Arkadius Rook

Half-Elf Bard, College of Swords


Arkadius has tanned skin with black hair and beard. He is of average height and human build. His only defining elven features are his pointed ears and prominent cheekbones. He is often seen with a multicolored head-wrap adorned with colorful feathers and bound by a string of foreign coins. His clothing is loose and flowing with muted earth-tones broken by colorful accents. His boots are sensibly made of soft buckskin hide, curving upwards at the toe.


So pale the dome of starry sky I walked alone that night, with storms arrayed so far away that sound would never come. Gray towers, resplendent with their lightning veins, flashed and toppled over distant mountains. Yet all around me was peace, serene. My families fire glowed beyond a nearby hill, their laughter and song growing faint as I wandered away. It was a perfect time to think.

I sat upon an errant boulder. Beneath that boulder, no doubt, a lizard slept; in the copse beyond, a kestrel nested. The lizard and the bird wait for dawn and a new clockwork game, while I ruminate on fate.

I was raised to believe in fate, words spoke in mystery as the cards were dealt or the crystal scryed. Of course, our hearts desire mystery, but in truth there is no mist, no veil, it is all plainly laid and simply put. Fate is a farce, a mummers play, and yet I can’t deny its force. As with all things fate can be shaped; it can be broken and remade.

To some, luck is an equal farce, but I embrace it wholly. It may be that, given enough time, one would find a mean upon which all things can be measured, but our time is not that long. To us, there can be peaks and valleys, we can deviate from our path and tread this world more roughshod.

And so my decision was made. I would return to the bonfire that night and I would eat and I would drink and I would listen to our stories. Then, in the morning, when we’d pack our things and snake our wagons down towards that distant storm… I would leave.

So, past those storm-break mountains a new fate would be made — and remade, and remade, and each day my luck would win to seek yet another, until, at last, my story would end.

Musical Accompaniment: map.jpg

Arkadius watches his brothers and sisters perform one last time
Hinach Yafa – Light in Babylon

Arkadius’ journey over the mountains
Ilm – Jadid Ensemble

Dawn breaks over Amn
God’s Whisper – Raury

A day’s work in a foreign land
The Mexican – Babe Ruth

In Neverwinter, his thoughts wander home
Hakim – Tricky

In a dream he is joined by family
Weeping Eyes – Anna RF

New friends and old: We set out on adventure
Dragon Chasers – Wax Tailor

It is known:

~ Arkadius is from a traveling clan of caravaners (think: Romani).
(Both his parents are Half-Elves. He performed as a sword dancer in their show.)

~ Primarily raised in the river basin of the kingdom of Tethyr
(a melting pot of cultures, similar to pre-roman Iberia and later Al-Andalus)

~ Raised in the ‘Mysteries of Savras’, their clan’s cult to the god of divination and fate.
(Worships Tymora, the goddess of luck, instead.)

~ Is an associate of the Harpers, “a semi-secret organization … promoting good, preserving history … maintaining balance between civilization and nature.”

~ A long lost friend of Jenevieve. They were recently reaquanited. Though he is often rash and impulsive, he seems to defer to Jenevieve if she contradicts him.

~ Acted as a “psychic” in Neverwinter (though no psychic abilities have been shown). Gundren sought portents for his upcoming journey. Dire portents led him to hire protection.

~ Also took on jobs as a ‘private investigator’ in the lawless areas of Neverwinter. Sometimes associated with seedy folk and shows little respect for laws.

~ Often seen rolling a raven faced coin along his knuckles in contemplation. When asked about the coin he is evasive.

~ Proficient in many musical instruments but hesitant to play. His voice seems laced with magic.

Arkadius Rook

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