Character Sheet

Grew up in the very urban environment of Haalkitaine, the seat of the Emperor of Rhakhaan.  His father worked as a second tier advisor to the palace and was well paid for his efforts.  Trent’s mother died when he was but four and his father has never remarried.

With access to the palace library, Trent rapidly becae a very ‘bookish’ young lad, fascinated by the worlds and histories contained within those pages.  In his studies under Fibra Hesh, Chief Librarian, Trent occasionally strayed from the assigned curriculum, reading about the darker arts of sorcery and necromancy.

Gradually developing a strong passion for magical studies, Fibra Tesh sent him to study under the tutelage of Drak, a wizard of some renown in the city. Trent learned much and was an adept pupil, and was accepted for initiation into the school of mages in Rhakhaan.  Though tempted, Trent decided he wanted to see more of the world and so took the wandering initiate option from the School, as such he has to return to Haalkitaine once every three years to be tested and report.

During the interview and again during the first test he was repeatedly warned that the dark paths of magic lead to becoming a mindless servant of the Unlife, his tutors immediately spotting the slightly darker tinge to his Channeling control.

You bid your newfound friends goodbye, arranging to meet them on the morrow.  An interesting bunch, each with their own secrets but thrown together by an institution with little respect for the rights of the individual.  Of course in Haalkitaine, it would not have been a light and airy Sentinel Post but a dungeon until the judicial system finally remembered you.

          But it is better to not dwell on memories of a distant homeland.  Haalkitaine is many leagues away and you are here and now.

          Wandering through the streets of Norek is certainly good for the spirit.  The avenues are wide and the cobbled squares are clean.  The bridges are a marvel of multiculture.  Superb dwarven masonry meshes perfectly with elven woodcarvings and even now as you stand upon one of them, the mighty Alunn River flowing peacefully below, powerful, magical emanations pulse from the stone.  They show little signs of weathering, although they are over seven hundred years old, dating back as far as the second era.

But it is not the city, nor it’s majestic bridges and waterways, which drew you here, but the rumours of a magical academy known as the Arcanus.  Somewhere within this city is a secret repositry of magic, shrouded in legend and hearsay.

As you stand on the bridge watching the sun set behind the walls of the city, you can hear parts of the city come alive.  The Norinth pace the streets, the nightwatchmen touch naked flame to the lightposts and while some pack away their wares, others are opening shutters and doors ready for the night trade.  A cart rumbles past, and people come and go, barely giving you a second glance.  One couple catches your eye though – two men dressed in long red robes, walk arm in arm, heads together, deep in conversation.

“…envoy is not staying at the council hall!  He brought well wishes, but precious little else.  That’s hardly going to counter the rumours……”

The two men speak with an easy familiarity about the machinations of government and uneasy alliances.  And you guess that they have spent a great deal of time in the halls of power.

Intrigued, you slowly follow.  They pass the front of a tavern, the Red-Headed Lady and wave briefly to some men in upper-class finery, playing a game of Kayik, a Lethyan board-game growing in popularity.

A caravan is parked at the rear of the pub, a miserable chap walks among the horses checking the tack and the load.  From inside the pub comes the sound of merriment, this is the end of a working day for many and a beer or two soothes many an ache. 

The two men round the corner up ahead and you increase your pace to keep up with them.  An enormous terrace overlooks this area of the river and another of Norek’s nineteen bridges span the waters.  Up ahead, on the right, guarding the bridge stands a Sentinel Post, the two guards standing before the door are from the Norinth, the police army of Norek.

Slowing, you wander over to the railing gazing down into The Strand.  You idly stare up the river at the next bridge up ahead, and notice the two men as they pass the guardsmen.  Wihtout a word passing between the two groups, the two guardsmen turn their heads and notice you.

Quickly looking away, you can hear the guardsmen muttering between themselves.  Time to leave, you think – enough brushes with the Norinth for one day.