BoL Hero Vasha the huntress

Vasha nocked her arrow, slowly allow the wooden shaft to rest crosswise along the belly of her bow.

Ahead of her in the glade the shaggy Bouphon raised its head from the stream and looked around.

The huntress knew she needed to act fast before the horned creature realised she was crouched in the nearby treeline.

Taking a deep breath she cuffed an errant lock of her copper hair from her brow and drew back her bowstring.

Suddenly the shaggy creature in front of her let out a wild growl and spun around - but it was not looking in her direction, instead the creature was starting toward a man clad in rough homespun who stood stunned, mouth open and rooted to the spot.

The dumb farmer had blundered into the clearing and disturbed Vasha's hunt.

With a bellow the Bouphon charged, it's head lowered and it's huge horns before it.

The farmer was still standing rooted to the spot when Vasha released her arrow.

The shaft sped straight ahead, taking the creature low in the gut.

She'd had a clean shot lined up until the beast moved and now the thing ploughed into the ground with thud and a pitiful cry of pain.

The farmer began to blubber thanks as the huntress left her position amongst the trees and approached the thrashing beast.

Ignoring him she placed her bow on the ground and drew a long hunting dagger from her belt.

The Bouphon looked up at her, pain had wracked its large, heavy features but there was still fight in it yet.

Quickly and cleanly she ended its suffering.

"Be still my brother, forgive me."

Vasha the huntress

Strength 1

Agility 2

Mind

Appeal 1

Brawl 1

Melee

Ranged 3

Defence

Barbarian 1

Hunter 2

Soldier 1

Thief

Lifeblood: 1 Hero Points: 5

Protection: 1 - Vasha wears enough leather and pelts to stop a sword slash or a weak spear thrust.

Long bow, dagger

Languages: Lemurian, Valkarian

Boons:

Keen Scent, Tracker

Flaws: Taciturn

Vasha the huntress was born into a minor clan in the Valkarian wastes.

She was the 12th child born to her father, the clan's chief hunter and from a young age she was taught to hunt with the bow and the spear to earn her keep.

Life is hard in the Valkarian lands and everyone, regardless of gender, must earn their way in the clan.

She showed great skill as a hunter, especially with the bow and she brought down great snow bears and the Volf - the six legged wolves of the icy wastes - for her clan.

At 16 while hunting a rogue snow ape that had been attacking people she was caught up in a blizzard and found herself far from home.

Lost and all alone she kept heading south, hoping to eventually find the lands of the friendly Nuash clan, she figured she'd eventually find the nomadic people and they could feed her before sending her back on her way.

Much to her dismay the land became warmer and more hilly until she found herself on the edge of the Arnian League.

Totally naive in the ways of civilisation but still intrigued by it all she wandered into the small border castle town of Nicol. This strange, busy land was alien to her but she quickly found a place as a archer in the lord's company.

The League is forever eyeing the surrounding lands with greed and her first years in their employee she saw frequent action against the troops of Tyr-Sog.

Sick of being constantly outflanked by Tyr-Sogian troops who knew the ground better the lord of Nicol commissioned several of his more promising officers as scouts and deep raiders.

Vasha was picked to serve in the 1st Arnian Irregular company, who spent much of their time behind enemy lines, scouting, raiding and headhunting the enemy leadership.

Many of her comrades were folks who had worked the slightly shadier side of the law in their civilian days and Vasha became adapt at moving quietly, theft and cutting down the enemy from behind.

Finally the league and the Tyr-Sogian empire settled once more into a bitter, sullen truce and the irregulars were no longer required.

Now in her 20th winter Vasha roams the lands, bow in hand.

BoL hero: Gezun il'Belac

Sorceress Gezun Il'Belac was the daughter of a wealthy noble family of the Kothian Confederation. The second daughter, among a brood of five she was destined from a young age to be married off to cement a political alliance.

But while her sibling were content to play the games of politics, live the pampered live of a noble and spend their family's coins Gezun found herself drawn to something greater.

She was betrothed at 15 to the heir to a merchant family from the Arnian League and unlike her counterparts she set out to learn the trade of her husband to be.

Her friends and ladies in waiting mocked her: she only needed to learn how to be beguiling and beautiful, not how to do the work of her husband.

A woman only needs to be desirable, not competent, they said.

Only a week before the wedding her husband died of a fever and Gezun returned to the womens' quarter of her family home.

Lacking direction she turned to the musty old scrolls and tomes left by a distant relative and slowly started teaching herself the basics of spellcraft.

Meanwhile her family set about finding her a new suitor. Things change dramatically when Zull ebin il'Belac arrived at the family home and demanded the girl come with him.

The wizard, a distant cousin, took Gezun in and began her studies. Even from afar he had felt her power, slowly growing.

After several years learning with her kinsmen she was sent out to find her own way.

Now Gezun, still only newly initiated to the arcane arts, is on the search for adventure.

Gezun il'Belac

Strength 0

Agility 1

Mind 1

Appeal 2

Brawl -1

Melee 1

Ranged 2

Defence 1

Careers:

Noble 1

Merchant 1

Scribe 1

Wizard 1

Lifeblood: 10

Hero points: 5

Protection: Very light armor (protection d3-1)

Weapons: Curved sword, Bow, dagger.

Boons: Attractive

BoL hero Alluxus (Al the Fingers)

Alluxus gave the rope wound tightly around his waist two hard pulls and his companions stopped lowering him into the pit.
The thief hung suspended in darkness, his torch only giving off a small pool of illumination.
Two tugs for stop, one for go and three meant "get me the hell out of here", he hoped he wouldn't be needing the third.
Leaning forward, careful not to up set the rope harness too much Alluxus peered at the walls of the shaft.
His torch offered only meagre light but in its yellow flame he could just make out the ancient mural that covered the walls, worn smooth by the passing of eons.
"What's wrong, Fingers?" a gruff voice barked from above where his companions waited.
"We don't have much time," the voice of the swordsman Drul came again.
The party's sorceress Isparla had said she'd cast a spell that would silence the loud clanking and groaning of pulley system but the crypt creepers still didn't risk staying exposed on the streets of Oxy for too long.
A patrol of temple guards could easily chance upon the group feeding a rope into a big gaping hole in the middle of an alley way.
But Alluxus ignored the muffled growling of his comrades as he wiped centuries worth of dust and grime from the wall revealing art work that had never seen the light of day.
Early Uritian work, probably he mused, tracing his his finger along the flowing runes.
Some sort of warning?
Leaning back so that he could take in the full picture he spotted first a feline-like foot in the far edge of his light source and then gasped as he discovered the entire picture.
Above he could hear the angry muttering of Drul and the female wizard.
Metres below street level the thief hung in wonder at what he had discovered.
Before him a beautifully worked mural of gold leaf and other wondrous paints depicted a great lion-man creature attempting to bring down a warrior kitted out in golden armour.
The picture had faded horribly and much of the lion was gone but the image was unmistakable.
"We've certainly found it - this is it," he shouted.
"What?" came the muffled reply from above.
"This is certainly the tomb of Ralj the Pious. We're going to be rich very shortly."
But deep below Alluxus could hear something stirring, a rapid slithering sound emerged in the darkness as something was awoken by all the commotion.
Alluxus looked down nervously as the sound became louder.
Above him, his companions ignored his frantic, repeated tugging on the rope.
"What? Have you been reading again, Fingers?"

Alluxus the thief
Attributes:
Strength: 1
Agility: 1
Mind: 2
Appeal: 0

Brawl: 0
Melee: 1
Ranged: 1
Defence: 2

Noble: 0
Thief: 2
Scribe: 1
Slave: 1
Protection: None
Weapons: sword (d6), daggers, Crossbow

Languages: Lemurian, Sorceric.
Boons: Blind Combat

Alluxus was born Alluxus deStan, eldest son of the Lord deStan, a wealthy noble of Oxy.
All of this changed when he was five. The deStan family had been locked in a cold war with another one of the city's noble houses, the Ricol for close to a decade and finally Lord Hassid Ricol found a way to bring his rival down.
A "loyal" retainer of the deStans, allowed the Ricol swordsmen into the family villa one stormy night.
Aided by hired killers and magic the Ricol family fell on their rivals, overpowering the men at arms and dragging every member of the family out into the courtyard for execution.
Alluxus' father, mother and five siblings were beheaded in the courtyard along with several cousins, hangers on and men at arms. The Ricol's sword arm was red to the shoulder that night as he personally saw to the slayings.
However Alluxus' wet nurse swapped her own son with Alluxus so that the young peasant boy was hacked in two by the Ricol while the young noble scion was spared and sold into slavery with the remaining servants and retainers.
Heartbroken at what she had done the wet nurse hurled herself on Ricol's sword moments after her son's death.
But now the pampered boy was a slave, sold to slavers who sold him onto the salt mines of Carage on the edge of the Phut plains.
Most five-year-olds would have died within weeks but Alluxus was helped by a former thief by the name of Lance, sold to the mines when he was caught lifting a merchant's purse.
Lance first taught the lad to survive and later how to walk without making a sound, how to pick a pocket or a lock and evade traps.
By the age of 15 Alluxus and his new friend had planned their escape. Sadly before they could break free Lance caught the flux and died, forcing the teenager to escape on his own.
He returned to the city of his birth where he lived like a rat - thieving for food and living in bolt holes, abandoned buildings and the streets - until a kindly old street scribe took him in.
Sensing Alluxus' wit and keen intelligence he taught the lad the trade until the lad was old enough to branch out on his own.
Things were not to be - by his 22nd year the would-be scribe had found that going straight was not as easy as he thought.
Now he once more travels the Thieves' Highway above the city streets and delves into ancient crypts and temples to make his living.

BoL hero: Ardan Arkados, son of a merchant prince

Ardan Arkados gave the riding Kroark a spiteful kick in the guts as it stumbled off the path again.

The gray skinned reptilian lifted its long snout and let out rueful hoot, bucking its rider around.

High up in the saddle Ardan was forced to grab the saddle horn with both hands as he struggled to stay atop the riding beast, which was once more drifting into the path of the Bouphon-pulled wagon, trailing behind him.

He gave the lizard another kick and pulled the reigns hard to the right, obediently his mount moved out of the wagon's way.

With another hoot the creature settled back into a loping gait.

I left Tyr-Sog for this? Ardan thought, wrapping the reins firmly into his hands.

Six days on the road and he ached all over. Six days in the saddle, cold camps every night and only the company of the caravaners and the sell swords his father had hired.

Craning his neck Ardan could see the four large wagons trundling along behind him, a dozen caravan guards - all attired in the standard leather brigandine and heavy trail cloak - mounted on their own Kroarks.

All were armed with long spears and had small, round wooden shields slung over their shoulders.

No one could say that Ardan's father didn't equip his men with the best.

Suddenly there was the sound of pounding feet ahead, followed by the high pitched hoot of a Kroak.

Ardan's hand dropped down to where his own slim sword rested at his hip. The blade was more more costly than anything any of the caravan guards could ever afford but it had seen its share of blood in a series of duels back in the capital.

Onfra Rue's mount galloped around the corner, the head of the guards sat high in the saddle, his spear slung over his right shoulder.

The mercenary, considered his father's best fighter, reigned his Kroak in, falling into step with Ardan's mount.

"We've found a snug little dell just up ahead," he said, running his free hand through his dark hair.

"We can make camp there and call it a day a little early, if his lordship agrees?"

Ardan nodded curtly but he groaned inwardly. Another night of rough camp.

Scratching at his newly grown beard - he'd stopped shaving before leaving the city, partially as a signal that he'd finally grown up and partially to confuse assassins on his trail - he thought ruefully of his exile.

"This is the last toss of the dice, lad," his father had told him the week earlier when the pair were alone in the old man's study.

"The last chance."

Swordsmen working for the duChain family were searching the city for the scion of the Arkados family as the pair spoke. Probably trawling through the seedy collection of dockside taverns, high class brothels and wine-sodden salons Ardan frequented.

Only hours before Lord Edu duChain had entered his daughter's bedchamber only to discover her wrapped around an enthusiastic Ardan.

And this time the problem couldn't be cleared up with a purse of gold and a promise, like it did that time with the serving slave.

No, this time Ardan was in the deep end.

Kicking his Kroark once more the young noble spured to the front of the merchant convey.

"Come on you, lot!"

Ardan Arkados is heir to the vast fortunes of the Arkados trader family. The name Arkados has been synonmous with trade in Tyr-Sog for a century and his father, a master merchant, was rewarded with a patent of nobility by the Sark before Ardan was born.

The boy grew up in the lap of luxury with his every whim provided for, his comforts built on the back of the family's trading and shipping interests.

With a father frequently away on business and an easily manipulated mother Ardan quickly turned into a spoilt little shit.

As he got older his interest turned to girls, drink and dice and very quickly his vices caught up with him.

As fitting the son of a merchant prince Ardan was taught the art of the sword from a young age, which proved fortunate because he was frequently called into duels on account of his involvement with other men's wives, daughters, slaves and in one case grandmother.

He took little interest in the family business, occasionally joining trade negotiations or merchant ships bound for far off lands.

Finally he went to far and was found bedding the daughter of a powerful and malicious lord who quickly dispatched hired swords to find and kill him.

Frustrated with what his son has become, Ardan's father has sent him west with one of their trade caravans, hoping that getting him out of the city will keep him alive and maybe even make a man out of him.

Ardan Arkados

Attributes

Strength 1

Agility 0

Mind 0

Appeal 3

Combat

Brawl 1

Melee 2

Ranged 0

Defense 1

Careers

Noble 2

Merchant 1

Mariner 1

Soldier 0

Lifeblood 11

Hero Points 5

Protection: Medium armour (1d6 -1) mail hauberk

Weapons: spear (d6), dueling sword (d6)

Languages: Lemurian

Boons: Great Wealth, Etiquette

Flaws: Arrogant

BoL hero: Ulf the left handed

Ulf the left handed

Ulf shuffled into the elegant throne room. The heavy chain connecting the manacles around his ankles rang as it bounced over the tiled floor.

Dropping onto his knees the big Valkarian knelt before the veiled and bejeweled woman who sat perched on her cushioned throne.

He didn't dare look at her, but kept his eyes focused on the multi-coloured mosaic on the floor before him.

"You summoned me, mistress?" he asked.

Behind him he heard a sharp intake of breath from the palace guard who had herded him through the halls and corridors into this gilded room.

He could imagine the ebony-skinned giant behind him, clad in the flowing red and gold robes and turban and armed with one of the massive falcions all of the guards carried.

He'd been in the Jazalan palace for close to two months, ever since he and the rest of the crew had been defeated and captured. And he still hadn't grasped the myriad customs of the bloody place.

Finally the woman before him spoke. "You dare address me, slave? You, a worthless barbarian dared address the Grand Vizeer's wife?"

Her voice was throaty and rich like amber wine, even with the thick Jazalan accent. Ulf had picked up enough of the language - first on board the galley as a rower and then later in the grand city - to understand her.

"Forgive me mistress," he answered. This time the intake of breath behind him had more frustration than surprise in it.

The Vizeer's wife stood. She was clad in the flowing, shapeless gowns all women wore when in public while a thin, gauzy veiled hid her face, letting only titillating glimpses of glossy, raven hair and high, arched features.

The barbarian gazed up at the woman as she approached, her silken slippers making only the lightest of sounds on the tiles.

Suddenly one of the tiny feet flashed out, smashing full into Ulf's face .

Dazed by the, albeit weak, blow he put up no resistance when she suddenly grabbed a hank of his straw-coloured beard and pulled his face up so he looked directly into the veil.

Unlike the locals the brawny warrior from the icy wastes had hair and beard the colour of dirty, yellow-brown straw and ruddy skin.

His once wild masses of hair had been trimmed and his beard had been cropped close by the slavers but there was still enough for the woman to grab onto.

"No slave ever dares speak to me without my permission," she growled.

"Do you understand, swine?"

Still gripped by the beard, Ulf nodded mutely.

"Good. Palz, give him five lashes for speaking the first time and 10 for being a stupid swine."

Chained hand and foot Ulf could do nothing as the guard behind him kicked him to the floor and slit his brief slave tunic down the back.

His mistress looked on, arms folded as the heavy quirt rose and fell.

Each lash was an explosion of pain but the barbarian refused to cry out. This palace dwelling pansy knew nothing of pain - Orm had been beaten skillfully by the slavers at sea. Not to mention the everyday pain of growing up in the Valkarian wastes.

Go on, you bastard. Hit me again. He thought, allowing only a wet grunt to blurt from his mouth as the whip lashed him for the final time.

"You may leave us Palz," the vizier's wife said, waving the henchman away.

Ulf lay exhausted, sprawled on the tiles. He could feel the blood trickling down his back to pool at his side.

"Look at me, slave. And do sit up, you're making a mess."

Ulf rose to his knees. Slowly his mistress reached up to her cheek and unpinned the veil. It dropped away, revealing a face of unrivaled beauty.

Midnight hair framed a dusky, heart shaped face set off by pert, red lips and large brown eyes.

Next she pulled at the cords holding her robes, letting them drop to the floor.

Ulf let out a low growl as he gazed on his owner's wife, naked and beautiful. She looked nothing like the pale, blonde women of his homeland and his eyes drank in every bit of her, dusky-skinned, rosy tipped goodness.

Smiling, the woman stepped towards him, one delicate handing winding around a link of Ulf's chain and pulling him close.

"And now slave, I'll punish you some more."
By Gorm, I've got to get out of his mad house the barbarian thought.

Ulf the left handed was born the son of a minor chief in the Valkarian wastes, from a clan of sailors and vikings.

Big and brawny, the lad could fell a Snow Ape with a spear aged 15, wear full armour at 16 and killed his first man in a drunken brawl aged 18.

Ill tempered and wild when he drank, these drunken brawls became all too common for his family who insited Ulf go somewhere - anywhere - else.

His father, Valk took the lad onboard his longship and Ulf got his first experience at a-viking.

The warrior took to it like a Poad to water and soon he had made himself wealthy.

Later Ulf was second mate on another ship heading south for summer raiding. After several months of raiding and trading the crew met up with another ship and headed further south into the Jazalan lands - lands of swarthy, turban-wearing men and ancient riches.

All was going well until the two ships were ambushed by a fleet of Jazalan warships - most of the northmen were put to the sword but a few were taken as slaves and forced into the rowing benches.

Formerly right handed our hero found himself rowing on the left side of the ship and found himself relying heavily on the other arm. (Hence the name)

After close to a year patrolling the coast Ulf and several others were sold to the country's Grand Vizer Jal-Path where he caught the attention of the vizer's wife Al-Jazeereth.

She took the slave as her lover, insisting he be one of those with the royal couple everywhere. It was on one such trip where his lordship was ambushed by bandits that Ulf proved his worth - rescuing Jal-Path and killing three of the bandits with his bare hands.

As a reward Ulf was commissioned as one of the slave soldiers of the royal bodyguard.

His lord's wife had an even better reward for him.

But it was not long before the vizer learned of the going ons of his favourite guard and his wife and Ulf was forced to flee - his former comrades hot on his heels.

Strength 2

Agility 0

Mind 1

Appeal 1

Braw 1

Melee 2

Ranged 0

Defense 1

Careers:

Barbarian 1

Pirate 1

Slave 0

Soldier 2

Lifeblood: 12

Hero Points: 6

Protection: Very light armor (protection d3-1) (Battle Harness, Greaves and vambraces)

Weapons: Sword, Spear, Dagger

Languages: Lemurian, Valkarian, Jazalan

Boons: Marked by the Gods (gains an extra Hero Point)

Valgardian War Cry (Scares the hell out of opponents)

Flaws: Taciturn