A glowborn Songpriest


Attributes Agility d4 Smarts d6 Spirit d8 Strength d6 Vigor d6

Charisma +2 Pace 6 Parry 5 Toughness 5(6)

Hindrances Code of Honor Pacifist (minor) Claustrophobia (minor) Loyal

Edges Arcane Background (Miracles) Attractive Songpriest

Skills Boating d4 Faith d8 Fighting d6 Guts d6 Knowledge (Legends and Lore) d6+2 Persuasion d8+4 Shooting d4 Streetwise d6+2

Gear Normal clothing Backpack Sleeping canvas Waterskin Leather armor Parchment helm Saber (shortsword) with greater blessing 20 cogs


Physical Appearance:

Tall and fairly well-built, with green-tinted skin and well-polished white fangs where a human’s canines would be. Toon keeps his dark hair pulled back in a short queue and sports a rakish goatee. Despite his obvious goblin origin, women (and men) of most races find him attractive and he uses this to his advantage. He has a deep baritone voice, well-suited to singing and oratory. He dresses in deep green with bits of gold trim and lace when he can afford it, with his well-worn and patched leathers emblazoned with Festival’s Harp over the top. His seaman’s saber is always on his side, tied with gold braid, although it is as much for show and to complete his ensemble than a serious threat. He keeps a seaman’s bag with him with all his worldly possessions in it, a reminder of his nomadic nature and lack of a true place to call home.


I was nameless, a pitiful and abused goblin slave in the back-breaking ice mines, where I met Reknar, a destitute orphan orc child. One day a crevasse opened around a group of miners, including Reknar and me. I fell deep into the crevasse as voidglow poured in on me from the new fissure in the mine ceiling. Everyone fled, leaving me trapped and awaiting a horrible fate of starvation or painful change into a glowmad rager. But for some unknown reason, Reknar did not flee with the other slaves and indentured servants. He braved the voidglow for three days to dig me free with his huge calloused hands. While he withstood the glow’s maddening effects, he found that I had not. Realizing that Glowborn were considered to have souls, Reknar turned me over to the orc slave overlords and quickly forgot about me. Honoring the charters of the Trade Council, the orc overlords put me on the next ship to Freedom Isle and cursed their bad luck of the loss of another goblin slave.

During my “rebirth” and the painful transformation into Glowborn, I heard a haunting tune over and over in my head. This was the one thing that managed to keep me sane as the voidglow surrounded me and twisted my body—the tune saved my life and was the only good thing in my life. Realizing that a free creature could not continue to live without a name, I took the new name Toon and set out to find where the music in my head came from. Freedom Isle allowed me to be with my own kind and learn the ways of civilization and freedom, but I found few answers there…that is, until I met my first Songpriest telling stories and playing his harp in a ratty tavern. Suddenly my senses sharpened and I realized this was path I was seeking, for the tune he was playing softly in the corner was the eerily similar to the one I had heard in my delirium. The Songpriest was called Avarrkral, a human from Shadowhaven, and he told me about the Lord of Festival and his epic battle with Lightbringer. His music called to me, so Avarrkral took me on as an acolyte and after a few months of teaching me the history of the skies, he arranged passage for me on a skyship to Shadowhaven, home of the Choirhall.

Arriving at the much larger isle of Shadowhaven, I quickly realized I was somewhat out of my league. While my introduction letter from Avarrkral gained me entry to the Choirhall, the organization (or lack thereof) of the church meant that I had to struggle simply to find a teacher. The majority of Songpriest teaching consisted of long days spent in the Choir’s libraries and long nights spent singing, storytelling or playing music in the squares and taverns of Shadowhaven. During one of these nights in less-reputable tavern, a few orcish thugs objected to Festival’s music. Despite my best efforts to resolve the situation peacefully, the tusked goons appeared have violence on their mind. From the corner, a willowy elf got to her feat gracefully, her slender hand on her sword and she told the orcs to return to their drink or leave. While the orcs laughed at first, the tavern hushed as she announced herself: “Ra’s Al Ghul is a name that has not been heard in these parts in many years, but she is here tonight. She does not appreciate boorish orcs ruining the only music which keeps my nights sane.” The masses of muscle evidently had not heard the legends of Ra’s Al Ghul, the infamous elven shepherd who had more wildling captures to her name than any other shepherd in the past few decades. The tales of her ruthless efficiency in bringing in wildling escapees, dead or alive, was matched only by stories of her skill with blade and bow. But this thought did not penetrate the dense bone of the orcs’ heads as they roared and swarmed the slender elven maid. A few grunts and swift strokes later, the orcs lay bleeding in the sawdust as Ra’s swiftly wiped the ironwood clean and sat back to hear the remainder of my repertoire. Ghullie became a regular when I would perform in taverns after that, claiming that my music was one of the few things that helped her sleep through the nights. Although as a former slave I wasn’t entirely comfortable having a shepherd as my biggest fan, Ghullie appeared to have left her slave-tracking days behind her and was quite a haunted soul during those days on Shadowhaven.

My studies reached their completion, and after being fully ordained as a Songpriest, I became restless. Although the Choirhall was the largest temple to the Lord of Festival, with hundreds of priests and musicians, I had not yet heard the song I was searching for. I decided to sign on with a merchant vessel, since sailors are always happy to welcome aboard a follower of Festival to help ease the long journey. Shipboard life suited me, and I quickly felt at home with the solid crew and their ugly, one-eyed first mate Tyde. One otherwise uneventful day, a few months after joining the crew, I heard the song in my head again. It seemed to come from beneath us, and I demanded that the ship descend into the glow. We passed slowly falling skyship wreckage and a few limp bodies, still floating with the effect of loft oil. As the nervous crew looked about for raiders and pirates, I spotted a huge body floating amid the glow—an orc, who looked remarkably familiar to me. Later, those aboard would wonder why I insisted that the ship descend, and how I knew to look for Reknar, but I myself did not have any answer other than “it was the will of Festival.” The rest of the voyage continued rather uneventfully, and I found myself at loose ends, ready to wander where the music might take me…


While some focus on only one aspect of the Lord of Festival, I accept his dual nature—both his madness and moments of benevolent lucidity. Having experienced the pain of a glowmad birth, I want to prevent others from going through this, thus I will fight the glowmad at all times. I use music to bond with my muse (a shadowy sprite that occasionally hovers on my shoulder) and the Lord of Festival, but this reflects His duality since I have both healing and berserking (battle lust) powers. I feel violence is only a last resort and follow a strict code of honor since I know that to stray from this path leads to Festival’s madness. My years of living as a slave in the mines have left me with a slight fear of enclosed (especially underground) spaces, and I spend as much time as possible out of doors even if this means more exposure to the voidglow. Having no natural family of my own, I have to create a family where I can find one. This makes me very loyal to my friends and will never leave them behind, even if those friends occasionally take advantage of me or don’t follow the same beliefs I do. On the surface I’m am a gregarious and flirtatious person, always ready to tell a story, drink a glass or sing a bawdy song. But I can also sink into moments of silence and reflection without warning, conversing with my barely-visible muse or simply brooding and thinking.


Sundered Skies with Bif hart_nelson