feels an underling 
  has spoken out of turn he looks down his nose at them, 
  raising one eyebrow in questioning disdain. Having suf-
  fered persecution based on his race, he prefers to judge 
  others by their actions, not their looks.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  39
  
  vIkY ap-Bavor
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Aspiria; Occupation: lore-
  keeper; Patron Deity: Hoenir.
  Attributes: Agility d4, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d4, Investigation d8+2, knowledge 
  (Folklore) d8+2, knowledge (History) d8+2, Notice d6, 
  Streetwise d8+2
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Clumsy*, loyal, orders
  Edges: Connections (lorekeepers), Investigator, lore-
  keeper, Scholar
  Languages: Anari, Classical Anari, Selari, Trader
  BackGround
  viky was left on the step of the local temple to Eira as 
  a young child. Her parents told her they were just going 
  to the shops, but she hasn’t seen them since. The cler-
  ics took the girl in, intending to train her in the ways of 
  medicine. Alas, it quickly became clear that the girl was 
  a walking disaster. Everything she touched seemed to 
  break, she frequently spilled jars of herbs, dropped hot 
  food on patients she was supposed to be feeding, and 
  soaked bed-ridden patients she was meant to be spong-
  ing down. Things only got worse during puberty, for she 
  grew into a lanky, fl ailing young woman. Although physi-
  cally inept, viky had an astute mind. She was always keen 
  to learn, soaked up information like a sponge, and could 
  recall facts as if she were reading a book.
  Deciding she was more of a menace than a help in the 
  hospital and dispensary, the clerics nurtured her intel-
  ligence, fi nally suggesting she might fi nd an apprentice-
  ship with the lorekeepers more to her liking.
  As in the temple, her clumsiness quickly proved a ma-
  jor liability. Dozens of ink-soaked manuscripts, several 
  injuries with a knife while sharpening quills, a collapsed 
  stack holding fragile scrolls, and three major fi res later, 
  the lorekeepers decided viky should become a fi eld 
  agent tracking down forgotten lore rather than stay on as 
  a copyist or librarian. Elated at the unexpected promo-
  tion, viky packed her satchel and set out into the world.
  She spends her time locating old ruins that might 
  contain lost lore and convincing adventuring parties to 
  let her join their ranks. She has little interest in gold and 
  gems beyond what she needs to survive, and few adven-
  turers place much value in musty tomes and crumbling 
  scrolls written in archaic tongues. 
  dEScrIptIon
  viky is forever gasping, cringing, shrugging, and 
  frowning, which is unfortunate, for her freckled face is 
  attractive when she can keep it still. Her light brown hair 
  is usually stained with ink or smeared with candle wax, 
  as are her clothes. She prefers simple clothes of plain 
  colors, as they are easier to clean and cheaper to replace. 
  She wears a waterproof satchel containing her scrolls 
  slung across her back. In her hand she clutches a staff, 
  which serves as both a walking stick and a weapon (and 
  sadly extends her reach for creating accidents).
  mannErISmS
  viky is an accident waiting to happen. Although intel-
  lectually focused, her arms seem to have a mind of their 
  own, constantly swaying without any apparent conscious 
  control and waving hither and yon as she emphasizes 
  points of fact. Those who know her try never to leave 
  anything breakable, spillable, or fl ammable within arms 
  reach. Those who don’t know her quickly learn.
  After a life of being rebuked for knocking things 
  over, dropping them, fetching the wrong item, or touch-
  ing things she shouldn’t, viky has become meek and 
  apologetic. on a bad day, every other word she utters is 
  “Sorry.” Her confi dence grows only when discussing her 
  specialties, but so does the animation of her limbs.
  *nEW HIndrancE
  clumSY (maJor)
  The character is a walking disaster. A natural roll of 
  1, or a modifi ed roll of 1 or less, on an Agility or Agility-
  linked skill roll (regardless of Wild Die) is treated as a 
  critical failure. If the Wild Die indicates a success, then 
  any disaster occurs after the success has been handled. 
  For instance, she may successfully strike a foe with her 
  staff, only to then knock her opponent’s lantern into a 
  bed of dry straw, setting it alight.
  HEllFroSt
  40
  
  captaIn SaBat InuSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Midmark; Occupation: Sea 
  captain; Patron Deity: Neorthe.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Boating d8, Climbing d4, Fighting d8, knowl-
  edge (Area: The Seas) d6, Streetwise d6, Swimming d6, 
  Throwing d6
  Charisma: –1; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Illiterate, loyal, one Eye
  Edges: Sea legs*, Styrimathr
  Languages: Anari, Saxa, Trader
  * See Region Guide #8
  BackGround
  Sabat grew up on the coast of Midmark, the son of a 
  humble fi sherman. As a child he learned to gut fi sh and 
  mend nets before taking his turn riding the perilous sea 
  in search of its bounty. He had no need to learn his let-
  ters as a boy, and to this day has never bothered learning 
  to read and write.
  Although Midmark took no offi cial action during the 
  orc invasion of southern vestmark, many captains saw the 
  chance to make a profi t ferrying weapons and warriors 
  to the besieged city of ostersund. Sabat enlisted as an 
  oarsman on a snekke, not because he craved adventure, 
  but because he felt it was his duty as a fellow Saxa. 
  For the best part of his late adolescence and early man-
  hood, he sailed the treacherous Crystal Sound, battling 
  orcs and sea monsters to keep the vital supply line open. 
  Save for the loss of his right eye to an orc blade during a 
  boarding action, he survived his tour unscathed.
  Embittered by watching his comrades drown or be 
  cut down by orc buccaneers, frustrated that while his 
  comrades died the king of vestmark did nothing to help 
  liberate ostersund, and seeing the fi nancial rewards 
  grow smaller and smaller each trip, Sabat resigned his 
  post fi ve years ago, having survived ten years on what 
  had become known as the “Death Run.”
  Sabat’s captain was hard but fair. Those who served 
  him well were amply rewarded from the riches vestmark 
  offered the mercenaries, and the loss of his eye gained 
  him a sizeable weregild payment taken from the orcs’ 
  plunder. A man of simple tastes and few needs, Sabat 
  saved his wages while his shipmates squandered theirs 
  on women and drink. When he left, he had wealth 
  enough put away to buy his own knarr.
  For several years Sabat and his crew operated as inde-
  pendent contractors, hauling cargo and passengers up 
  and down the relatively safe waters of the Crystalfl ow. 
  While he earned enough to keep his crew fed and his 
  ship seaworthy, Sabat found life dull. Although loathe to 
  admit it at fi rst, the captain missed the fearful tension 
  and constant threats that came with sailing the Death 
  Run. Back then, he mused, he valued every minute of 
  his life, for the shadow of death followed every ship that 
  hoisted sail for ostersund.
  Sabat recently acquired an old map indicating the lo-
  cation of the fabled Isle of Maera. He plans an expedition 
  to the island, but fi rst he needs to earn enough money to 
  buy a large ship and hire a stronger crew. To that end, he 
  has began engaging in smuggling, as well as ferrying pas-
  sengers whose business they would rather keep quiet.
  dEScrIptIon
  Constant exposure to sun, wind, and salt spray has 
  turned Sabat’s skin the color and consistency of leather. 
  The skin on his palms is rough and hard after a lifetime 
  hauling ropes and pulling oars. His long hair and braided 
  beard are sun bleached and wiry from salt spray. Sabat is 
  missing his right eye. He is never seen without a pipe 
  clenched between his teeth, though he rarely smokes.
  His clothing is woven of heavy wool and treated with 
  seal oil to waterproof it. During rough weather he dons 
  a set of worn sealskin waterproofs. A dagger, encased in 
  a sharkskin scabbard, hangs from his belt.
  mannErISmS
  life at sea is hard, and it leaves its mark on a man. 
  Sabat always checks the palms of new crew and passen-
  gers, stroking the skin with his callused hands. Those 
  whose skin displays trappings of hard work are met with 
  a knowing nod, while those unaccustomed to physical 
  labor are greeted with a disdainful look.
  The veteran mariner is a man of few words, a trait he 
  values in others. He judges those who wish to sail with 
  him by their actions, not their boasts or fl owery speech. 
  He is the master of his ship and dislikes others telling 
  him his business. Those who disagree with him are casu-
  ally told they have two choices—shut up or get off.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  4
  
  nIcHolaS ap-danaIn
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Heligioland; Occupation: Ex-
  plorer, numismatist, and travel writer; Patron Deity: 
  Hoenir.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d6, knowledge (Area: Freelands) d4, 
  knowledge (Area: liche-lands) d4, knowledge (Area: 
  The Magocracy) d4, knowledge (Area: The Marklands) 
  d6, knowledge (Folklore) d6, Notice d6, Persuasion d6, 
  Riding d6, Streetwise d8, Survival d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 4; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Curious, lame, quirk (collects coins)
  Edges: Connections (Cult of Hoenir), World-Wise
  Languages: Anari, Heligi, Saxa, Trader
  BackGround
  Born and raised in a popular Heligioland tavern, 
  Nicholas suffered a childhood illness that left him 
  crippled in one leg. Unable to play “huscarls and orcs” 
  with the other village kids, he spent his days working 
  for his parents, earning a few silvers cleaning travellers’ 
  equipment and clothes. Believing he would never travel, 
  he spent the evenings sitting among the tavern’s patrons, 
  questioning them about their homeland and customs.
  It was at this time he developed an interest in nu-
  mismatics. Although the scield is the universal currency, 
  each realm mints its own coins. over the centuries since 
  the scield was fi rst adopted, each nation has minted 
  many dozens of variations. While the other kids spent 
  any coins they earned on sugary treats, Nicholas kept 
  one of each, ordering them by realm and then by date. 
  He developed something of a reputation in Heligioland, 
  and adventurers would call on the tavern just to fl ick the 
  youth an unusual coin to add his collection.
  Shortly after his 14th birthday a cleric of Hoenir stayed 
  at the tavern. He and Nicholas talked long into the night, 
  the cleric fi lling his head with stories of lands the young 
  man had never heard of. knowing that no visitors from 
  these distant lands would ever come to Heligioland, 
  Nicholas decided he would go to them.
  Despite his infi rmity, Nicholas’ parents had never 
  mollycoddled him or prevented him from doing what 
  he wanted. Realizing that insisting he stay at the tavern 
  would break his heart, they used what little money they 
  had saved to buy their son a horse to help him on his 
  travels. Although he regularly sends letters home, he 
  has not returned to Heligioland in the better part of a 
  decade.
  After a brief foray into the liche-lands, about which 
  he had heard much (and now never wishes to visit again), 
  he headed south, passing beyond Hellfrost keep into the 
  warmer Hearthlands. Realizing he could never store all 
  the knowledge he was learning in his head, he began re-
  cording his travels and fi ndings. At fi rst they were a travel 
  journal, a shorthand list of what he had learned, but as 
  time passed he began to write them up more formally, 
  setting down the many customs and seemingly endless 
  amounts of local folklore so that others might in turn 
  learn from his experiences. Constantly in need of writ-
  ing equipment and somewhere to store his journals, he 
  quickly made many contacts among the cult of Hoenir.
  Although currently still exploring the Hearthlands, 
  Nicholas is keen to head further afi eld in the near future. 
  While he is not suited to a life of active adventuring, his 
  social skills, connections, and wide-ranging knowledge 
  would make him a valuable asset to any travelers intent 
  on exploring new lands.
  dEScrIptIon
  Despite spending his days travelling the wilds, Nicho-
  las takes great pride in his personal appearance. His 
  beard is well-trimmed, his hair always combed, and his 
  clothes kept as clean as circumstances allow. He wears 
  tough adventuring clothes—a thick woolen shirt, leather 
  trousers, and knee-high boots. over those he wears a 
  reversible cloak; mud-brown on one side and gray-white 
  on the other.
  mannErISmS
  Nicholas suffers from curiosity, especially when it 
  comes to local customs and coins. Although he has trav-
  elled extensively, he knows that while each realm has a 
  unique identity so do the provinces and settlements that 
  form them. He has little interest in wealth, though he al-
  ways keeps an eye out for coins to add to his collection.
  Years of dealing with strangers in the tavern prepared 
  Nicholas for life in the wider world. He is a good judge of 
  character, and adept at ingratiating himself with others. 
  He is polite, an attentive listener, and knows just enough 
  about the southern realms to put travellers at ease by 
  speaking of their homeland in familiar terms.
  HEllFroSt
  42
  
  StEFan ap-pEto
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Chalcis; Occupation: Pala-
  din; Patron Deity: The Norns.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d8, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d8, Gambling d6, Notice d6, 
  Stealth d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: –1; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Curious, Habit (Minor: staring), orders, 
  quirk (leaves thread on corpses)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections 
  (Cult of the Norns)
  Languages: Anari, Black Tongue, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait, precognition
  Special: Due to his gift, once per session Stefan can elect 
  to grant a +2 or –2 modifi er to a single Trait roll made 
  by a living creature within his line of sight. The modifi er 
  must be declared in advance of the roll.
  BackGround
  A cleric of the Norns performing the Fate Day ritual 
  is an omen. Stefan was attended by three clerics as he 
  entered this world in utter silence. Each took the babe in 
  their arms and whispered into his ear in turn.
  Stefan was an odd child. He didn’t talk until he was 
  fi ve years old, though it was apparent to all that he 
  understood what others were saying to him. His fi rst 
  words were to his grandfather, a devout follower of Thu-
  nor—“The raven will knock thrice, and then you’ll fl y 
  away with it.” That night, a lone raven entered the house 
  and tapped thrice on the old man’s bed with its beak. He 
  died shortly afterward of natural causes.
  Throughout his youth he remained a quiet child, 
  speaking only to reveal some cryptic glimmer of insight 
  into the future. Perhaps not surprisingly, he had few 
  friends. on his 10th birthday, a priestess of the Norns 
  came to his parents’ house and offered to train Stefan. 
  His parents agreed without hesitation, for some of their 
  neighbors were whispering the boy was mad, or worse, 
  guided by an evil hand.
  Stefan learned quickly, mastering the complex rela-
  tion between free will and preordained destiny faster 
  than his mentor believed possible. Throughout his train-
  ing he remained largely silent, except when his mentor 
  spoke of demons, golems, undead, and other creatures 
  not bound to the Norns’ loom. They presented Stefan 
  with a conundrum he has yet to solve.
  He understood that demons existed before Time, 
  which began when the Norns fi rst wove the threads of 
  fate, and thus fell outside their jurisdiction. But it was 
  the Norns who decreed that mages and necromancers 
  would create soulless creatures, for without the threads 
  being woven such acts could not have come to pass. 
  After endless circular arguments he decided that what-
  ever the truth, the abominations could not be allowed 
  to continue their eternal existence. on his 13th birthday, 
  Stefan took the holy vows of a paladin.
  His relationship with his mentor ended a year later. 
  one night, Stefan drew a single thread from his cloak and 
  handed it to her. Grasping the meaning at once, his men-
  tor thanked him, for he had given her a great gift—the 
  time to make her fi nal peace and prepare for her death. 
  The following day, she was killed after being thrown from 
  her horse. Since that day Stefan has wandered Rassilon, 
  silently ending the existence of soulless creatures, and 
  subtly guiding those with a great destiny toward their 
  fate, for the will of the Norns cannot be ignored.
  dEScrIptIon
  Stefan prefers the full beard and long hair common 
  to Saxa, rather than the neatly trimmed, clean-shaven 
  look of the Anari. His chestnut brown mane clashes with 
  his emerald green eyes. His eyes appear slightly dull and 
  glazed, as if he is staring at some distant object. otherwise 
  well-kept, his cloak is heavily frayed, leaving the threads 
  loose. The only ornamentation he wears is a leather 
  bracer on his right arm embossed with a sandglass, and a 
  silver brooch in the guise of a weaving loom.
  mannErISmS
  Stefan has the unsettling habit of staring at people 
  and smiling wryly, as if he knows something they do not. 
  Combined with his taciturn nature, he comes across as 
  slightly odd. When he does choose to speak, he is lacon-
  ic, saying very little but imparting a lot of information. 
  Unfortunately, he is prone to speaking cryptically, leaving 
  others to discern the true meaning of his few words.
  Each time he kills, he draws a single thread from the 
  hem of his cloak and lays it on the corpse, a reminder 
  that the Norns control a creature’s destiny, and that all 
  threads are cut at some point.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  43
  
  SkYlIon
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Nordmark; Occupation:
  Huscarl; Patron Deity: Thunor.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d10, Healing d6, Intimidation d6, Notice 
  d4, Riding d8, Throwing d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 7; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Enemy (Minor: frost giant), Heroic, loyal
  Edges: Beast Master (Griffi n)
  Languages: Battletongue, Giant, Saxa
  BackGround
  Named Torvald Cuthbertsunu at birth, the boy who 
  would later become Skylion grew up playing with the 
  scions of Nordmark’s high nobility and royalty, including 
  the current king. Torvald’s father was a huscarl in the 
  old king’s household. A simple man of common stock, 
  Cuthbert’s service had nonetheless earned him the non-
  hereditary title of ridder.
  Torvald killed his fi rst man at 13. Following the king’s 
  untimely death, Cuthbert remained at his post, defending 
  the royal place against rival claimants, and buying young 
  Prince Geirmund time to fl ee to the west. His loyalty cost 
  him his life. As the usurpers’ armies battled for control 
  of the capital, Cuthbert was felled by a sword. Without 
  hesitation, Torvald, who was acting as a squire, snatched 
  up his father’s fallen spear and rammed it through the 
  assassin’s chest. 
  Fleeing the rapidly unfolding civil war, Torvald found 
  his way to the stead of lendmann (now Jarl) Bard Styr-
  sunu, an old friend of his father and a loyal supporter of 
  the rightful king. on hearing his tale, Bard ordered the 
  lad be given martial training. Two years later, Torvald, 
  having blossomed into manhood, took his place along-
  side the other huscarls beneath the fl uttering banner of 
  his old childhood friend, Prince Geirmund.
  During the campaign, Torvald was part of a small band 
  sent to hound elements of the usurpers’ armies attempt-
  ing to take refuge in the Thunor Range. Separated from 
  his comrades in a blizzard, the young huscarl sought 
  shelter in a cave. He quickly discovered it was a larder, 
  wherein something monstrous kept griffi n carcasses and 
  a vast store of huge eggs (no doubt those of griffi ns, he 
  surmised). Torvald’s musings were cut short by a huge 
  pair of hands—the blue-white hands of a frost giant.
  Dragged before the giants’ jarl, Torvald swallowed 
  his fear, held his head high, and proclaimed himself a 
  servant of king Geirmund, in whose lands and under 
  whose authority the giants’ dwelt. Angered at the youth’s 
  statement, the jarl ordered the proud warrior be thrown 
  back to his king. As the giants moved to grab him, Tor-
  vald darted for the nearest escape route he could see—a 
  chained griffi n. Without fear he leapt onto its back, sliced 
  through the chain with his sword, kicked its fl anks, and 
  held on for dear life as it shot out through one of the 
  huge window slits in the giant’ fortress.
  Torvald fl ew to his liege’s camp, whereupon he told 
  the king his tale and presented him the beast as a gift. 
  Geirmund gazed into the creature’s eyes for long min-
  utes before insisting his huscarl keep it. “I have no need 
  of such a beast with a lion of the sky among my huscarls,” 
  he said. Thus did Torvald become known as Skylion.
  Three years have passed, and the griffi n remains with 
  Skylion, serving as his mount in gratitude for the human 
  saving its life. With the king distracted by the task of re-
  building his shattered realm, Skylion has taken it upon 
  himself to help expand Geirmund’s army in a way that 
  will enable the monarch to dispatch troops quickly to 
  any part of the realm. He is seeking worthy companions 
  to return to the mountain and steal griffi n eggs from the 
  giants’ hold. In a few years he hopes Nordmark will boast 
  an aerial cavalry company, with him as its captain.
  dEScrIptIon
  Barely out of his teens, Skylion’s body has never quite 
  developed. His facial hair is soft and downy, the mark of 
  an adolescent, forcing him to keep it short. He wears his 
  hair equally short, claiming that long hair is too easy for 
  an enemy to grab. The only scar he bears from his time 
  on campaign is a broken nose.
  mannErISmS
  Skylion comports himself with dignifi ed bearing, but 
  is never condescending or arrogant. His speech is formal 
  and stilted, the mark of a man used to dealing with the 
  nobility, yet who does not rank among their number, and 
  who holds a special place in society to which he has yet 
  to become accustomed.
  HEllFroSt
  44
  
  ladY adElInE ap-BovErt
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Aspiria; Occupation: Reluc-
  tant adventurer; Patron Deity: Eostre Plantmother.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d6, Healing d6, Intimidation d6, knowl-
  edge (Heraldry) d4, Notice d6, Riding d6, Taunt d8, 
  Throwing d6
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Clueless, Stubborn, Wanted (Minor: by her 
  father—he has hired investigators to track her down)
  Edges: Noble*
  Languages: Anari, Classical Anari, Fey
  * Grants Charisma bonus only. Given +1 Skill point to 
  make up for the loss of income.
  BackGround
  lady Adeline is the only daughter of a wealthy Aspirian 
  vintner. Her family holds the title Count-Baron by dint of 
  his impressive vineyard.
  She was a troublesome child, prone to temper tan-
  trums if she didn’t get her way, constantly demanding 
  attention, and refusing to lift her fi nger and perform 
  anything even resembling manual labor (such as tidying 
  away her clothes or combing her own hair).
  Her father, a patient man, but one with fi nite limits, 
  began searching for a suitable husband as soon as his 
  daughter turned 12. While Adeline had fanciful notions 
  of marrying a handsome baron, her father favored an 
  economic union that would join his vineyard with that 
  of another lesser noble.
  Adeline did not meet her intended husband until the 
  night before the wedding was due to take place. Sneak-
  ing out of her room, she peered through the door of 
  the grand hall as her father welcomed his future son-in-
  law. Adeline’s heart almost stopped, for there stood not 
  a handsome young man with strapping muscles, but a 
  bloated pig of a man, with greasy locks and beady eyes.
  She ran to her mother, pleading with her to call off 
  the marriage, but it was to no avail. Distraught, she fl ed 
  to her room in tears and bolted the door. No one noticed 
  her absence until an hour before the ceremony was due 
  to begin, when guards, sent to escort her to the temple, 
  had to break down the door. Adeline was gone. Unwilling 
  to marry her father’s choice, the young girl had packed a 
  bag, stolen a horse, and fl ed into the night. 
  A year later, Adeline is still on the run from her father, 
  who lost a lot of face (not to mention a profi table busi-
  ness partnership) when his daughter absconded. 
  Adeline has drifted across the continent, tagging 
  along with numerous adventuring parties for safety and 
  as a means of earning a crust. She is desperate to fi nd a 
  husband, one that ticks all the boxes on her list of what 
  an ideal mate should be—titled, rich (preferably very 
  rich), handsome, and totally attentive to her every de-
  sire. Adeline would actually make someone a fi ne wife, if 
  she grew out of her childish ways, that is.
  dEScrIptIon
  An attractive girl with hard-lined features, Adeline 
  tries her best to keep herself presentable, no easy task 
  given her current lifestyle. She wears her auburn hair 
  pulled back and tied in a single braid. Her large, blue 
  eyes are the only soft features on her face, She highlights 
  them using a mixture of wood ash and berry juice.
  Years spent trudging through the wilderness have 
  ruined all her decent clothes, leaving her nothing but 
  the sturdy and unattractive garb common to adventur-
  ers. She wears a thin silver circlet adorned with a single 
  bloodstone across her brow, and a silver cloak clasp fash-
  ioned to look like a coiled grapevine. Each “grape” is a 
  deep purple alestone chip.
  mannErISmS
  Although 16 and legally an adult, lady Adeline re-
  mains a spoiled child. If she doesn’t get her way, or if or-
  dered to do something she fi nds disdainful, she crosses 
  her arms, furrows her brow, purses her lips, and stares 
  intently. Pushed too far, she breaks into tears and fi ts of 
  sobbing. Even when forced to comply, she does so reluc-
  tantly and half-heartedly, hoping that someone will take 
  pity on her and relieve her of her duties.
  She constantly whines at every little thing she fi nds 
  displeasing—her clothes are dirty, the ground is too 
  hard, her food isn’t cooked properly, no one is treating 
  her with the proper respect her title deserves, and so on. 
  The only time she stops is when she is asleep. Despite 
  several years on the road, she remains totally clueless 
  about life outside the nobility.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  45
  
  mItcH WulFrIcSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Angmark; Occupation: Ea-
  ger torch bearer; Patron Deity: Freo
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d4, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Boating d6, Climbing d6, Fighting d6, Notice d4, 
  Stealth d4, Survival d4, Tracking d4, Throwing d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5 Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Inept (Major)*, loyal, overconfi dent
  Edges: luck, Scavenger
  Languages: orcish, Saxa, Trader
  BackGround
  Mitch wanted to be an adventurer for as long as he 
  can remember. Growing up in the bustling port of leir-
  vik, he would listen to adventurers’ tales and the poems 
  of skalds with wide-eyes, slack-jaw, and undisguised 
  admiration. Such was his fondness for heroic stories that 
  he neglected his studies and sought reports of heroic 
  endeavors while his peers were learning a trade. Before 
  he knew it, Mitch was an adult. With no particular skills 
  of note, he had little hope of earning a living as anything 
  other a laborer. But Mitch had a plan—he was going to 
  be a famous hero!
  At the age of 17, Mitch fi nally managed to convince a 
  band of would-be heroes to take him along on their next 
  adventure, accepting a position as torch bearer and pack 
  mule in return for a half-share of any spoils.
  The party headed north into the western Icebarrier, 
  where rumors indicated there stood the remains of a old 
  temple abandoned during the Blizzard War. The trip was 
  an unmitigated disaster. Ill-prepared, the adventurers 
  lost two of their number during a blizzard. The survivors 
  managed to locate the crumbling temple, only to dis-
  cover it was now inhabited by orcs. Driven by gold lust, 
  the party began their exploration. They emerged a day 
  later, marginally wealthier than when they entered, but 
  only because another three party members had died.
  on reaching civilization, Mitch immediately began to 
  tell the story of their “heroic” exploits against a fearsome 
  foe. He expected cheers and handshakes, perhaps even 
  some praise, but all he received was jeers and mocking 
  laughter. It was an ignominious start to his adventuring 
  career, but Mitch vowed to keep trying.
  He has since served a dozen adventuring groups as a 
  torch bearer, two as a full member, and explored count-
  less ruins. Although his exploits have gone unnoticed by 
  the world at large and his pockets remain empty of coin, 
  Mitch’s enthusiasm remains as great as ever.
  Despite nearing middle age, Mitch still spends his 
  days hanging around taverns in the hope of fi nding more 
  adventuring work. He’s not fussy whether he’s hired as 
  a lowly torch bearer or as a full party member, so long 
  as he can earn a crust and prove how useful he is. He 
  hasn’t achieved his dream of becoming famous yet, but 
  he remains confi dent it won’t be long before the right 
  opportunity comes along.
  dEScrIptIon
  A man in his late thirties, Mitch has a thick red beard 
  and a shock of auburn hair. His blue eyes glitter like dia-
  monds at the thought of adventure and excitement.
  Mitch owns a lot of equipment, believing it is best to 
  be prepared for any eventuality, no matter how remote 
  it might seem. Most of his gear is second-hand or scav-
  enged from corpses.
  mannErISmS
  Mitch visibly brims with exuberance and confi dence. 
  He is always the fi rst to volunteer for any task, gleefully 
  ignoring that he might not be the best suited. Possessed 
  of indomitable spirit and stamina, he is always pushing 
  to continue on for another hour when others want a rest, 
  to give battle when others favor prudence, and to stand 
  when others elect to run.
  Nothing has yet managed to dampen his spirits—he 
  handles criticism with furious nodding, and rebukes 
  fl y over his head. Even when things go horribly wrong, 
  Mitch sees it as just another opportunity to shine. More 
  annoying than all this is his constant, cheerful whistling.
  *nEW HIndrancE
  InEpt (mInor/maJor)
  For some reason the character isn’t as skilled as 
  others. He might be lazy, stupid, a slow learner, or just 
  raised in isolation. The hero receives 2 fewer Skill points 
  with the Minor version and 4 fewer with the Major ver-
  sion. Points earned from taking this Hindrance cannot 
  be spent on Skills.
  HEllFroSt
  46
  
  BErnard
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Freelands; Occupation:
  Paladin; Patron Deity: Scaetha.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d8, knowledge (The Withered 
  lands) d4, Notice d6, Stealth d6, Survival d6, Taunt d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Death Wish, Habit (Major: alcohol addic-
  tion), orders, Yellow
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections 
  (Cult of Scaetha), liquid Courage
  Languages: Anari, Black Tongue, Trader
  Powers: Smite, weaken undead
  BackGround
  To see Bernard as he is now, one could be forgiven for 
  believing the stories about his past exploits are fanciful 
  fabrications of imaginative skalds.
  Bernard was 11 when he fi rst encountered the cult of 
  Scaetha. A band of grim-faced, dour warriors turned up at 
  his village one morning and began mustering the militia. 
  A small undead force had left the Withered lands, and 
  the village lay in their path. Too young to fi ght, Bernard 
  watched the preparations through the window of his 
  home, marveling as the holy warriors set men to work 
  building defenses and prayed for strength in the coming 
  battle, displaying no emotion as what might be their last 
  few hours on the mortal realm passed.
  His admiration for them grew greater still when, dur-
  ing the fi ght, the village militia fl ed in terror, leaving the 
  small band of paladins standing alone. Although several 
  were cut down, the rest remained resolute, eventually 
  winning the day through a combination of faith and steel. 
  Bernard knew then that it was his destiny to become a 
  paladin of Scaetha.
  At the age of 13 he was apprenticed to the local 
  temple to begin his training. Many clerics argued against 
  his appointment, claiming he had never tasted the fear 
  of death expected of candidates. Bernard forced them to 
  eat their words, for he showed no signs of fear as he was 
  shown mangled corpses and the aftermath of battles, nor 
  did he quail when told of the fearsome powers of the 
  undead. Bernard took his holy vows at the tender age of 
  15, entering the order of paladins a year later. 
  His service has taken him to the most feared lands 
  on the continent. He braved the bleak, haunted liche 
  lands, casting his gaze upon the divine seals on the liche 
  Priest’s tomb. He spent two years fi ghting frost wights 
  alongside the garrison at Icedale. He ventured into the 
  Withered lands more than once, searching for clues to 
  the disappearance of the feared liche Angtharinax, and 
  bringing the second death to many fell horrors that 
  lurked in its gloomy expanse. 
  His name is still spoken of reverentially in the cult, 
  for among the many undead he has slain, none were as 
  great or as feared as the vampire warlord Blackfang, who 
  Bernard bested in single combat on the steps of an ac-
  cursed temple of Hela deep in the heart of the Withered 
  lands.
  But the years spent faithfully serving the goddess of 
  death took their toll on Bernard, insidiously gnawing 
  away at his faith and his spirit. He witnessed many friends 
  die fi ghting for an endless cause against legion enemies. 
  He experienced fi rst hand the gut-wrenching horrors 
  and twisted malevolence of the Withered lands, carrying 
  the burden of fear the realm generates on his soul.
  His slide into abject despair was as gradual as it was 
  total. A stiff drink before battle, excuses to avoid entering 
  haunted lands, reluctance to lead the charge. For the last 
  two years Bernard has wandered the lands, trying des-
  perately to avoid his holy duties. When he must fi ght, he 
  seeks courage in hard liquor. In times of peace, he drinks 
  to forget the death and horror he has witnessed.
  dEScrIptIon
  Years of heavy drinking have left the paladin with 
  ruddy cheeks, a red nose, and deep bags under his sunk-
  en, bloodshot eyes. He frequently goes months without 
  trimming his beard or hair, and his personal hygiene is 
  poor. His breath reeks of cheap, strong alcohol.
  mannErISmS
  Bernard has lost his nerve and is in serious danger 
  of losing his faith. once a proud warrior, he now avoids 
  eye contact and physical confrontation, hiding his shame 
  and trying to erase the memories of his past in a bottle 
  of cheap grog. He is morose and morbid at the best of 
  times, but grows increasingly worse the more he has to 
  drink. Where once he would have led, he now prefers to 
  shelter behind his comrades’ shields.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  47
  
  Wood WardEn EllEnEIrlIr
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: Angarion; Occupation:
  Wood warden; Patron Deity: Eostre Plantmother.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Druidism d6, Fighting d6, Notice d6, Shooting 
  d8, Stealth d6, Survival d6, Tracking d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Bloodthirsty (Minor version 
  affecting only orcs and those who despoil forests), or-
  ders, Phobia (Minor: Claustrophobia), Small
  Edges: Agile, Arcane Background (Druidism), Connec-
  tions (Wood Wardens), Forest Born, low light vision, 
  Natural Realms, Wood Warden
  Languages: Fey, Hearth Elven, orcish
  Powers: Barrier, beast friend (+2 to cast), entangle, 
  voice on the wind
  BackGround
  Elleneirlir’s parents died when she was young, am-
  bushed by orcs while gathering herbs. She displayed no 
  emotions during the funeral rites, took no comfort in 
  the well-meaning condolences offered her, and shed not 
  a single tear during the mournful dirges. Instead, she 
  stared impassively as her parents were laid to rest.
  The orphan was adopted by her father’s brother, a 
  wood warden captain. His duties left him little time for 
  his niece, though he loved her as his own daughter. For 
  her part, Elleneirlir remained aloof, refusing to display 
  any affection in public or private. Although she had in-
  tended to become a druid like her mother, she began the 
  journey down a different road. While the other children 
  played after their druidic studies, Elleneirlir practiced ar-
  chery alone, fi ring arrows at target dummies with a cold 
  stare until her young muscles ached.
  Upon reaching adulthood (30 years old) she declared 
  her intention to join the wood wardens, something her 
  uncle took with a mixture of pride and concern, for he 
  saw behind her eyes the desire for bloody vengeance 
  rather than the desire to protect the forest from all harm. 
  Despite his misgivings, the ancient laws forbade him from 
  refusing her, so long as she passed the fi nal test—slaying 
  an orc warrior. After years of theoretical and practical 
  exams, Elleneirlir departed her village to claim her right 
  to wear the hallowed badge of the wood wardens. She 
  returned a week later and dumped the heads of three 
  orcs at the captain’s feet.
  Now 80 (approximately 25 in human terms), Elle-
  neirlir remains a wood warden. Her desire to slay orcs 
  and protect the forests has carried her beyond the leafy 
  borders of Angarion, though she returns every decade 
  without fail to lay a single fl ower on her parents’ grave.
  dEScrIptIon
  Elleneirlir is very short for an elf, standing barely fi ve 
  feet in her socks. Combined with her slight build, she 
  is almost girlish in appearance. Although attractive, she 
  wears her face as a stern mask, betraying emotions only 
  with her large brown eyes.
  Her clothes are typically elven, well-made yet durable, 
  and colored to bend in with the vegetation of her forest 
  home. over her armor she wears a heavy, fur-lined, wa-
  terproof cloak of green and brown hues. An iron brooch 
  fashioned in the wood warden symbol—a cluster of oak 
  leaves growing from a stylized sun disc—fastens the 
  cloak just below her angular chin.
  mannErISmS
  Elleneirlir lives behind a serious mask, keeps people 
  at arm’s length emotionally, and prefers her own com-
  pany. Time has not healed the pain she felt at the loss 
  of her parents. She is afraid to open up to others in case 
  she cries, something she sees as weakness, and refuses 
  to form close bonds in case those she cares about die. 
  She says little, preferring not to waste her breath on 
  meaningless small talk. Her inability to speak any human 
  tongues only reinforces her self-imposed isolation.
  Having spent much of her life either outdoors or in 
  the natural environment of an elfhome, she becomes 
  nervous and agitated if confi ned. This only affects her 
  when underground or in small stone buildings. That she 
  is suffering is noticeable only by her constantly clenching 
  fi sts and wide, darting eyes.
  She hates being called Ellen, and refuses to answer to 
  that name under any circumstances. The only thing she 
  hates more is orcs, creatures she shows no mercy.
  HEllFroSt
  48
  
  armoS tHE Black
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Heligioland; Occupation:
  Bandit paladin; Patron Deity: Ellanhere (minor goddess 
  of canines in her Dargar aspect, see page 70).
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d8, Intimidation d8, Notice d6, 
  Survival d6, Tracking d4
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Arrogant, Greedy (Minor), Mean, Wanted 
  (Major: in Heligioland)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Beast Master (war 
  dog), Followers*
  Languages: Anari, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Beast friend (canines only), fear
  Special: In return for taking an additional Major Hin-
  drance, Armos has been allowed to take an extra Edge be-
  cause it rounds out his backstory. only his main hound, 
  covered by the Beast Master Edge, is replaced if killed.
  BackGround
  Armos the Black began life as a lowly serf. orphaned 
  by disease, he was taken into the household of a minor 
  nobleman and set to work looking after his master’s 
  hunting hounds, a particularly vicious breed of war 
  dog. Frequently beaten in order to remind him of his 
  place, Armos’ took brutal vengeance on the younger and 
  weaker servants.
  For all his faults, Armos’ master allowed the youth to 
  study with the cult of Ellanhere at the local Eostre tem-
  ple. This was no act of generosity intended to improve 
  his servants’ lot in life—the training intended purely to 
  boost the effi ciency of the hounds. But Armos’ soul was 
  tainted by anger and violence, and he was easily swayed 
  to the darker path of Dargar, god of mindless violence 
  and lord of wolves. In secret he dominated his master’s 
  hounds, besting each of the creatures in physical combat 
  to become the pack’s top dog.
  one summer day, while accompanying his master on 
  a hunt, Armos and the nobleman became separated from 
  the main group, having raced ahead with the hounds. 
  Their quarry, a large boar, gored one of the valuable dogs 
  before escaping into the dense undergrowth. Armos’ 
  lord took his frustration out on his servant, striking him 
  repeatedly with his riding crop and accusing him of in-
  competency. Something in Armos’ soul snapped.
  With a cruel laugh he casually ordered the snarling 
  hounds, already driven into near frenzy by the smell of 
  the blood of one of their own, to attack. Cowered into 
  obedience by the paladin, the dogs brought down man 
  and horse. As his master screamed for mercy, Armos 
  watched, a look of feral excitement on his face as fl esh 
  and muscle was ripped from bone. Hearing the horns of 
  the other hunters, Armos fl ed into the wilds, taking part 
  of the dog pack with him.
  Armos could easily have escaped punishment for his 
  crime—there were no witnesses, and his master was 
  renowned for his cruelty to his dogs. It was an accident 
  waiting to happen. But Armos had no wish to return to a 
  life of servitude—he was a free man at last, the master of 
  his own destiny, and lord of loyal servants.
  Unwilling to bow to others ever again and driven 
  to prove his superiority, the former huntsman took to 
  banditry. For years he has plagued the hinterlands of 
  Heligioland, preying on the weak and killing without 
  conscience, yet never backing down from a fi ght with a 
  superior foe. Such is his reign of terror that the disparate 
  communities have worked together to raise a substantial 
  reward for Armos’ capture.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tall and lean, Armos has a feral look about him. His 
  dark brown eyes are cold and hard, with a gleam not 
  unlike those of a wolf seeking prey. His mouth is perma-
  nently set in a cruel sneer. Several deep scars run across 
  his face, trophies earned in proving his superiority.
  mannErISmS
  Mean, greedy, and excessively violent, Armos keeps 
  his dogs, and those few bandits willing to work with 
  him, in line through fear and intimidation. Any follower 
  who steps out of line or exceeds their authority is given 
  a swift and brutal reminder who is top dog. Due to his 
  clerical vows, his hounds are only rarely beaten. Unlike 
  most bullies, Armos does not back down if threatened 
  by a stronger creature. Instead, he seeks to dominate it, 
  for he knows that a moment of weakness would cost him 
  the support of his hounds, an act which could lead him 
  to become the next victim of their powerful, snarling, 
  saliva-stained jaws.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  49
  
  maarIt vadda
  Race: Finnar; Homeland: The Unclaimed lands; Oc-
  cupation: Protector of the wilds; Patron Deity: Eostre 
  Animalmother.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d6, Healing d6, knowledge (Craft: Jew-
  elry) d6, Notice d4, Riding d6, Shooting d6, Survival d6, 
  Throwing d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Clueless (regarding civilization), Delusion-
  al (Minor: thinks her bear can talk), Small
  Edges: Beast Bond, Beast Master (polar bear)
  Languages: Finnari, orcish, Trader
  BackGround
  Born to a nomadic Finnar tribe in the High Winter-
  lands, Maarit thought her destiny was to follow the ways 
  of her ancestors—learn a useful trade, get married, and 
  sire children. But the Norns had other ideas, and their 
  will cannot be refused for long.
  like most young children she was given the task of 
  tending the reindeer herds while they grazed, watching 
  for predators, keeping the valuable beasts from eating 
  poisonous moss, and such like. on the day her life fate 
  was set in motion she was in the Great Forest, chasing 
  down a calf which had strayed from the herd.
  As she crept up on the lone animal with lasso in hand, 
  arrows whistled from the vegetation, striking the calf 
  dead. Shocked into inaction, she stood helpless as a band 
  of orcs burst into the clearing. She had barely mumbled a 
  prayer to Eostre, asking that her death be quick, when a 
  mother polar bear accompanied by a young cub charged 
  into the orcs, swatting them with its gigantic paws and 
  cleaving through their limbs with its powerful jaws. No 
  orc survived the encounter, but neither did the mother 
  bear. As it lay dying, its blood staining the snow pink, 
  Maarit whispered another prayer to Eostre, this time 
  thanking the bear for its aid and wishing it a speedy jour-
  ney to the next world.
  After covering the carcass in snow to hide its scent 
  from predators, she scooped up the cub and carried it 
  back to her tribe’s camp. Hunters collected the dead 
  bear, for its bones, sinews, and furs were invaluable to 
  her people—Finnar never waste usable animal parts, 
  considering it disrespectful to the beast’s spirit and an 
  affront to both Ullr and Eostre.
  Fully aware the cub would die if abandoned, Maarit 
  adopted it, naming it luminen (Finnari for “Snowy”). The 
  young Finnar and Snowy grew to adulthood together, 
  forming an inseparable bond. Despite being a wild beast 
  by nature, Snowy showed no aggression toward the girl 
  or her tribe, except in defense of Maarit or when ordered 
  to drive away wolves.
  on her 15th birthday, having proven herself an adult, 
  Maarit approached her parents and declared she had 
  received a vision from Eostre, informing her she was to 
  become a protector of the wilds, an itinerant wanderer 
  whom the gods would guide to those in need of assis-
  tance. As is normal when a Finnar decides to fi nd his own 
  path in life, Maarit’s family gifted her what they could—a 
  spear, a short bow, leather armor, a saddle (Maarit being 
  small enough to ride Snowy), a small felt tent, a month 
  of food, and a sledge to carry her belongings.
  Maarit has spent the last two years roaming the High 
  Winterlands with Snowy, aiding those she comes across. 
  She never stays in one place for long, for the Unclaimed 
  lands are vast and there are many in need of succor.
  dEScrIptIon
  Maarit stands 5’ 2” tall, small for her people. Whereas 
  most Finnar are lean, she is of thin build, which only 
  serves to make her look even smaller. Her brown hair 
  and eyes are almost the same color as her weather-beat-
  en, sun-tanned skin.
  She dresses in simple yet effective winter clothing 
  made of reindeer hide. Her fur belts and the lining of 
  her cloak are made from the fur of Snowy’s mother. She 
  wears a lot of jewelry, all of it homemade from silver or 
  bone, and studded with tiny gems.
  mannErISmS
  Maarit is initially shy around strangers, though she 
  quickly warms to them and opens up if they prove 
  friendly. Generous by nature, she often gives people she 
  encounters gifts of homemade jewelry, both to brighten 
  up their day (and appearance) and because it makes her 
  feel good. She is under the delusion that Snowy can talk, 
  and spends a lot of time consulting with him, something 
  others fi nd a little odd.
  HEllFroSt
  50
  
  arturIuS ap-alEvan
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Shattered Moor (Seithrby); 
  Occupation: Priest and explorer; Patron Deity: kenaz.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d4, Faith d8, Fighting d6, Investigation 
  d6, knowledge (Selari)* d6, lockpicking d6, Notice d6, 
  Stealth d4, Survival d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Anemic, Cautious, Delusional (Minor: be-
  lieves the Selari knew a great secret), orders
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections 
  (Cult of kenaz)
  Languages: Anari, Frosttongue, Selari
  Powers: Deﬂ ection, light
  * Covers folklore, heraldry, history, law, religion, and 
  so on for the extinct Selari culture.
  BackGround
  Although he claims Seithrby as his birthplace, Arturius 
  was a young child when his parents fl ed to Shattered 
  Moor ahead of the advancing army of Aethling Cuthwulf. 
  His family settled in Far Reach, where his father, a smith, 
  quickly set up a forge.
  A sickly child highly susceptible to the cold, Arturius 
  spent his days huddled around the forge for warmth, 
  listening to the rhythmic clang of metal on metal and 
  the stories of adventurers, frequent patrons of his father, 
  who had explored the Shattered Moor. It was from these 
  heroes he fi rst heard of the Selari, whose culture domi-
  nated the northern lands before the Blizzard War.
  Arturius joined the cult of kenaz at the age of 14, 
  drawn by the heat of the temples and the desire to rid 
  the world of the Hellfrost, which he blamed directly for 
  his many ailments. Considered too sickly to become a 
  paladin, he was ordained as a priest and placed in charge 
  of the archives. 
  Although he craved a more active role, the library was 
  warm and comfortable, and Arturius grew to enjoy his 
  sedate life. once again he came across references to the 
  Selari. According to the records their lands were delib-
  erately targeted by the Hellfrost armies, their civilization 
  laid to ruin, their culture exterminated. What, he mused, 
  singled out the Selari for such devastation?
  over the next few years he painstakingly pieced to-
  gether fragments of lore, studying what little knowledge 
  existed regarding the Beacon, Cave of Shadows, and 
  Tomb of the Golden kings, and accidentally uncovering 
  the location of numerous lesser sites previously for-
  gotten, and unexplored for centuries. He came to the 
  conclusion that many of the major ruins fi t together like 
  the pieces of a child’s puzzle, linked in some inextricable 
  way to form a bigger picture.
  To his dismay, he realized that studying books would 
  only lead him so far to solving the riddle. Although still 
  subject to bouts of sickness, his superiors saw the wis-
  dom in his argument that the Selari ruins must be ex-
  plored, mapped, and studied fi rst hand. Several believed 
  as Arturius did that the Selari may have possessed, or had 
  least had knowledge of, a means to defeat the Hellfrost, a 
  secret that cost them everything. 
  Arturius has spent ten summers, a short season this 
  close to the Icewall, studying the Selari ruins. During 
  that time he has unlocked much forgotten lore, though 
  he admits he is no closer to discovering the true secret 
  of the lost culture. He is always willing to accompany 
  adventuring parties headed onto the Shattered Moor, 
  trading knowledge of the location of unexplored ruins 
  in return for protection and help mapping them and 
  recording their ancient texts.
  dEScrIptIon
  Arturius has a long, straight nose, high cheek bones, 
  an angular chin marked by a distinct cleft, and a wide, 
  thin mouth. He dyes his long hair orange, and wears 
  it swept back from his forehead. His fi ngers are long, 
  tapering to fi nely cut nails. His frame is thin, lingering 
  sicknesses preventing him from gaining weight.
  His dresses in the red and orange colors common to 
  his cult, favoring a thick wool shirt and trousers rein-
  forced with leather on the knees when adventuring. A 
  heavy fur-lined cloak wards off the cold, held in place by 
  a gold brooch resembling two curling tongues of fl ame. 
  A single gold ring adorns each hand, each engraved with 
  kenaz’s holy symbol.
  mannErISmS
  Whereas many clerics of kenaz have a fi ery temper 
  and are quick to leap into action, Arturius prefers to 
  think long and hard before he acts. A sickly man, he is 
  frequently wracked by fi ts of violent coughing, and shiv-
  ers even in warm temperatures.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  5
  
  WIlHEIm maErScalSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: vestmark; Occupation: Mur-
  derer and vengeant; Patron Deity: Dargar.
  Attributes*: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d8, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Fighting d8, Intimidation d8, Notice d6, Stealth 
  d6, Survival d6, Tracking d4
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 8; Parry: 6; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: All Thumbs (gnarled hands), Ugly (partially 
  lupine face), vengeful (Major), Wanted (Major: Bernard 
  kunungrsunu, paladin of Sigel)
  Edges: Fleet Footed
  Languages: Beastspeech, Saxa, Trader
  * In return for taking such a horrendous fate and an 
  additional Major Hindrance, Wilheim has an extra 
  point spent in his attributes.
  BackGround
  Wilheim Maerscalsunu lost everything during the 
  orc invasion of southern vestmark. one day he had a 
  loving wife, children, a comfortable home, the next he 
  had nothing save a gaping hole in his soul. Grief rapidly 
  turned to anger.
  He voluntarily enlisted in the army, becoming re-
  nowned for his zeal in slaying orcs, but no amount of 
  orc blood could mend the hole. He began torturing orc 
  captives, infl icting injuries and torments so barbaric that 
  even his battle-hardened comrades could not stomach 
  the sight. Few would serve with him, and he was eventu-
  ally ejected from the army.
  His desire for vengeance had become all-consuming, 
  gnawing away what little humanity remained. He prayed 
  to the gods to grant him the power to enact his revenge. 
  No god answered, but something did.
  one stormy night, Wilheim was approached by a 
  strange, dwarfl ike creature. It said it had heard the hu-
  man’s prayers, and that it knew a ritual, one so ancient, 
  so dark, that it had never been carried out to its full 
  extent. on the fi rst night of the Deorcmonan, Wilheim 
  must kill an innocent with his own hands at the hour of 
  moonrise, rip out its heart, and consume it raw before 
  the next sunrise. Thirteen times the ritual must be car-
  ried out without fail or the magic would end, and the 
  ritual for naught.
  When the fi nal heart, which must be that of a blood 
  relative, was eaten, Wilheim would become a remorse-
  less killer, a creature immune to physical harm, a fi end 
  driven only by its burning desire for vengeance. The ritu-
  al would involve certain physical changes, for no human 
  could host the power the ritual granted. It would also 
  make Wilheim a wanted man, for the gods of light would 
  seek to end the ritual before it could be completed.
  The strange creature departed before sunrise, leav-
  ing Wilheim alone with his thoughts. For two weeks he 
  mulled over the creature’s words and the actions he 
  would have to take to earn his revenge on those that had 
  taken everything he held dear. on the fi rst night of the 
  next Deorcmonan, Wilheim stepped onto a road from 
  which they could be no turning back.
  Three months have passed since that dark, moonless 
  night. Three hearts have been consumed. Wilheim still 
  has a long way to go, but each passing month, each ter-
  rible meal in his stomach, he feels his power, and his 
  desire for vengeance, growing ever stronger.
  dEScrIptIon
  Wilheim stands on the dark border between man and 
  beast, for his form is now neither one nor the other, but 
  some terrible hybrid. His hands, which are concealed 
  beneath gauntlets, are gnarled, the fi ngers stubby, cov-
  ered in dark, wiry hair, and tipped with rough claws. His 
  jaw extends from his face in a short, canine muzzle, his 
  mouth fi lled with jagged teeth. Further changes are no 
  doubt yet to come before the unholy ritual is fi nished.
  He keeps his gruesome visage concealed beneath a 
  tightly-wrapped scarf and a long, wolfskin cloak, reveal-
  ing it to no one.
  mannErISmS
  Wilheim has been driven down a path of utter dark-
  ness by his burning lust for revenge. It has consumed his 
  soul, and now it is consuming his fl esh and his mind. He 
  desires only the completion of the barbaric ritual, and 
  lets no man stand in his way. Although still human, his 
  voice is changing. It is now deeper, harsher, more gut-
  tural, and he is prone to snarling and growling when 
  angry. His appetite has been replaced by the longing for 
  raw fl esh, and he isn’t fussy as to what species.
  HEllFroSt
  52
  
  ulF BEnGtSunu
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Midmark; Occupation: Hus-
  carl; Patron Deity: Rigr.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d8, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Boating d6, Fighting d8, Intimidation d6, Notice 
  d6+2, Streetwise d6, Survival d6, Throwing d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Code of Honor, Illiterate, loyal, vow (Mi-
  nor: Find king orr)
  Edges: Alertness
  Languages: Auld Saxa, Battletongue, Saxa
  BackGround
  The son of a huscarl, Ulf was trained to fi ght and wear 
  armor from an early age, developing a fi ne physique and 
  excellent refl exes. His induction into the king’s huscarls 
  was a formality, for his father was a loyal servant and that 
  Ulf was his father’s son was obvious to all.
  He had served for four years before his father vol-
  unteered to follow king Gust Surnirsunu into the High 
  Winterlands. Night after night for three years he stood 
  watch over the main gate to the king’s palace, patiently 
  watching for the return of his father and his liege. It was 
  at this time he took Rigr as his patron, for his duties as 
  watchman were long and arduous.
  Worry and long hours on sentry duty began to dull 
  his fi ghting edge. To take his mind off his father’s disap-
  pearance and ensure he remained in fi ghting shape, he 
  volunteered for a tour in ostersund, braving the perilous 
  journey across the Crystal Sound to the besieged city. He 
  had intended to remain there for just a year, but when 
  no word of his father’s return reached him he decide to 
  remain where he could best serve the Saxa people.
  on hearing that the king’s son, orr, had come of age 
  and was ready to accept the crown, Ulf, by now a veteran 
  warrior renowned for his tenacity and courage, returned 
  to Midmark to pledge allegiance to the new king and 
  resume his duties as a loyal huscarl. But no sooner had 
  orr taken the throne than he planned to head north in 
  the hope of discovering his father’s fate. Ulf requested 
  permission to accompany the king, as his father had 
  done to his liege. The young lord refused, for he had 
  heard of Ulf’s devotion in maintaining long vigil during 
  Gust’s absence. orr publicly praised his huscarl, stating 
  that he would feel safer knowing he had men such as Ulf 
  watching over his lands while he was away. Ulf protested, 
  as was his right, but it was to no avail.
  Thus Ulf resumed his vigil for a second time. Two 
  years passed without sign or word of the king and his 
  entourage. Ulf vigilance stretched far beyond the pal-
  ace, for he had many friends among the huscarls of the 
  nobles. Although he knew no specifi c details, he knew 
  of plots against the queen—the nobles would not stand 
  for another absentee king. The huscarl approached 
  the queen, informing her of the dissension, and asking 
  permission to track down orr—dead or alive, he must 
  return to Midmark to settle the succession and thwart 
  any possibility of a civil war.
  Although reluctant to lose a trusted ally in perilous 
  times, she granted Ulf permission, seeing wisdom in his 
  words. In order to speed up the search Ulf appointed 
  other huscarls to venture north in different directions. 
  He has been on his quest for almost a year, and while 
  he has discovered nothing concerning orr’s fate, he re-
  mains dedicated to his endeavor.
  dEScrIptIon
  Ulf carries himself tall, for he is a proud Saxa from 
  good stock. He wears his straw-blond hair long, and 
  braids his impressive beard into two strands. His eyes 
  are dark green, the color of a storm-tossed sea. His dress 
  is a little archaic, for Midmarkers have ben slow to adopt 
  new ways. His gear is traditional for a huscarl—spear, 
  medium shield, armored shirt, and a helm. Although old 
  (it being handed down from his father), it is in immacu-
  late condition.
  mannErISmS
  A staunch Midmark Saxa traditionalist, Ulf looks upon 
  and treats Anari as second-class citizens. He refuses to 
  learn their language, or meet them halfway by learning 
  Trader. He lives by the code of his ancestors, prizing 
  confi dence, courage, honesty, loyalty, and piety above all 
  other traits. Although he appears relaxed, he is always 
  alert, noticing and noting small details that may be use-
  ful later. He is always the fi rst to volunteer for sentry duty 
  in the middle of the night, using this time to honor Rigr, 
  his patron, and plot the next step in his quest.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  53
  
  tHE Hand oF maEra
  Race: Anari; Homeland: The Magocracy; Occupa-
  tion: Assassin; Patron Deity: Niht.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d4, Fighting d8, Healing d6, knowledge 
  (Arcana) d6, lockpicking d6, Notice d6, Stealth d8
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Black Sheep, Magic Forbiddance, Wanted 
  (Minor)
  Edges: Arcane Hand*, Arcane Resistance
  Languages: Anari, Classical Anari, Trader
  * She has no Connections or Orders due to being an ex-
  member of the organization.
  BackGround
  No one knows the name of the Arcane Blade, nor 
  where she was born. Indeed, beyond the fact she is a 
  woman, she is a total mystery to those seeking to catch 
  her—and that’s the way she intends things to stay.
  Born Jenni of House Wadehoff, a minor Magocratic 
  family allied to House Wyse, it quickly became apparent 
  that she possessed absolutely no magical talent. The cult 
  of Maera was summoned to investigate the child. After 
  lengthy examinations, they deduced she had absolutely 
  no ties to the threads of magic, being unable even to use 
  alchemical charms. Furthermore, so great was Maera’s 
  curse that the girl was resistant to magic.
  Shamed by their daughter’s curse, her parents gave 
  her to the cult of Maera, washing their hands of the taint 
  to their weak yet proud bloodline. As far as the other 
  houses were concerned, the child was stillborn, earning 
  Jenni’s mother much sympathy among her peers.
  Plucky, obedient, and yet also with a free spirit, Jenni 
  was eventually spotted by a nobleman from House Daro-
  via. on hearing she could work no magic, he purchased 
  the child to train as an Arcane Hand, knowing that she 
  would have no interest in stealing his secrets. Better still, 
  her resistance to magic would make her less susceptible 
  to enemy attacks, and would save him the arduous task 
  of empowering her with spells.
  Jenni served as a secret bodyguard, her true identity 
  as an Arcane Hand known only to her master and men-
  tor. Her master had many enemies, perceived and real, 
  and in addition to her regular duties he employed Jenni 
  as an assassin against his rivals. She thrived on the dan-
  ger, becoming a cold, merciless killer.
  Her master was a cruel lord, fond of punishing his 
  servants for any infraction. During a feast, where Jenni 
  was acting as a serving girl, she accidentally spilled a 
  goblet of wine on her lord’s robes. He reacted swiftly 
  and harshly, blasting her with magic. Her curse saved her 
  life, though the attack left her badly scarred. 
  That night she enacted a bloody revenge, plunging a 
  dagger into her master’s heart. She disguised her crime 
  and faked her own death by torching the manor, know-
  ing full well the authorities would never bother checking 
  for the remains of the servants.
  Masterless, trained as an infi ltrator and killer, skilled 
  at interrupting the spell workings of mages, and capable 
  of resisting their offensive powers, she chose to become 
  a full-time assassin. Calling herself the Hand of Maera, 
  she is both valued and feared by the Magocratic nobles, 
  hunted both to hire and capture. She only accepts 
  contracts on mages (through a network of agents) and 
  charges a high fee. Such is her reputation for success that 
  it is a price those who need rid of their enemies happily 
  pay.
  dEScrIptIon
  Beyond an approximate height and weight, the nobil-
  ity of the Magocracy have no accurate description of the 
  feared assassin, for she wears a black face mask and long 
  leather gloves when working her trade.
  Beneath the mask is a woman with two large scars 
  cutting across the left side of her face. Despite her inju-
  ries, she is not an unattractive woman. Indeed, the scars 
  give her a strange beauty. She wears her raven-black hair 
  long and unbraided, a simple black headscarf keeping it 
  out of her gray eyes. When not on a mission, she dresses 
  in whatever style is unlikely to draw attention. She may 
  wear the drab garb of a peasant woman while walking 
  the market, only to waltz through a court in the extrava-
  gant robes of a nobleman’s servant the next.
  mannErISmS
  The Blade switches her demeanor as often as her 
  outfi ts, adopting whatever mannerisms suit her current 
  disguise. Her true demeanor is one of calculating, icy 
  cold calm. No matter how she is acting, she is constantly 
  analyzing the situation and plotting two steps ahead.
  HEllFroSt
  54
  
  roBErt ap-FortaIt
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Coglelund; Occupation:
  Priest; Patron Deity: Hela.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d4
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d4, Investigation d6, knowl-
  edge (Arcana) d8+2, knowledge (History) d8+2, Per-
  suasion d4, Streetwise d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Anemic, God Cursed (Eira), orders, Pho-
  bia (Refl ective surfaces)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections 
  (Cult of Hela), Scholar
  Languages: Anari, Black Tongue, Classical Anari
  Powers: Sanctuary, zombie
  BackGround
  Robert was born to a life of privilege. His father was 
  a prosperous Coglelund merchant, a man with the ear 
  of Prince leon and who enjoyed great status. With vast 
  sums of money at his disposal any path in life might have 
  been open to him, but the Norns had dealt him a cruel 
  fate, a fate that would lead him down a dark path.
  Robert was a sickly child, always thin and constantly 
  affl icted by illness. The shadow of death fell over him sev-
  eral times, and it was only by sheer force of will the boy 
  survived to adulthood. His parents spared no expense in 
  hiring healers, but all gave the same diagnosis—the boy 
  was incurably ill and would die an early death.
  Apprenticed to his father’s mercantile business, Rob-
  ert began training to be a merchant. His parents hoped 
  he would become a cleric of var, but the Norns once 
  again had plans of their own. Frustrated after yet another 
  serious bout of sickness, Robert went to the local temple 
  of Eira, demanding a healer cure him of his blight and 
  offering a sizeable fee as reward. on being told to his 
  face there was no cure (something his parents had kept 
  from him), Robert lashed out, striking the cleric dead. 
  With his dying breath, he cursed the youth, vowing that 
  Eira would no longer protect him from death.
  Robert’s father managed to cover up the incident with 
  a huge donation, but he disowned the angry young man 
  for bringing shame to his family. Penniless, Robert left 
  Cogleund, vowing to fi nd a cure without Eira’s help.
  It was in the Freelands, while seeking shelter from a 
  storm at a gloomy temple of Scaetha, that he fi rst heard 
  of the liche-Priest and his immortal servants. He at once 
  knew what he must do to survive—he would become 
  an undead. Robert had no wish to become a mindless 
  skeleton or a vampire forced to feed to survive the ages; 
  he wanted the ultimate prize—to become a liche!
  knowing that only the cult of Hela would possess the 
  secret rite necessary to become such a powerful immor-
  tal, he methodically tracked down a cell of cultists. He 
  joined their unhallowed ranks, quickly rising to the posi-
  tion of priest. Although he now worshipped the goddess 
  of undeath in name, he had little true devotion to her 
  long-term cause. The cult served a purpose, and any fell 
  ceremonies he participated in were stomached because 
  they were a means to an end.
  Unfortunately for him, the ritual required to become 
  a liche had been long lost. Indeed, no new liches had 
  existed since the time of the dreaded liche-Priest. Unde-
  terred, for he had not expected instant success, he began 
  scouring the ruins from that era, vainly hoping that one 
  of the diabolical undead lord’s minions had left a record 
  somewhere. Not much of a warrior, he relies on adven-
  turing parties for support, offering them his wisdom 
  in return for their swords. He claims to be a historian 
  searching for relics capable of defeating the soon-to-be-
  released liche Priest.
  dEScrIptIon
  Robert’s poor health has left him gaunt and pale, an 
  image of walking death. His hair has turned prematurely 
  grey and is rapidly thinning. only his eyes, bright green 
  pinpricks shining from his shrunken fl esh, display any 
  vibrancy. He is clean shaven, as is the Anari custom.
  He disdains bright clothing, having discovered it only 
  accentuates his deathly pall. Now he dresses in drab 
  greys, the traditional colors of a scholar. He wears a plain 
  gold ring on his right hand.
  mannErISmS
  Apart from the fi re burning in his eyes, Robert comes 
  across as a typical scholar—slightly dull, studious, and 
  dedicated. He has a growing fear of refl ective surfaces, 
  for his skeletal appearance is a constant reminder the 
  shadow of death stalks him. He visibly shakes and breaks 
  out in a cold sweat on seeing one. Embarrassed by his 
  condition, he puts these uncontrollable panic attacks 
  down to his ailment.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  55
  
  audE ap-HErnaudIn
  Race: Anari-Saxa; Homeland: Heligioland; Occupa-
  tion: Hearth knight; Patron Deity: Sigel.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d8, Strength d6, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Climbing d4, Fighting d8, Healing d6, Notice d6, 
  Riding d6, Survival d8
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Bad Eyes, Cautious, loyal, orders
  Edges: Connections (Hearth knights), Hearth knight
  Languages: Anari, Frosttongue, orcish
  BackGround
  Aude comes from a long-line of Hearth knights, 
  though she is the fi rst woman from her family to enlist. 
  The youngest of fi ve daughters, Aude was always a 
  tomboy, much to her father’s delight and her mother’s 
  dismay. While her sisters mastered cooking, weaving, 
  and running a household, skills vital to securing a good 
  husband, Aude would watch her father training in the 
  training lists, mimicking his moves with a wooden stick 
  while battling imaginary orcs and giants.
  She would walk with him while he patrolled the 
  indomitable walls of Hellfrost keep, where the family 
  lived, fetching him bowls of steaming soup and mugs of 
  warm ale from the kitchens to keep off the chill. She was 
  popular with the knights under her father’s command, 
  whom she served similarly, becoming something akin to 
  an adopted child to those knights without families.
  Sensing that his youngest child would never make 
  anyone a good wife, and regretful the gods had not seen 
  fi t to bless him with a son, her father began to train the 
  growing child. While the girl wanted to wield weapons, 
  her father fi rst built up her physical and mental stamina, 
  instilling in her the belief that a healthy body and mind 
  was key to winning any battle, not strength of arms. 
  During his days off, he would take her into the wilds, 
  instructing her in building shelters and hunting.
  Aude was just 11 when her father, an experienced 
  Sword Captain, led a patrol out of Hellfrost keep to hunt 
  down a band of orcs marauding the western border of 
  Heligioland. He returned laid over the back of his horse, 
  slain by cowardly archers while leading the charge. While 
  his family and peers mourned his passing, Aude grieved 
  hardest of all, for she out of all her family was closest to 
  him. She had lost not just a father, but a role model.
  Aude’s mother tried to steer the girl toward fi nding 
  a husband, or at least learning a worthwhile trade that 
  would serve her well in the future. But Aude made it 
  abundantly clear she intended to follow her father’s 
  footsteps and join the Hearth knights, shouting down 
  her mother by claiming that not to do so would break 
  the family tradition of serving the illustrious order, an act 
  which would dishonor their ancestors.
  Aude expected no favors from the masters of the or-
  der, and she received none. Still, her father had prepared 
  her well, and Aude quickly earned her right to spot the 
  Shield knight’s sacred emblem. Her mother attended her 
  passing out ceremony, but did so with tears in her eyes.
  Now 16, Aude has served with the knights for two 
  years. She has gone on a few patrols and engaged in mi-
  nor skirmishes against goblins, but she has yet to face a 
  truly dangerous foe. In secret, she preys she never will, 
  for although a capable warrior of stout heart and strong 
  sword arm, Aude has no confi dence in her abilities.
  dEScrIptIon
  Aude is pretty in a girlish way, and has yet to develop 
  a full fi gure. Many people mistake her for a boy at fi rst 
  glance. Removing her helmet doesn’t help, for she wears 
  her dark brown hair cut short. Her blue eyes, a gift from 
  her Saxa mother, and mouth are sorrowful even when 
  Aude is enjoying herself. Her long sword, an heirloom 
  handed down her mother’s side, is never far from her 
  hand, being a source of comfort.
  mannErISmS
  Aude is a quiet, contemplative soul, fanatically loyal to 
  her comrades yet more at home with her own company. 
  Although a fully-fl edged Shield knight, she suffers from 
  indecisiveness and a lack of confi dence. She prefers to 
  plan everything in minute detail so as to alleviate the 
  chance of failure and stall having to make a decision that 
  may prove the wrong one. Part of her problem is that 
  she struggles to live up to her father’s reputation, gear-
  ing that she will shame his memory. The other problem 
  is her degenerating eyesight, a result of snow blindness 
  she suffered as a youth that has left her extremely short-
  sighted.
  HEllFroSt
  56
  
  avHoldt FlamEHElm
  Race: Frost dwarf; Homeland: karad Marn; Occupa-
  tion: Rune mage and healer; Patron Deity: Ertha
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d6, Fighting d4, Healing d6, Healing-
  Rune d8, Notice d6, Survival d6, Swimming d4, Throw-
  ing d6
  Charisma: –3; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Habit (Minor: constantly fi dgeting), Heat 
  lethargy, Insular, overconfi dent, Slow, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Rune Magic), low light vi-
  sion, Mountain Born, Tough, Winter Soul
  Languages: Dwarven, Frosttongue, orcish, Trader
  Powers: Healing-Rune (boost/lower trait (Healing and 
  vigor only), healing, succor)
  BackGround
  Avholdt grew up the youngest son of a minor clan 
  elder. With older brothers destined to ascend the seat of 
  power or become military commanders, Bori was left to 
  his own choice when it came to a career. He had initially 
  wanted to be a warrior, but he lacked the typical dwarven 
  fortitude, being something of a runt. Refused permission 
  to enlist, he went around the problem by becoming a 
  rune mage specializing in healing, intending on serving 
  alongside the army should they ever be called to battle.
  While researching something for his mentor, he 
  stumbled across a reference to the moðsognar, the fi rst 
  race of dwarves created by Ertha. He told his mentor 
  of his discovery, believing he had stumbled upon some 
  great secret lost to his people. He was dismayed to learn 
  that not only was knowledge of the fi rst race known, but 
  that the subject was taboo, never to be discussed. Bori 
  maintained an interest in the subject, though he never 
  informed his peers as to the nature of his research.
  Avholdt was present sixty years ago when the orcs 
  invaded his homeland. During the bitter retreat his wish 
  to serve alongside the warriors came true, though it was 
  one he quickly regretted. His head fi lled with stories of 
  courage and honor, he found the reality to be a bloody, 
  violent, soul destroying affair. He expected the mighty 
  dwarf huscarls to wade through their foes, but instead he 
  found himself dragging mangled and dead dwarves from 
  the fi eld of battle. For 20 years he labored, putting aside 
  his feelings and carrying out his duties without question. 
  But the day dawned when he could stomach no more. 
  Playing on his father’s status, he gained audience with 
  Thegn Rugnar. In front of the assembled noble council 
  he raised the matter of the moðsognar, asking why the 
  beleaguered dwarves did not seek the aid of their fore-
  bears. If the legends were true, he argued, then surely 
  victory was assured. Better yet, he continued, with their 
  help the dwarves could retake karad khan from what-
  ever evil had befallen it. Thegn Rugnar fl ew into a rage, 
  ordering the young medic to return to his unit and never 
  speak such words again. Avholdt stood his ground.
  Drawing his knife he vowed that he would fi nd the 
  moðsognar and enlist their aid, even if the thegn was 
  too weak to do so. Before the huscarls could beat him 
  senseless for his insolence, he hacked off great swathes 
  of his beard, invoking the name of Ertha and vowing 
  never to rest or regrow his beard until he had completed 
  his quest and resorted his honor.
  Promptly exiled, Avholdt has spent the past 40 years 
  exploring the labyrinthine passages of the Underearth, 
  desperately seeking a way to reach the hidden lairs of the 
  fi rst race. He is not above enlisting outside help, though 
  he is careful never to reveal his true purpose, for even he 
  has no wish to speak of the moðsognar to non-dwarves.
  dEScrIptIon
  Avholdt is highly unusual in that he has shaved his 
  hair and beard, considered a mark of great shame among 
  his people. He is underweight and generally unfi t, some-
  thing he has never been able to improve.
  He cares little about his general appearance, though 
  as a physician he understands the need to bathe regular-
  ly. His clothes are scruffy, with worn elbows and knees. 
  Frequently they are covered in caked on grime from one 
  of his frequent subterranean expeditions.
  mannErISmS
  Avholdt is fi lled with a nervous energy, a trait rare in 
  dwarves. Whereas most of his kin are sedentary except 
  when it comes to matters of war, Avholdt has to keep 
  moving, even if that means drumming his fi ngers or pac-
  ing up and down.
  When discussing or working toward his goal, his eyes 
  become those of a fanatic: wide, bright, and fi lled with 
  an inner fi re that borders on maniacal.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  57
  
  orYZarIX
  Race: Anari; Homeland: The Magocracy; Occupa-
  tion: Arcanologist and priest; Patron Deity: Maera.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d6, Fighting d4, Investigation d8, knowl-
  edge (Arcana) d8, Notice d6, Persuasion d6, Streetwise 
  d6
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Cautious, City Dweller, Greedy (Major), 
  orders (Cult of Maera & the Reliquary)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Connections 
  (Cult of Maera), Connections (The Reliquary), Reliquary 
  (Arcanologist), Rich
  Languages: Anari, Auld Saxa, Classical Anari. Heligi
  Powers: Dispel, sanctuary
  BackGround
  oryzarix, the son of a courtier of House Tharkness 
  grew up around magic. Although he had absolutely no 
  talent for the art, he found it fascinating, for it offered 
  limitless potential. When he came of age he joined the 
  cult of Maera, studying arcane lore and working along-
  side mages to better understand their art.
  His studies brought the young cleric vast knowledge 
  concerning relics. oryzarix quickly fell under the spell 
  of the enchanted items, desiring to possess one of the 
  fabled items. After years of diligent research, oryzarix 
  uncovered his fi rst minor item. A week later, a stranger 
  called at the temple and asked audience with the cleric.
  He told the young scholar he was an agent of the 
  Reliquary, and that he had an offer to present. He spoke 
  at length to oryzarix over dinner, telling him of the 
  danger of relics, and how the Reliquary was devoted to 
  protecting mankind from his own greed. later that night 
  the stranger offered oryzarix membership in the order, 
  for he had long been watched and displayed the talents 
  necessary to serve as an Arcanologist. Furthermore, his 
  status as a cleric of Maera would grant him access to the 
  cult’s libraries, wherein lay much arcane lore.
  oryzarix accepted without a moment’s hesitation, 
  though purely for selfi sh reasons. He had made it known 
  to a few trusted heahwisards that he had found a relic, 
  and they had offered him huge sums of money. Although 
  the stranger’s arrival had thwarted a sale, with the re-
  sources of the Reliquary at his disposal, he could unearth 
  more relics.
  A decade after entering the Citadel, during which time 
  his service was exemplary, oryzarix was granted rare sta-
  tus, being allowed to travel outside the walls without an 
  escort. He does so as a cleric of Maera seeking to recover 
  relics for the cult, never revealing his true allegiance or 
  purpose. For eight years he has used his dual status to 
  track down numerous relics. To begin with he called 
  upon the services of the Reliqus to retrieve the relics and 
  return them to the Citadel, at least in most instances. He 
  kept a few relics back, quietly selling them to those who 
  could his rates through a network of agents.
  oryzarix’s superiors are becoming suspicious, for in 
  recent years the Arcanologist has found very few relics. 
  What they do not know is that he has unearthed as many 
  as before. Gripped by gold-fever, oryzarix has become 
  a relic trader, caring nothing for their intended use or 
  the morals of their new owner so long as their money is 
  good. He has a secret sanctuary set up in a ruined for-
  tress, from where he runs his elicit business.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tall and lean, oryzarix shows little signs of impending 
  middle age. His thick, light brown hair is long and thick, 
  his chin clean shaven, his skin as smooth as when he was 
  a youth. His fi ngers are long and thin, more like those 
  of a skaldic musician than a scholar. His green eyes are 
  serious, though there is a twinkle behind them.
  mannErISmS
  A man bent on acquiring wealth beyond imagination, 
  oryzarix passes himself off as a humble priest, acting 
  meek and mild, concealing with excitement when a true 
  relic is discovered behind an air of mere curiosity. But 
  once such a treasure is found, his mind begins scheming, 
  plotting a way to acquire the valuable object. 
  Born and raised in the town of Tharkness and spend-
  ing much of his young adult life in the Citadel, oryzarix 
  fi nds the wilderness a vast and frightening place, full of 
  hidden dangers. He is extremely nervous and jumpy out-
  doors, prone to gesticulating wildly at rustling bushes 
  and naively insulting those who live a rural life.
  HEllFroSt
  58
  
  HESElBInE SHarp-tonGuE
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Royalmark; Occupation:
  Skald; Patron Deity: The Unknowable one.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d4, knowledge (Folklore) d8+1, knowl-
  edge (Riddles) d8+1, Persuasion d6, Song Magic d8, 
  Taunt d8
  Charisma: +1; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Illiterate, Pacifi st (Major), quirk (Never 
  takes anything seriously)
  Edges: Arcane Background (Song Magic), Rich
  Languages: Anari, Auld Saxa, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Elemental manipulation, stun, voice on the 
  wind
  BackGround
  Heselbine is the eldest of nine children. While his 
  father worked to feed his brood and his mother tried her 
  best to keep the house clean, their fi rstborn kept his sib-
  lings amused with stories. By the age of ten he was earn-
  ing money as a storyteller, entertaining patrons in the 
  village mead-hall with songs and tales learned from his 
  elders. He attracted the attention of a passing skald. See-
  ing great promise in the young man, he paid for him to 
  enroll in the prestigious Three-Notes Academy. Although 
  upset to lose their childminder, his parents also rejoiced, 
  for as a skald their son could earn a decent living and 
  mingle in the higher echelons of society, perhaps even 
  earning a position in a nobleman’s court. 
  Heselbine proved an adept pupil. Although illiterate, 
  he was capable of memorizing the key points of lengthy 
  and complex tales and fi lling in the gaps around them 
  with his own imagination. A rural peasant, Heselbine was 
  bullied by his wealthier peers. While some might have 
  ran away or resorted to violence, the young skald retali-
  ated with his tongue, mocking his tormentors and mak-
  ing them the subject of ridicule. quickly realizing that 
  harmful words stung as painfully as weapons and that 
  the injuries lasted much longer, Heselbine renounced 
  violence, an oath he has maintained throughout his life.
  His training complete, Heselbine set out into the word 
  to play his trade, His jovial nature and happy-go-lucky 
  attitude gained him work, while his vast repertoire of 
  stories and quick imagination opened many doors. With 
  a knack of relating heroic stories directly to his patrons, 
  thus alluding to them having the same qualities as the 
  heroes of old, he rapidly became a favorite among the 
  Nordmark nobility. As a result, both his reputation and 
  wealth swelled.
  Although he lived a good life and wanted for little in 
  terms of material goods, Heselbine wanted more than 
  playing for generous patrons. He knew that while the 
  stories of old could never be allowed to pass from mem-
  ory, new tales of brave heroes overcoming terrible odds 
  were also required, tales that related specifi cally to the 
  troubles of here and now, not the bygone days of old.
  Heselbine hires himself out as a chronicler, offering 
  adventuring groups the chance to have their exploits re-
  corded in song and verse for posterity. He refuses to lie 
  about heroic deeds, but he is willing to goad would-be 
  heroes into taking risks so as to make their story more 
  interesting.
  dEScrIptIon
  Heselbine suffers from borderline vanity. His beard is 
  immaculately trimmed, his long hair frequently washed 
  and combed, tied back over his ears with a simple leather 
  band, his nails cut neat and short, and his clothes always 
  clean. Even his teeth are white and straight.
  Patronized by the nobility and rewarded well for 
  his entertainment, Heselbine is bedecked in expensive 
  jewelry. A gold torc sits around his neck, a gem-studded 
  brooch fi xes his ermine cloak around his shoulders, and 
  silver ring adorn his nimble fi ngers. His clothes, while 
  wool and linen, are well-woven and stitched, worthy of 
  any senior courtier or lesser nobleman.
  mannErISmS
  Heselbine is a jocular and jovial chap, always crack-
  ing jokes and making light of serious situations. Fond of 
  practical jokes, he claims to have an invisible lute, which 
  he plays with exquisite skill. It is actually a clever use of 
  the elemental manipulation (air) spell accompanied by 
  accurate pantomime actions. 
  Possessed of quick wit and sharp tongue, Heselbine is 
  never at a loss of words. Instead of rebuking others, he 
  uses quips to satirize them, hoping to shame those who 
  have a destiny into decisive action. A man of peace and a 
  shrewd judge of character, he uses well-aimed words to 
  wound his enemies.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  59
  
  EpocHEnrEllIan
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: Angarion; Occupation:
  Bladedancer; Patron Deity: Sigel.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d10, Healing d4, Intimidation d6, Notice 
  d6, Stealth d6, Survival d6, Tracking d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 7; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Clueless (outside of forests), 
  loyal, vow (Minor: complete his quest)
  Edges: Agile, Bladedancer, Forest Born, low light vi-
  sion, Natural Realms, Two Fisted
  Languages: Fey, Hearth Elven, Trader
  BackGround
  on the day Epochenrellian was born his parents re-
  ceived a visit from a cleric of the Norns, a rare event in-
  deed, for hearth elves put little faith in the machinations 
  of the triple goddesses, rarer still because the cleric was a 
  human. As she cut Epochenrellian’s cord and whispered 
  his destiny into his ear, a beam of sunlight fell across the 
  babe’s face, bathing him in Sigel’s divine glory.
  Naturally graceful and as fl uid in his movements as 
  running water, Epochenrellian always wanted to become 
  a bladedancer. As a child he neglected his chores and 
  other duties, preferring to watch the warriors practice 
  their deadly dances. At night, while his parents slept, 
  he stole out from the house, fl awlessly mimicking the 
  complex moves with a pair of stout sticks.
  No one was surprised when the young elf was award-
  ed the twin blades of a bladedancer by his village’s ruling 
  noble. What came as a total surprise to the assembled 
  crowd was that no sooner had the ceremony ended than 
  members of the Shining king’s personal bodyguards, 
  the Brilliant Blades, strode into the village, locked their 
  blades around the panic stricken boy in a protective 
  circle, and demanded Epochenrellian follow them.
  Epochenrellian was marched to the capital and into 
  the Shining king’ palace, an honor few elves of even high 
  noble status had been awarded in the past century. He 
  expected to be greeted by the king’s chamberlain, the 
  king’s spokesman. His heart nearly leapt from his chest 
  when he was informed his audience was with the Shin-
  ing king in person, for no one except the chamberlain 
  had stood in the king’s presence for nigh on 100 years.
  To this day, he refuses to discuss the appearance 
  of his liege with anyone. All he will say regarding the 
  meeting is that the monarch spoke to him in gentle yet 
  authoritative tones, telling the awestruck elf that Sigel 
  had granted him a vision. The sun god told him that the 
  “beacon must be rekindled,” further instructing him that 
  the “one who dances and cuts the dark” was ordained 
  to act as his agent on this quest. Epochenrellian’s name 
  literally translates as the “dancer who slashes through 
  the darkness.”
  Duty bound to obey his liege’s commands, Epochen-
  rellian did so with great humility, immense trepidation, 
  and a healthy measure of abject terror. His task is but a 
  few months old, and the elf warrior is still making his way 
  out of the Hearthlands. Although the elves are famed for 
  their knowledge of olden days, they know little of the 
  modern world beyond their leafy borders, for the realms 
  of other races are of scant interest to them.
  Epochenrellian has no real idea where he must jour-
  ney to fulfi ll his goal. He has heard word of a human 
  culture of Sigel-worshippers known as the Selari, who he 
  believes live far to the north. visiting them seems a good 
  a place as any to begin.
  dEScrIptIon
  Slender and graceful, Epochenrellian has the gaunt, 
  angular features common to his race. His mouth is thin, 
  almost lipless, with down turned corners that give him a 
  glum look. His fi ne, golden yellow hair falls to the middle 
  of his back and is worn swept back in the traditional elf 
  style, held in place by a thin gold band adorned with a 
  sunstone. Two thin braids hand down in front of his ears. 
  His bright green eyes are alert and attentive.
  He wears green and brown leathers, favoring the 
  mobility the lightweight and sturdy material allows over 
  encumbering metal armor. His only weapons are a pair 
  of thin bladed elven short swords, one of the traditional 
  weapons of the bladedancers.
  mannErISmS
  Epochenrellian is a natural hunter—always alert, 
  and ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. He 
  tries to maintain an air of seriousness, but like his kin 
  he is fond of music and dance. He treats strangers with 
  aloofness, sizing them up and waiting for their actions to 
  reveal their true motives. He gives his trust only rarely, 
  but when he does, he would die to protect his friends.
  HEllFroSt
  60
  
  nEorIc ap-Samur
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Blackstone Barony; Occu-
  pation: Resistance leader; Patron Deity: Thunor.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d8
  Skills: Fighting d8, Intimidation d6, lockpicking d8, No-
  tice d6, Stealth d8, Streetwise d6
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 6
  Hindrances: Heroic, loyal, Wanted (Major: agents of Re-
  gent Blackstaff)
  Edges: Noble (currently dispossessed)
  Languages: Anari, Classical Anari, Trader
  BackGround
  life was good for young Neoric. The only son of an 
  important Blackstone knight, he spent his youth hunt-
  ing and feasting while learning the arts of politics and 
  leadership. His life, like those of so many of the barony’s 
  citizens, changed 15 years ago.
  His father was a loyal supporter of Baron Godwin. 
  When the baron died, he was the fi rst to speak out against 
  orol Blackstaff taking the title of Regent, claiming that 
  it was the right of the College of knights to guide the 
  people until young Pendel came of age. Within weeks, 
  Neoric’s father was accused of sedition and arrested. A 
  jury of his peers, hand picked by the Regent, sentenced 
  him to death.
  At the age of 17, barely old enough under Blackstone 
  law to hold offi ce, Neoric inherited the title of knight, 
  becoming ruler of his family’s extensive and prosperous 
  lands. Although young, Neoric had sense to keep his 
  tongue still, refusing to speak out against the man he 
  privately accused of murdering his father, yet never once 
  supporting the Regent’s position or policies.
  As Blackstaff’s excesses grew and his stranglehold on 
  power tightened, Neoric found it impossible to be an 
  idle spectator any longer. In a defi ant gesture he sum-
  moned the College of knights to session, as was his right 
  as a member, speaking out against Blackstaff and calling 
  upon his peers to remove the tyrant.
  But Neoric found no allies. Some of his peers were 
  too afraid to speak out, for many of those who had done 
  so had been arrested and their lands confi scated. oth-
  ers were lackeys of the Regent, either seeking to benefi t 
  through loyalty or outsiders placed in positions of power 
  by Blackstaff. like his father, Neoric was arrested.
  The young nobleman was popular with the masses, 
  and Blackstaff hesitated in ordering his execution, fear-
  ing an uprising. Instead, he had Neoric cruelly tortured, 
  hoping to extract a confession that would seal the re-
  bellious nobleman’s fate. Neoric suffered unspeakable 
  torment for six months before the newly-formed lord’s 
  Men rescued him and smuggled him into ostmark.
  Blackstaff used the escape to condemn Sir Neoric, 
  claiming that an innocent man had nothing to fear. He 
  declared his lands confi scated, installing a black-hearted 
  lackey as the new ruler.
  Since his liberation, Neoric has served with the lord’s 
  Men, recruiting allies both in and around Blackstone 
  Barony, and using his contacts to acquire weapons with 
  monies taken from the Regent’s treasury shipments. 
  Thanks to his fervor, his willingness to lead raids against 
  the Regent’s interests, and his former status as a knight, 
  he has become something of a fi gurehead among his fel-
  low resistance fi ghters.
  dEScrIptIon
  Neoric is of average height and build, though he car-
  ries himself with a quiet air of authority that demands 
  attention. Most noticeable about him is a livid, red, 
  jagged scar, a constant reminder of Regent Blackstaff’s 
  tyrannical rule, that runs down the left side of his face 
  from temple to chin.
  Neoric’s once black hair is now streaked with prema-
  ture grey, though his luxuriant moustache has lost none 
  of its sheen. Although his scar is an identifying mark, he 
  wears his hair swept behind his ears, displaying the ugly 
  wound so others can see the truth behind his words.
  Despite being dispossessed of his lands and wealth, 
  he retains a fi ne set of clothes, for his honor and heritage 
  have not been taken from him.
  mannErISmS
  Although his life is imperiled, Neoric refuses to hide 
  behind aliases. A man of immense honor, he speaks his 
  name with pride, having no fear of the assassin’s blade, 
  for he believes his cause is righteous and just, and thus 
  he is protected by Thunor. That said, he refuses to use his 
  noble title until he once again rules his ancestral lands.
  He speaks of his homeland with a mixture of passion 
  and sorrow, making no attempt to disguise his love of his 
  people and his hatred of Regent Blackstaff.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  6
  
  daran BEar-armS
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Royalmark (outlawed); Oc-
  cupation: Pugilistic paladin; Patron Deity: Tiw.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d4, Spirit d6, Strength d10, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Fighting d10, Healing d4, Intimidation 
  d6, Notice d4, Survival d4
  Charisma: –1; Pace: 6; Parry: 7; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Big Mouth, Death Wish (fi nd a worthy foe), 
  Habit (Minor: always cracking his knuckles), outlaw
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), Berserk, Martial 
  Artist (Pugilism & wrestling)
  Languages: Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Boost/lower trait (Spirit, Strength, vigor, Fight-
  ing, Riding, Shooting, and Throwing), smite
  * Daran commits a mortal sin if he ever uses weapons 
  other than his ﬁ sts or grapples. This includes offensive 
  spells such as bolt or blast, even in alchemical devices. 
  Smite is permitted, but only on his ﬁ sts. In return for 
  this restriction, he has an additional Edge.
  BackGround
  After a diffi cult and lengthy labor that almost killed 
  her, Daran’s mother fi nally delivered a hulking baby boy. 
  His enormous strength was evident from an early age, for 
  even as a child he could carry weights that grown men 
  struggled to lift. Although not the village idiot, Daran ran 
  a close second, for what he gained in muscle he lacked 
  in brains and common sense.
  Unable to fi nd a skilled apprenticeship, Daran be-
  came a logger, his strength allowing him to do the work 
  of a team of lesser men. The hours were long, the work 
  back-breaking, and the rewards pitiful, but Daran found 
  the hard, laborious work to his liking.
  one evening, Daran was in the mead-hall drinking 
  when strangers entered, seeking shelter for the night. on 
  seeing the massive form of the lumberjack, they began 
  to tease him in a light-hearted manner. Daran’s kith and 
  kin had long known to mind their words, for he had a 
  temper as mighty as his physical strength. Daran pleaded 
  with the men to stop, but his words only fuelled their 
  taunts. Before anyone could warn the strangers to back 
  off, Daran had lashed out with one of his immense fi sts, 
  breaking the man’s neck in a single blow.
  Although much loved in his community, the locals had 
  no choice but to put Daran on trial. He was found guilty 
  and outlawed, never again allowed to return home. Col-
  lecting his few personal effects, Daran trudged into the 
  wilds, still unsure what he had done wrong.
  Months later he found himself enlisted in a temple of 
  Tiw. An itinerant paladin had witnessed Daran beat three 
  orc warriors to death single-handedly, and immediately 
  recognized a soul blessed by the god of strength and war. 
  Daran told the man of his exile, for he was an honest 
  soul prone to speaking his mind. The paladin waved 
  away his past, claiming that through training he could 
  learn to master his temper and focus his strength.
  With his prestigious strength, his mentors expected 
  him to become a servant of one of Tiw’s two-handed 
  weapon sub-cults, such as the Tiw the Great Swordsman 
  or Tiw the Pikeman. Instead, he opted to honor a little 
  known aspect, Tiw the Pugilist, swearing a holy vow never 
  to use any other weapon than his fi sts and grapples.
  Although he is not entirely sure what the term means, 
  Daran is an itinerant mercenary, wandering the land in 
  search of work and the opportunity to test his strength 
  and faith. Somehow he has convinced himself that Tiw 
  has set him a challenge—to fi nd a foe worthy of defeat-
  ing him before he will be allowed into the Afterlife. 
  Daran has beat goblins, orcs, and ogres to death with 
  his hands, suffering many injuries yet always emerging 
  from battle the victor. Now beginning to wonder if he 
  will ever encounter a creature he cannot defeat, he in-
  tends to head north in search of a frost giant, or maybe 
  a dragon. Sadly, he has no true concept of the awesome 
  might of these creatures.
  dEScrIptIon
  Standing well over six feet, barrel-chested, and with 
  arms like tree-trunks, Daran is a hulking brute of a man. 
  He wears his hair and beard long and shaggy, adding to 
  his reputation for being more bear than man. His chest, 
  shoulders, and arms are covered in thick black hair.
  mannErISmS
  Daran has a fi ery temper he is barely able to keep 
  under control in normal circumstances, yet alone when 
  truly riled. He takes any slight personally, reacting with 
  punches before his brain has time to engage. Honest, 
  innocent of the ways of treachery, and gullible, he is un-
  able to grasp the concept of keeping secrets, making him 
  something of a liability.
  HEllFroSt
  62
  
  JaSa aSH-HandS
  Race: Anari; Homeland: Chalcis; Occupation: El-
  ementalist of the Convocation; Patron Deity: kenaz.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Elementalism d8, Fighting d4, Investigation d8, 
  knowledge (Arcana) d8, knowledge (Folklore) d8*, No-
  tice d6
  Charisma: +1; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Code of Honor, Shy (–1 Charisma), Stub-
  born
  Edges: Arcane Background (Fire Elementalism), Attrac-
  tive, Spell Finesse (Arcane: bolt)
  Languages: Anari, Auld Saxa, Classical Anari, Trader
  Powers: Bolt, deﬂ ection, elemental manipulation (ﬁ re)
  * Jasa has a –1 penalty to generic Folklore rolls, but +2 
  regarding stories of Angar Kindleﬁ re.
  BackGround
  Jasa had an unhealthy fi xation with fi re even as a young 
  girl. As a youth, she spent most of her time helping her 
  mother around the hearth and watching the lowly char-
  coal burners at work, showing little interest in learning 
  to weave or, as she matured, in the young men of her 
  village. Her nickname, Ash-Hands, is not complimentary, 
  yet it has stuck with her.
   Jasa knew of the Convocation from the tales of skalds, 
  and, upon reaching puberty, asked her father if she could 
  join. Jasa’s father was only too keen to be rid of the girl, 
  for although she had a womanly fi gure she had few abili-
  ties that would make her an attractive wife. Furthermore, 
  the Convocation did not demand any fees for tutoring, 
  which pleased the simple farmer to no end.
  Jasa learned well, but unfortunately, she quickly be-
  came distracted from her studies in following a legend. 
  Said to be the greatest fi re elementalist who ever lived, 
  legends state Angar kindlefi re achieved fantastic power. 
  All fi re elementalists agree that none of their ilk has ever 
  come close to reaching his level of mastery. Almost a thou-
  sand years later, Angar is still regarded as one of the top 
  fi ve arkhwisards of all time—among fi re elementalists he 
  is regarded as the greatest ever arkhwisard. Driven by the 
  desire to learn his secrets, the Convocation dispatched 
  numerous expeditions to fi nd his fabled workshop down 
  the centuries. All returned empty-handed, though not 
  without severe losses. 
  The Convocation lost interest after the Blizzard War, 
  and the story of Angar kindlefi re’s Workshop faded into 
  myth. Jasa, though, believed the many stories. She admit-
  ted the passage of time had likely distorted the facts, but 
  at their heart was a kernel of truth. Her fi xation with the 
  great arkhwisard led to her being mocked by her peers 
  and chastised by her superiors, for the great promise she 
  showed as a student was being wasted on futile research 
  into a legend.
  Even when Jasa uncovered documents written by An-
  gar long believed lost, her fellow elementalists scorned 
  her for chasing a dream. Frustrated and driven by what 
  she had learned, Jasa packed her bags and set off to fi nd 
  the lost workshop on her own.
  dEScrIptIon
  Jasa is an attractive young woman, with fi ne features 
  framed by fl owing auburn hair. Her eyes are the color of 
  cold ashes, but glitter with energy. She could be a truly 
  beautiful woman, but her downward gaze and nervous 
  smile distracts from her natural allure.
  Although she has no interest in marriage, she has 
  received many gifts from would-be suitors within the 
  Convocation. Her clothes are well-made and exquisitely 
  decorated, her thick cloak is luxuriant velvet, a soft shade 
  of red bordered with yellow that compliments her hair. 
  All are decorated with glittering bloodstone and hearth-
  stone chips. Seen from a distance, she has the appear-
  ance of a walking fl ame.
  mannErISmS
  Bullied as a child because of her disinterest in the 
  womanly arts, Jasa remains a very shy young woman. 
  She is clumsy around the opposite sex, and tongue-tied 
  around strangers. only when speaking about the great 
  Angar kindlefi re does she talk with confi dence, though 
  often she tends to get carried away and babble unless 
  stopped. 
  Jasa also has a stubborn streak a mile wide, something 
  her mentors have chastised her for more than once. 
  Rather naive regarding the ways of the world, she expects 
  people to behave as she does—with honor and honesty.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  63
  
  WaYan
  Race: Engro; Homeland: None (nomadic); Occupa-
  tion: Priest; Patron Deity: Nauthiz.
  Attributes: Agility d8, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Climbing d6, Fighting d4, Gambling d6, lockpick-
  ing d6, Notice d6, Riding d6, Shooting d8, Stealth d8
  Charisma: –2; Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 4
  Hindrances: Heroic, loyal, outsider, quirk (Fiddles 
  with his jewelry), Small
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles), luck, Sneaky 
  (lockpicking), Spirited, Thief
  Languages: Engrosi, Fingerspeak, Trader
  Powers: Bolt, boost/lower trait (Agility, Climbing, lock-
  picking, Notice, and Stealth only)
  BackGround
  Wayan’s father was a wainwright (a craftsman who 
  made and repaired wagons), moving from village to vil-
  lage throughout spring and summer months in search 
  of work. Although his skills were much in need, Wayan’s 
  father was never paid as much as human wainwrights, 
  and he was always treated with an air of suspicion. A mis-
  chievous youth, Wayan did little to improve the engros’ 
  reputation for thievery, for he was always stealing small 
  items. He had little interest in acquiring wealth, and his 
  larcenous activities were a mixture of alleviating bore-
  dom and making up the difference in his father’s wages.
  Wayan saw inequality in wealth as a great injustice, 
  unable to comprehend why those with wealth and ma-
  terial possessions did not share their riches and goods 
  with others, as was the engro way. He began to steal 
  more than his father was owed, leaving the excess out-
  side orphanages and the houses of the poor in a bid to 
  try and balance out the injustices he felt made the world 
  such a bad place. 
  Wayan was caught cutting the purse of a man he be-
  lieved to be a rich merchant. The pale-faced engro, who 
  expected a beating at best and the wrath of the law judi-
  ciary at worse, was shocked when the man robbed him 
  of everything he owned, even down to his loincloth! His 
  intended victim politely told the engro he could win his 
  possessions back in a game of chance. If he lost, Wayan 
  would have to work for the stranger until he stole enough 
  to cover his losses. Angered at yet more injustice, Wayan 
  nonetheless accepted. Nauthiz was with him that day, for 
  he won back his few goods and made a small profi t. 
  The man took the loss with good grace. He revealed 
  himself to be a paladin of Nauthiz, and offered to train 
  the engro in the fi ner arts of thievery. Idealistic, Wayan re-
  plied that he had no interest in personal wealth, and that 
  he only stole to help the poor. When the thief stopped 
  laughing, he informed Wayan that Nauthiz did not care 
  what a thief did with his earnings, only that he stole from 
  those who could afford it. Informing his father he had 
  found an apprenticeship, the engro promptly joined the 
  cult of Nauthiz.
  Now middle-aged, Wayan is a fully trained thief and 
  priest of Nauthiz whose morals would shock most other 
  thieves. He steals only from the rich, giving all but the 
  little money he needs to survive and appease his greedy 
  god to those in need. In addition to his independent acts 
  of burglary, Wayan actively helps those who have been 
  unjustly taxed or robbed of their few possessions. 
  He never reveals he is a thief, nor that he has any 
  intention of helping the victim. Instead, he acts as a con-
  cerned citizen interested in the victim’s sorry tale. He 
  then recovers the missing artifact, covering his costs by 
  lifting other items from the victim’s oppressor.
  dEScrIptIon
  Wayan is getting on in years. His weathered skin is 
  showing more wrinkles than he would like and his hair 
  in beginning to thin. His brown eyes are alert, shining 
  with a mischievous gleam. He covers his balding pate 
  with a headscarf, the traditional headgear of his people. 
  one side is jet black and used only during missions, 
  while the other is brightly colored. 
  Wayan positively glitters in sunlight. like many engro, 
  he prefers to wear his wealth rather than conceal it. Each 
  fi nger is adorned with a gold ring, large gold hoops hang 
  from his ears, and he wears a gold pendant and a string 
  of silver beads around his neck.
  mannErISmS
  Wayan has a serious and playful side. His serious na-
  ture comes to the surface when listening to stories of 
  injustice. During this time he twists the gold rings on his 
  fi ngers, his eyes never leaving those of his “client.” only 
  when engaged in larcenous activities does he begin to 
  relax and enjoy himself. 
  HEllFroSt
  64
  
  HErESWItH tHE BlInd
  Race: Saxa; Homeland: Freelands (Aslov); Occupa-
  tion: Priestess; Patron Deity: Eira.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d8, Strength d4, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Faith d8, Healing d8+2, knowledge (Alchemy) 
  d6, Persuasion d6, Survival d6, Taunt d8
  Charisma: +2; Pace: 6; Parry: 2; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Blind*, orders, Pacifi st (Minor), Poverty
  Edges: Arcane Background (Miracles)*, Connections 
  (Cult of Eira), Healer, Spell Finesse (Arcane: healing)
  Languages: Anari, Engrosi, Saxa, Trader
  Powers: Healing, succor
  * During the Deorcmonan, Hereswith loses her Blind 
  Hindrance and Arcane Background Edge. She is still 
  subject to sins, though.
  BackGround
  As a child, Hereswith was orphaned and taken in by 
  the cult of Eira. Raised by the cult, she was trained as a 
  healer and herbalist. The girl had little interest in caring 
  for others, for she was selfi sh and vain by nature. Instead 
  of learning about herbs, she preferred to play or fl irt with 
  the local boys, for she knew they found her attractive and 
  she greatly enjoyed their attentions.
  one day, a priestess of the Norns came to the temple 
  seeking a cure for a minor ailment. Busy with tending the 
  injures of warriors wounded in a recent action against 
  orc raiders, the healers ordered Hereswith to brew up 
  the simple herbal remedy. Hereswith’ mind was not on 
  the here and now. She had arranged to meet a boy she 
  fancied later that evening, and her thoughts were fi lled 
  only with him. Distracted, she mixed the wrong herbs, 
  creating not a curative tonic but a potent poison. The 
  Norn priestess drank the mixture the girl offered her. 
  Within seconds she was writhing on the ground, clutch-
  ing her throat as the toxin began to destroy her organs. 
  With her dying breath she cursed the careless healer, 
  invoking the name of Maera with bitter fury.
  Bound to carry out the curse, for it had been uttered 
  in her name by one devoted to her, Maera struck the girl 
  blind, transforming her eyes into milky orbs. Hereswith 
  was distraught, for she could no longer gaze upon her 
  refl ection or see the look of admiration on the faces of 
  her admirers. Considering her life pointless, she swal-
  lowed poison.
  As she lay dying Eira appeared to her, asking her why 
  she sought to end her life. The deity listened impassively 
  as Hereswith’s spirit spoke. When she had fi nished, Eira 
  offered her a simple choice—devote herself to the god-
  dess and tend the needs of the many sick, or perish and 
  risk Scaetha’s judgment. Hereswith gazed back along the 
  thread of her life and saw that she had squandered her 
  existence. She accepted Eira’s offer.
  out of pity, Eira counted part of Maera’s curse, de-
  creeing that she would regain her vision during the four 
  days of Deorcmonan, when Maera was distracted. Eira’s 
  interference was not without cost, though—while she 
  was sighted, Hereswith would not be able to call upon 
  the goddess’ aid.
  Since that day, Hereswith has served Eira with total 
  devotion, travelling the land and offering her services 
  free of charge. Mostly blind, she has learned to treat men 
  as equals, swayed not one iota by physical appearance.
  dEScrIptIon
  Except during the period of Deorcmonan, Hereswith’s 
  eyes are milky white, sightless orbs. Her face is calm and 
  serene, a gentle smile perpetually on her soft, pale lips. 
  When the moon is dark, her eyes are brilliant green orbs 
  fi lled with sorrow. Her chestnut brown hair is unfettered 
  and well-groomed, held in place beneath a plain, white 
  headscarf.
  She wears a simple white gown, adorned with two 
  silver brooches. Around her head is a cowled cloak of 
  midnight blue, its hem adorned with a Saxa knotwork 
  design symbolizing the eternity of existence. She wears 
  her holy symbol, a silver brooch studded with small 
  bloodstones, as a cloak fastener.
  mannErISmS
  Hereswith comports herself with a calm composure 
  and compassionate manner. She is attentive to her pa-
  tient’s needs, soothing their worries with gentle words 
  and allaying songs. She accepts offers of assistance with 
  immense humility, yet holds no ill will to those who 
  refuse to show her compassion. When others argue for 
  violent action, Hereswith is the voice of reason, always 
  seeking a peaceful solution to any dispute. When she has 
  her sight returned, she cries often, for only then can she 
  witness the terrible suffering men endure.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  65
  
  knIGHt-SQuIrE EnpaZ
  Race: Anari; Homeland: vestmark; Occupation: knight 
  Hrafn; Patron Deity: Tiw.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d6, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d6, Intimidation d6, Investigation d4, 
  knowledge (Battle) d8, Riding d6, Shooting d6, Stealth 
  d4, Survival d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: loyal, orders (knights Hrafn), orders 
  (Marshal of vestmark), vow (Major: Find the Hrafn Ban-
  ner and return it to vestmark)
  Edges: Command, Command Presence, Connections 
  (knights Hrafn), knight Hrafn
  Languages: Anari, Auld Saxa, Saxa
  BackGround
  Enpaz has only vague memories of his father, though 
  his mother spoke of him fondly. Enpaz was just four 
  years old when the orcs surged out of the mountains 
  and into southern vestmark. His father, a proud patriot 
  despite being of Anari blood, answered the king’s call 
  to arms. He died alongside his kinsmen in the Battle of 
  Torn Ground.
  The boy grew to manhood, and dutifully joined the 
  army as his father had done. Enpaz’s mother died of a 
  broken heart shortly afterward, mourning for a dead 
  husband and a son she believed would soon join him. 
  Death did not concern Enpaz, for vestmarkers were 
  accustomed to its constant presence. What disgusted him 
  was the lack of strong leadership, for many of vestmark’s 
  company commanders were nobles appointed for their 
  status, not their talents. More than once he was pun-
  ished for issuing orders in direct contradiction to those 
  of his superiors. Although his actions saved many lives, 
  the nobility would not tolerate disobedience.
  Fortunately, reports of his leadership qualities had 
  fi ltered back to Marshal Theodred, commander of vest-
  mark’s army. Sensing the boy would make a fi ne com-
  mander if properly trained, he withdrew him from active 
  service, sponsoring his membership in the knights Hrafn 
  and personally vouching for his abilities.
  It was during his training that Enpaz learned of the 
  fabled Hrafn Banner, a powerful relic once wielded by 
  the old Saxa kings. Although the war banner was cap-
  tured and taken to Alantaris Isle by the Anari, legends 
  claim it was smuggled back to the mainland before the 
  Blizzard War. Although it had not been seen since the 
  days of the liche-Priest (at least according to one vague 
  Saxa legend), the knights Hrafn have long sought it.
  on completing his train, Enpaz volunteered for every 
  post that put him in charge of a vestmark company, his 
  desire to serve his country undiminished. Fortunately, 
  he did not have to wait long to earn his fi rst command. 
  He served on the frontline for three years, earning many 
  victories, yet constantly frustrated by the armies’ inability 
  to drive the orcs back from the border.
  Although a loyal knight Hrafn and an Anari, Enpaz’s 
  fi rst loyalty was always to his homeland. He approached 
  Marshal Theodred after a military briefi ng, telling his 
  commander about the Hrafn Banner. Should it be found, 
  Enpaz said, Theodred could lead vestmark’s army to vic-
  tory, hopefully before the war ruined the country beyond 
  salvation.
  Dubious the relic still existed, Theodred nonetheless 
  contacted the knights Hrafn and extended Enpaz’s con-
  tract with vestmark for a further fi ve years, ensuring the 
  commander would have money to support him on his 
  quest. Enpaz has packed his bags and is now ready to 
  begin his long and no doubt arduous quest.
  dEScrIptIon
  Enpaz is 26 years old, though three years serving on 
  the frontline have left him with the look of a man two 
  decades older. His brown hair is already heavily streaked 
  with gray, his eyes have a haunted, tired look, and his 
  brow is constantly furrowed. Although an Anari, he has 
  grown a short beard, knowing his men respect him for 
  adopting Saxa custom.
  mannErISmS
  Enpaz is a decisive and capable commander of men, 
  totally lacking arrogance or vanity. He listens to advice 
  from his underlings, and has no qualms about acting on 
  sound wisdom. He is fanatically loyal to those he leads, 
  acknowledging that some must die in order to secure the 
  greater objective, yet never wastefully sending them into 
  battle. When it comes to vestmark he is very defensive, 
  accepting no slander of its proud military, and refusing 
  to accept that the battle is already lost.
  HEllFroSt
  66
  
  aIlInIl oF tHE WIld
  Race: Hearth elf; Homeland: Dreamwood (exiled); 
  Occupation: Druid; Patron Deity: Eostre Plantmother.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d6, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Druidism d8, Fighting d6, knowledge (Alchemy) 
  d6, Notice d6, Shooting d6, Stealth d6, Survival d6
  Charisma: +0/–4; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: All Thumbs, Bloodthirsty, orders (Guard-
  ians of the Wild), outlaw
  Edges: Agile, Arcane Background (Druid), Forest Born, 
  Hedge Magic, low light vision, Natural Realms
  Languages: Arboreal, Hearth Elven, Taiga Elven
  Powers: Armor, bolt, smite
  BackGround
  Ailinil has always considered herself blessed by Eo-
  stre. Plants she tended as a child always grew strong 
  and tall, she skipped unimpaired through brambles, the 
  thorny plants seeming to part for her, and the fi rst time 
  she became eligible to participate in the great Birthing 
  Day ritual she was chosen as Eostre queen.
  That she chose to become a druid surprised no one, 
  for she already knew the names and medicinal properties 
  of every plant in her forest home and in lands beyond, 
  despite never having travelled.
  Her fi rst excursion beyond the forest’s borders was 
  a pilgrimage to the Stone Forest. It was on this journey 
  she witnessed the rapacious nature, for her mentor, an 
  elder, recalled a time when large swathes of farmland 
  were forested. Then she saw the village of Wudusmoca 
  and the effects of its extensive charcoal burning industry. 
  At that moment her heart broke and her soul withered.
  on returning home she spoke passionately about the 
  destruction of their homeland, but her people were not 
  prepared to enrage the humans by acts of violence. one 
  elf, a lesser noble, studied the girl intently as she tried 
  to rally her cousins, smiling ever wider as her argument 
  grew more toward violence.
  later that summer, while patrolling the edge of the 
  forest, Ailinil spied a small band of humans hacking down 
  mighty trees. Angered, she reacted with violence, shred-
  ding the fl esh of the despoilers with barrages of magical 
  thorns. By the time her fury had vented the humans were 
  dead, their blood oozing into the thick, dark soil.
  Ailinil’s crime (the humans had permission from the 
  local elf noble to harvest a few trees each year in return 
  for certain favors) did not go unnoticed by the elven sen-
  tries. She was arrested, tried, and outlawed. As she made 
  her way to the forest’s edge to begin her exile, she found 
  an elf noble blocking her path. He said he had followed 
  her trial with interest, before asking whether she would 
  kill again to protect Eostre’s garden from despoilers. Her 
  answer obviously pleased him, for Ailinil was offered 
  membership in the Guardians of the Wild.
  Since then she was waged a constant war against hu-
  mans, leading brutal raids against small logging camps, 
  killing lone woodsmen, and torching wood mills and 
  crop fi elds. No one who despoils nature without making 
  suitable recompense is spared her fury.
  dEScrIptIon
  When in the bosom of Eostre’s garden, Ailinil is a radi-
  ant beauty, her amber eyes wide and gleaming, her face 
  split by a wide smile, her long blond hair fl owing freely 
  in the wind. To many, she is the ideal image of Eostre 
  the provider. But her mood can turn in an instant, and 
  with it her face. Her eyes narrow to catlike slits, her smile 
  replaced by a stern grimace, her pale features darkening 
  with near uncontrollable rage.
  Ailinil dresses in simple but functional green robes. 
  She disdains jewelry, favoring simple fl oral adornments 
  to brighten her garb.
  mannErISmS
  Ailinil has a dual personality. on the one hand, she is 
  a caring child of the forest, displaying tenderness toward 
  all plant life, tending sick and injured plants, and even 
  singing to the trees. When in natural surroundings her 
  face beams like that of a child seeing the wonders of the 
  world for the fi rst time.
  Yet when presented with destruction of the forests or 
  the growth of human civilization she becomes a calculat-
  ing, sadistic, cold-hearted killer, slaughtering those who 
  would despoil the forests without mercy, feeding the 
  ground with their blood. When so riled she is the per-
  sonifi cation of the dark side of Eostre, the raging beast 
  that lurks within the hearts of all mortals. She shows 
  great intolerance and apathy toward all humans, though 
  those who respect nature are spared her rage.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  67
  
  tavoS BladESInGEr 
  tolarGGan
  Race: Tuomi; Homeland: The Borderlands; Occupa-
  tion: Warrior poet; Patron Deity: Tiw.
  Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d8, Spirit d6, Strength d8, 
  vigor d6
  Skills: Fighting d8, Intimidation d4, knowledge (Folk-
  lore) d6, Notice d4, Persuasion d6, Song Magic d8, 
  Stealth d4, Taunt d4
  Charisma: +0; Pace: 6; Parry: 6; Toughness: 5
  Hindrances: Habit (Minor: always talking about him-
  self), overconfi dent, Stubborn
  Edges: Arcane Background (Song Magic)
  Languages: Giant, orcish, Trader, Tuomi
  Powers: Boost/lower trait, fear, warrior’s gift
  Special: Tavos always plays up his own actions at the ex-
  pense of others. If the party lets him recount their deeds, 
  they suffer a –2 penalty to any Glory awards, while Tavos 
  gains a +1 bonus.
  BackGround
  Fascinated as a boy by the heroic tales told by skalds 
  around glowing hearths, and seeing the rapt faces of 
  the audience as the storytellers spoke carefully intoned 
  words to bring their stories to life, Tavos decided at an 
  early age that he too wanted to be a storyteller. Born to 
  a humble family with no ancestors of any signifi cance, 
  he longed to be somebody, to have his name spoken of 
  fondly for ages to come. Having memorized the core 
  facts of many of the epic stories he heard in his youth, he 
  easily found a mentor willing to instruct him in the time-
  honored art. Although he enjoyed the traditional stories 
  of his youth, he wanted to create new legends, thinking 
  that through these we would immortalize his name.
  As soon as he fi nished his training he set out into the 
  world, joining adventuring parties as they sought out an-
  cient ruins and deadly orcs. on returning to civilization 
  he composed his comrades’ exploits into new stories, 
  carefully judging the meter to emphasize the deeds. He 
  told his stories in taverns and to hosts who offered him 
  hospitality, delighting as he watched their faces.
  As the years passed, Tavos heard others speaking 
  about the new tales he had created. Beaming with pride, 
  he introduced himself to people, expecting them to mar-
  vel at his name. Instead, he received nothing but blank 
  stares and shrugs. Tavos has learned a hard lesson—few 
  of an audience could ever recall a single storyteller’s 
  name, though they could recall the names and deeds 
  of the heroes they spoke about. It was then Tavos re-
  alized the stark truth—if he wanted to become famous 
  he would have to stop telling tales about others and tell 
  stories about his own brave deeds. In order to have tales 
  to tell, he would need to perform heroic deeds, for no 
  good ever befell those who claimed to be heroes and 
  could not back up their claims.
  Spending his meager wealth on some basic equip-
  ment, Tavos set out to build a glorious reputation. 
  Despite a few successful (albeit it very minor) solo ad-
  ventures, Tavos’s tales have made little impact on his 
  audiences. Now he intends to join an adventuring party 
  and lead them to face a truly formidable foe, something 
  worthy of praise.
  dEScrIptIon
  Tavos’ appearance doesn’t live up to his infl ated 
  opinion of himself as a mighty hero. His long, thin face 
  is marked by permanent woad tattoos, but they are hap-
  hazard, self-infl icted markings, not the true tattoos of 
  a Tuomi warrior. He is clean shaven, though his hair is 
  long, unkempt, and dirty, as is the Tuomi way.
  His equipment is equally ill-suited to his self-aggran-
  dizement. His meager wealth has allowed him only a 
  simple spear, a dented pot helm, a leather shirt, and a 
  shield, hardly the trappings of a warrior hero.
  mannErISmS
  The fi rst word out of Tavos’ mouth is usually “I.” He 
  constantly talks about his exploits, exaggerating them as 
  much as he feels his audience can accept in order to try 
  and boost his own reputation. He never lies, knowing 
  that falsehoods have a habit of catching up with the liar. 
  He frequently yawns during adventurers’ recounts 
  of their endeavors, feigning disinterested in their pitiful 
  adventures before leaping in with his an anecdote of his 
  own that surpasses the one he has just heard. 
  Headstrong and reckless, Tavos has yet to realize that 
  true heroes are forged by having to overcome adversity, 
  not by deliberately seeking glory.
  HEllFroSt
  68
  
  EarHclud
  Titles: Ullr’s Bow, Divine Archer, Celestial Marksman, 
  He Who kills at Range.
  Aspects: Archery.
  Afﬁ liations: Tiw, Ullr.
  Symbol: An arrow.
  Priesthood: Master Bowyers (priests); Master Archers 
  (paladins).
  Herald: None.
  Holy Days: Any battle before a battle. Archery Day 
  (see sidebar). Although it does not involve marksman-
  ship, Arrow Hunt Day is a high holy day for hunters.
  Duties: To use archery to defeat foes.
  Sins: (Minor) using a ranged weapon other than a 
  bow for more than one round during a combat, training 
  someone in the use of any weapon except the bow; (Ma-
  jor) using a weapon other than a bow for the majority of 
  a battle; (Mortal) ignoring a community’s call to arms.
  Signature Power: Boost/lower trait (Notice, Shoot-
  ing*, Stealth).
  Powers: Aim*, blast, deﬂ ection, prolonged blast, 
  smite*, weapon immunity (arrows only).
  Trappings: All trappings relate to arrows.
  Special: Spells marked “*” only function when cast 
  on or using bows or crossbows, and their ammunition. 
  Clerics of Earhclud may take the Armor Piercing Shot 
  (see Hellfrost: Rassilon Expansion 2) and Double Shot 
  Edges, ignoring the elf racial requirement.
  While wandering Godsheim in search of something 
  to beat up, Tiw came across Ullr practicing with his bow. 
  As proud and boastful as ever, the war god mocked Ullr’s 
  weapon, hewing down a mighty tree in a single blow to 
  prove the worthiness of his sword. Ullr protested, claim-
  ing that his bow allowed him to kill at range, something 
  Tiw’s sword could not do. Tiw laughed loudly, and 
  mocked Ullr, for his weapon was only good for killing 
  rabbits, not armored warriors.
  So it was the gods made a wager. Capturing a frost 
  giant, they promised the creature its freedom if it could 
  escape their weapons. Fully aware of Tiw’s prowess, the 
  giant quickly fl ed, Tiw in hot pursuit, cursing loudly. 
  Finally controlling his laughter, Ullr drew his bow, took 
  aim, and felled the giant with a single shot.
  As much as it pained him to admit any form of defeat, 
  Tiw conceded that perhaps the bow did have some ben-
  efi ts over the sword. Tiw demanded that Ullr teach him 
  archery, as he wished to add it to his combat prowess. 
  Ullr had other duties, but he nominated one of his hunt-
  ers, Earhclud (“Arrow-Cloud”) to teach the god of war.
  After receiving adequate training, Tiw promoted 
  Earhclud to commander of his new archery companies, 
  elevating him to the status of minor deity.
  like most minor deities, Earhclud has no temples in 
  his honor. Shrines are found within many temples of 
  Tiw and most of Ullr’s, as well as outside the barracks of 
  archery companies and in hunting communities. Some 
  shrines are elaborately carved statues of stone or wood 
  arrows of great size. lesser ones might be a bundle of 
  actual arrows, or simply an arrow shape rune etched into 
  wood or stone. When shown in art as an individual, he 
  takes the form of a member of the dominant local race, 
  lightly-armored, and carrying a bow. Usually there is a 
  notched arrow, indicating he is always ready to fi re. Most 
  often he appears alongside one of the major gods he is 
  affi liated with, taking the form of a bow and quiver.
  Although Saxa use bows in hunting and warfare, he 
  has more worship among Anari, who fi eld companies of 
  archers. His most devoted servants are Finnar, for among 
  the nomads archery is an essential skill (and hunters and 
  warriors are one and the same), although both species of 
  elves are close behind.
  Priests generally serve as archery instructors, bowyers, 
  and fl etchers, ensuring archers are properly trained and 
  equipped. Paladins are full-time archers, serving in armies 
  or militias, working as hunters, and hiring themselves as 
  mercenaries. Although Ullr has little to do with horses, 
  Tiw is also the major god of cavalry. Earhclud cares little 
  whether his followers fi ght on foot or mounted.
  Prayers to Earhclud are never spoken. Rather, they 
  are inscribed on arrows, which are then fi red high into 
  the air. If the arrow lands without breaking, Earhclud ha 
  heard the prayers and will respond favorably. A broken 
  arrow indicates the god’s displeasure.
  Character Guidelines: Shooting is a cleric’s most 
  important skill. Notice and Stealth are also useful, espe-
  cially for snipers. Marksman is the quintessential archery 
  Edge, followed closely by Armor Piercing Shot, Double 
  Shot, and Mighty Shot. Clerics who wish to be mounted 
  archers need a few dice in Riding and the Steady Hands 
  Edge. Dead Shot can be very powerful, but it is best com-
  bined with level Headed.
  Dodge is the best deterrent against enemy missile 
  troops. Although nothing prevents the cleric being a 
  capable melee combatant as well, it is defi nitely not his 
  focus (and may be sinful). Consider Fleet-Footed as both 
  a means of keeping distance between yourself and your 
  foes and quickly closing the gap to Short range.
  FEStIval to ullr
     arcHErY daY
  Raestdaeg of Eostremonan
  Although settlements must be protected all year 
  round, especially in these troubled times, this ritual 
  was devised by the cult of Ullr, and originally ap-
  plied only to hunters. It is now jointly undertaken 
  by followers of Tiw who favor archery.
  Having (largely) rested over the long winter, ar-
  chers and hunters begin preparing for the coming 
  season. Archers compete against each other in a 
  series of contests designed to test their range and 
  accuracy. In some communities, the best archer is 
  awarded some form of title for the year.
  HEroES and vIllaInS compEndIum
  69
  
  EllanHErE
  Titles: Pack Mother, She-Wolf, lady of Hounds, Mis-
  tress of Wolves, Dargar’s Bitch.
  Aspects: Canines.
  Afﬁ liations: Dargar, Eostre Animalmother.
  Symbol: Wolf’s head facing head on.
  Priesthood: Pack lords (priests); Pack Brothers/Sis-
  ters (paladins).
  Herald: None.
  Holy Days: Fulmonan of Wulfmonan.
  Duties: To serve your community and lord. To aid 
  those in need (not Dargar’s followers).
  Sins: (Minor) accidentally harming a canine, allowing 
  a canine to be mistreated (does not apply to her Dargar 
  followers), not owning a canine, petting or feeding a cat; 
  (Major) owning a cat, willfully harming a canine except 
  in self-defense; (Mortal) willfully killing a canine except 
  in self-defense.
  Signature Power: Beast friend (canines only).
  Powers: Fear, knockdown, shape change (canines 
  only), speed, smite, summon beast (canines only), wil-
  derness step.
  Trappings: Trappings always relate to canines. Fear, 
  for instance, might involve the cleric howling or conjur-
  ing a ghastly spectral hound, while knockdown may be 
  represented by an illusory wolf leaping at victims.
  Ellanhere is patron of domesticated dogs and wild 
  canines, including wolves and dire wolves. She is thus 
  both tame and feral, obedient servant and cruel killer. 
  She has little authority over supernatural breeds, such as 
  Fenris and varcolac wolves or moon dogs, though they 
  respect her position as mother of lesser canines.
  According to many legends she is the daughter of Dar-
  gar and Eostre, though this is highly disputed. Clerics of 
  Eostre claim she is the spirit of Eostre’s fi rst dog, granted 
  divine status for her loyalty and obedience. In that faith, 
  she is the mother of all canines. The cult of Dargar say 
  she was a wolf cub granted their god by Eostre in the 
  hope tending it would calm his unruly nature. Dargar 
  was so impressed by her vicious nature he elevated her 
  to godhood during the God War.
  She is rarely depicted in humanoid form in art. Rather, 
  she takes the form of a she-wolf that slinks around Eostre 
  or Dargar’s legs or, more rarely, a wolfskin cloak worn by 
  either deity. Similarly, she has no temple, but shrines to her 
  exist in most temples to Eostre Animalmother and Dargar. 
  often they are little more than a wolfskin or a wolf’s skull, 
  though more elaborate ones may have a carved image.
  Many priests act as veterinarians specializing in ca-
  nines. Typically they serve a community or nobleman, 
  tending the war dogs, as well as regular domestic breeds. 
  others serve as master of the hounds for nobles who 
  hunt with dogs. They will not, however, participate in 
  the hunting of wolves. Among orc tribes that keep wolves 
  (and dire wolves), priests are responsible for ensuring 
  the wolves are trained and kept in top condition.
  Paladins are warriors. like canines serving a master, they 
  are expected to serve a community or lord loyally, either as 
  a frontline fi ghter or a bodyguard. Among orcs they serve as 
  cavalry commanders as well as bodyguards. However, lone 
  wolves that come to the aid of those in need are common in 
  stories, and clerics of Ellanhere may adopt this role. Many 
  take this road until they fi nd a lord worthy of their service. 
  others have served a lord, but, like a faithful hound, have 
  vowed to take no other master after his death.
  The phrase being “top dog” means being a leader. Cler-
  ics of Ellanhere cannot help but jostle for position when 
  they gather in any strength. Most often juniors stretch their 
  neck upward and arms outward before renowned peers, 
  accepting their status as lesser members of Ellanhere’s 
  mortal pack. When one refuses to acknowledge another’s 
  position, they must decide who outranks the other. While 
  violence sometimes occurs, most often they growl and 
  stare at each other in a contest of intimidation.
  Among the cult of Dargar, clerics are feral creatures, 
  heavily devoted to wolfl ike behavior. Pecking order 
  within their ranks always involves contests to the death, 
  for Dargar does not accept weaklings who bow without 
  fi rst testing their opponent’s strength.
  Religious ceremonies vary, but there is always a hunt. 
  Typically, clerics dress in wolfskins and hunt either a real 
  animal or someone dressed in a deerskin cloak. Real ani-
  mals are eaten raw. All hymns and prayers take the form 
  of howls. It is considered a good omen if local hounds 
  or wolves join in the chorus, for it means Ellannhere has 
  heard the prayers and is pleased. Hearing a cat yowl dur-
  ing a ritual is a bad omen for the future.
  Character Guidelines: While paladins need decent 
  combat skills, priests need very little save for a few dice 
  in Healing. Intimidation is handy, since it enables one to 
  dominate others without resorting to violence, behavior 
  not uncommon in canines. The Beast Master and Beast 
  Bond Edges are solid choices, since together they provide a 
  faithful hound or wolf the cleric can support with bennies.
  FEStIval to darGar
     SatInG tHE WolF daY
  Second Monandaeg of Wulfmonan
  only madmen and idiots lack understanding of the 
  danger the cult of Dargar poses. This ritual is intend-
  ed to placate the vile god rather than offer him true 
  worship. As winter draws near, the poorest villagers 
  dress in wolf skins and smear their faces with animal 
  blood. They then call upon their neighbors, demand-
  ing fl esh. Their appetites are sated with donations of 
  cooked meat, which they eat. Any food not consumed 
  by midnight must be fed to dogs, for a human con-
  suming it risks becoming a crazed follower of Dargar. 
  Those who refuse to gift Dargar risk beating beaten 
  with sticks and their property damaged. Such acts are 
  not considered crimes, and many villagers consider 
  the tight-fi sted soul to have gotten away lightly.
  HEllFroSt
  70
  
  ..
  .
  
  The population of the winter-
  wracked northern lands is not 
  particularly high, but it is varied. 
  Commoners and nobles, mages 
  and clerics, healers and warriors, 
  merchants and thieves, wise men 
  and fools, heroes and cowards, all 
  walk the frozen realm. 
  Inside you’ll ﬁ nd over 60 characters 
  ready to be dropped into any 
  Hellfrost campaign or used as 
  player characters.
  .
  .
  AN ARMY OF CHARACTERS AWAIT YOUR COMMAND!
  © 2008-2015 Triple Ace Games. Hellfrost and all related marks and logos are trademarks of  Triple Ace Games. Savage Worlds, and all related marks and logos are 
  trademarks of Pinnacle Entertainment Group. © 2015. All rights reserved. Used with permission. 
  Hellfrost is an epic fantasy setting for the award-winning Savage Worlds RPG.
  Heroes & Villains Compendium requires the Hellfrost Players Guide.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Triple Ace Games/Hellfrost/Savage Worlds - Hellfrost - Heroes & Villains Compendium.pdf