Jarvan Deepwater
Gender- Male
Age- Early Hundred Sixties
Hair/Eye Color- Black/Black
Height/Weight- 4½ ft /150 lbs, stocky
Race- Dwarf
Alignment- Neutral Evil
Occupation/Class- Fighter/ Tavern Keeper
Personal Weapons- Battle Axe, Throwing Knives
Skills- Start fires, Cure Food for long trips, Good with numbers
Weaknesses- Can't swim, Afraid of mules, Allergic to cats
Hobbies- Metal Working, Brawling, Wood Carving, Hunting
Armor- Chain Mail Armor, Small Shield
Pack Items- N/A
Jarvan showed up at the Hogshead Tavern, located at the edge of the Forests Of Aris, some years back, and soon bought the place from the elderly man who owned it. The grouchy dwarf fighter was tired of adventuring, and had already amassed a small fortune, so he thought the tavern would be an easier way to get even richer during his retirement.
The tavern soon began to show a profit as he raised the prices of nearly every thing in the place, and did as little as possible to maintain or improve it. Those who have spent some time at the tavern during their hunting trips into the forests, or passing through the area, have often joked about him burying his money somewhere under one of the big trees.
Jarvan pays the jokes of his patrons little attention, as all he really cares about is whether or not they can pay. He's been known to throw even the most pitiful out into a stormy night for failure to carry good coin, or some other item he considers trade valued.
The short, stocky dwarf has a reputation for possessing a vile temperament. He's more than once cussed out some unsuspecting traveler, while smacking them around, and usually at the top of his lungs. He's also shown himself apparently immune to the wiles of a fair female. The dwarf is not known for being civil to anyone, unless he sees money in it.
Jarvan sees the tavern as his money maker, more than his home, even his dwarf kin know better than to show themselves at his door without some thing valuable. It surprises no one that he's never married and has no children. It's clear their mere presence would irritate the old grouch to no end.
Jarvan looks on everyone he meets as just another potential coin. Otherwise, he could care less whether or not they lived or died. So long as he didn't have to pay to have their body disposed of, or the mess cleaned up.
Mora
Mora is an elderly dwarf witch woman, with long white hair braided and worn round her neck. She lives in a small cabin a few miles west of Zia's Inn, and is renowned for her potions, powders, and elixirs. No one is quite sure just how old Mora is, but there is more than a little speculation to her being well older than the average dwarf.
She's a bit of a grump, but is known for taking pity on those who truly need her services. So she's also gained the reputation for being somewhat softhearted.
Alignment: chaotic good
Location: Wildebury. In the woods a few miles west of Zia's Inn.
Zia Stonebreaker
Gender- Female
Age- 152
Hair/Eye Color- Peppery/Blue
Height/Weight- 4ft/160 lbs
Race- Dwarf
Alignment- Chaotic Good
Occupation/Class- Fighter/Inn Keeper
Personal Weapons- Bastard Sword, Sling, Darts
Skills- Start fires, Cure Food for long trips, Good with numbers
Weaknesses- Can't swim
Hobbies- Telling stories, Wood Carving
Armor- Plate Mail Armor, Small Shield
Pack Items- N/A
Zia is a portly woman of her early mid hundreds with peppery hair and laughing blue eyes. She's the owner of Zia's Inn, located on the western shore of the Black Lake in the land of Wildebury. She's also thought to be one of the last of the former lord's extended line. Those who once lived in the castle turned Inn. Her friendly nature is as endearing to most people as her keen business sense, and her willingness to share what wisdom she holds with any who might ask.
Once a noted adventurer in the days of her youth, Zia has spent many a night regaling her visitors with tales of dungeons, monsters, lords, and ladies. She welcomes all her visitors with open arms, until they show her those arms should have remained closed, then the Inn's loyal guards readily handle what matters she doesn't want to handle anymore.
In her younger years Zia had two sons, Yagas and Vesa. They spent much time adventuring with their mother when they reached manhood, but now they rest in the waters of the Black Lake, and have for many years. They were their mother's sons, brave and strong, and gave of themselves freely to those in need. She was always very proud of her boys, and always will be.
Her life was set to mourning in the winter of the ice dragons. It was then her sons went to fight against the beasts and were lost on the lake. Now, in the time of growth, Spring, and in the time of waning, Autumn, each year she and her people stand on the small dock near the Inn and set flower petals to drift on the water in remembrance to her sons. Her two young warriors who fought bravely, and gave their lives in the defense of others.
She has had a tapestry woven for each of them and hung in the Inn for all to see her sons. She wants them remembered. She wants people to know something of them. She wants people to see how they looked in the battle by seeing them in the one taking place amid the threads woven into the cloth.
A doting mother who still enjoys the company of children, it's not unusual to find her surrounded by them as she tells tales of history, and stories of fantasy to widen their eyes and open their minds.
Zia is a woman of her people. A mourning mother who appreciates and remembers what she has lost, and a friend to any who prove worthy.