Keira and Kord are the newest addition to my set, only really coalescing as a party in the last few years with Solasta: Crown of the Magister. The essential concept has been floating about in my head for a long time. Basically starting from internet chatter declaring half-elf and half-orc the weakest races in 3.5E, and fighter and rogue among the weakest classes. So naturally that lead to a desire to have a party centered upon precisely that… They also differ from many of my parties in that they are young novices. They’re just starting out. They’re not experienced veterans like Grim or well-travelled adventurers like Hero and Kat. They’re just beginning their journey. So here they are!
(And since their story is just beginning, there’s a good excuse to play around with depicting younger versions of characters. )
Keira
CG Half-Elf Rogue- daggers, shortswords, shortbow
Keira had always lived her life on the streets. For as long as she could remember she had made her way as a pickpocket and petty thief. Living from stolen bread to stolen bread, finding shelter where she could, staying a few steps ahead of the guard, street gangs, and other urban predators.
She’s never really known who – or what – her parents were. The answers to that mystery would do little to fill her belly or cover her head. She’s always known she was a bit… different. She wasn’t the only mongrel elf running about the streets. But she’s always looked a bit too pale. A bit too dusky. And most of her kind can’t call up tiny magical lights in the dark. Or make the shadows just a bit deeper when she needs them…
Young teen Keira’s life changed irrevocably one day when she stole fruit in the market and tried to run away. A large, very angry grocer tripped her as she made her escape, and he and his helpers promised serious pain for the transgression. As she curled up trapped in a corner, ready for the beating, an even larger presence loomed behind them. “Enjoy beating up little girls?”, it growled. “Care to try your luck with me?”. The angry grocer and his cronies whirled around, to find themselves face to face with a young guardsman. A young half-orc guardsman. A six-foot tall young half-orc guardsman looking decidedly unhappy. “She stole from us!” the grocer sputtered. “Do something!”. “Give them back their fruit”, he motioned to the girl. And then to the men, “you can take it back, and these 10 silver for your trouble, and leave. Or you can have a more vigorous, extended discussion with me.” At which point he held out one palm with coin, and stared. They took the hint. When they left he knelt down, offered her a hand, and asked, “would you like to get a bite to eat?”.
And that was that. She didn’t really trust him at first. She didn’t really trust anybody. But he was always there when she needed him. He never pushed. And slowly, she began to listen. He too was an orphan. He had just had somewhat better luck. He eventually asked his guardian, a stern dwarven woman, to take her in as well. And they began to show her the beginnings of a better life.
Now as she enters adulthood, she and Kord are the firmest friends. No. Not friends. Siblings. He is the older brother she never had. She wants to be more than the street-thief she grew up as, he wants to find that new path with her, and as for the others? Read below.
Keira doesn’t know it, but she is a half-drow who mostly passes visually for a normal half-elf. Mostly. She’s lived on the surface her whole life, and suffers little from light sensitivity. And she’s never seriously explored some of the inherent magical talents resulting from her heritage, but she’s beginning to test them…
Keira is a rogue/thief trying to use her talents to be a hero If there is a kit/subclass available leaning into her heritage – Shadowdancer or the like – then that is a very good fit. Even better if a mix like fighter / shadowdancer is available, as Kord and Helga have been training her to be able to better handle herself in a straight up fight.
“half-elf woman, age 24, french, thief, mischievous grin, scruffy, athletic, cocked head, short unkempt white hair, pale skin, purple eyes, leather armor, small tattoo on her right cheek, curious expression”
Kord
LG Half-Orc Fighter – Spear, sword, shield, crossbow
Kord had a similar beginning to Keira, abandoned on the streets. Unlike her, however, he found shelter younger. A widowed dwarven blacksmith took him in, tried to teach him her trade, and encouraged his education. When he grew old enough, having discovered smithing was *not* his forte. He enlisted in the city guard.
Kord has always fought to *not* be defined by his heritage. Every angry word, every balled fist, and he would hear “oh there’s the orc again, he just can’t help it”. And so he has always strived ever harder to be just the opposite. Kind. Disciplined. Thoughtful. Honorable. Always in firm control of his emotions, and always asking himself “what would a knight do”? His understanding of “knight” being more than a little rose-colored. His one weakness, his one failure at control, is abuse. Bullies. Thugs. More than one drunken bully, rousing themselves to anger and finding a victim in a tavern, have found themselves instead leaving rather faster than they intended in his city – open doorway optional. And the pickpockets, the petty thieves, the delinquents? He is by far the best choice if you’re going to get caught. He won’t let you off entirely. The law is still the law. But he’ll do what he can to help. And keep helping if you’ll let him. He’s been there. He knows.
That is how he wound up meeting Keira, at the time just one more urchin scrabbling for survival in the slums. But when he saw her run, when he saw her cornered. He knew he had to step in. And so he did. And young Kord found the last thing he was missing. A little sister. And they’ve been “thick as thieves” ever since.
Teen Keira and Kord hanging out
Kord has been combat trained both informally, by Helga, and formally, with the city guard. His weapon preferences are typical guard weapons – spear, sword, shield, bow. With an extra emphasis on grappling as well, as in his profession it pays to be able to end conflicts non-lethally where possible.
“age 28 half-orc city guard,muscular,male,german,tall,kind,grayish-green skin,goatee,black hair in a neat topknot,heavy leather armor,determined”
Helga Oakenstout
LG Dwarf Fighter/Cleric. Blacksmith – Hammer, shield, crossbow
Helga Oakenstout had been married. He was a miner – an honorable dwarven profession. And she was a devout follower of Moradin, God of the Forge. Regnar would bring her samples and ores, and she would smith them into anything they needed. It was a happy pairing. They were considering children. But one day tragedy struck. A mine collapse, and Regnar… did not survive.
Despite her faith Helga could not continue smithing in her clan. Every blow of her hammer, every glance at the anvil, reminded her of him. But neither could she give up her dedication to her god and her craft. She and Regnar had always intended to see the world. To take their crafts to market in human lands. So now she would do just that, for both of them.
She set up shop in mid-sized human city. It wasn’t the same without Regnar, but she was smithing again, and the markedly different surroundings made his absence… less palpable. In time she settled into a routine. She wasn’t happy, but she was content. Then the rascal walked in to her shop. A halfling man named Seamus. Always whistling, always smiling, always tying to get her to chat. She had work to do! And little inclination to chatter. She tried to get rid of him by insisting, no sales no loitering. So he bought a single nail! The nerve! And returned again every day with the same stunt! But over time he became exactly what she needed. A friend.
One day when she was closing up, and they were doing their chatting-but-not-chatting dance, they noticed a scruffy young half-orc picking up a fine dagger that had dropped behind a stall. He held it, staring at it and turning it over in his hands. They watched him from the counter. “Betcha he runs with it”, Helga snorted. But Seamus watched for a moment, smiled, and said “betcha he gives it back”. “Nonsense! A ruffian like that? He’ll make a run as soon as he lays eyes on us I’ll wager!”. Just then the boy looked up and saw them watching. And just as Seamus predicted, he walked over, handed the dagger directly to Helga, and said “fine work ma’am, but too rich for me. Someone must have dropped it”. Helga watched open-mouthed as the boy walked away, and Seamus quipped “one wager to me”.
They saw the young half-orc semi-regularly once they began watching for him, and noticed he was thin, poorly fed, and poorly dressed. But invariably polite. Seamus called in his wager, “I’ll bet yon lad would make a finer metal to mould than any ore you purchase…”. And Helga saw what he was hinting at. Another chance. Another way. And so she “paid up” her end up the wager. And so it began.
She took in Kord. Gave him food. Gave him a chance. Gave him an education. And gave him a home. And as he took after her, he eventually brought Keira into the fold as well. Keira and Kord are both grown now. Ready to make their own mark in the world. But if they think they can just wander off without her?? They’ve got another think coming!
Helga is a mix of fighter and priest, leaning more towards priest. Some variant of cleric of the forge suits her best.
“dwarf woman, fantasy, ukrainian, smooth face, hard features, age 45, weathered, blacksmith, strong, tanned skin, short dark hair in a loose braid, arms crossed, dwarven armor with dark smock, expectant expression, raised eyebrow, cocked head”
Seamus:
CG Halfling Bard – Staff, dagger, sling, and Lady Luck
Seamus has always been lucky. Most halflings have more than their share of luck. Seamus fairly *shines* with it. He is a halfling Whistler, a small-folk variant of bard known for jaunty tunes, happy-go-lucky attitude, wandering from place to place, and always being *right* where they are needed.
Seamus has always had a way with Lady Luck. Bullies trip over themselves when he is near. Ripe apples fall out of trees as he passes underneath when he is hungry. And he has always appreciated her in turn. Seamus has put his trust in Tymora since he was too young to remember, and she has delivered for him time and again. Not always in the way that he expects. Not always giving him what he wants and taking him where he wants go. But giving him what he needs and leading him where he ought to be. So he follows the wind, trusts in fate, and puts his thumb on the scales as his sensibilities see fit. He learned the ways of the halfling bards from a master Whistler. He can whistle up a storm with the best of them if necessary. But Lady Luck? She’s his first port of call.
Seamus drifted into town following his muse, and chanced upon a sad dwarven woman selling smith-work in the market. He tried to strike up a conversation and cheer her up, but she was having none of it. Buy or walk. So he bought. One single nail. And came back the next to buy another. Each time greeting her just as warmly as the last. Each time sauntering in as if they were old friends. And eventually, despite her every intention, they were just that.
One day when she was closing up, he noticed a scruffy young half-orc picking up a fine dagger that had dropped behind the stall. He had a hunch about the boy, and smile spread across his face as he realized why he had been led here. He played his hand well, and soon a match was made. He wandered through regularly as Kord, and later Keira as well, grew to adulthood. And when they were ready to strike out on their own? Well why wouldn’t he follow along for the ride? After all, he kicked off the journey in the first place!
Seamus is a Bard, but plays no instrument. He sings no songs. Most of his “bardic effects”, and many of his “spells” are re-flavored as tugging on the strings of chance. He manipulates luck – for better and for ill. Any spell or song whose effects can be squinted at properly are just him poking the laws of probability. Confusion? Enemies tripping over themselves. Bless, Bane, or Bardic Inspiration? Trivial to re-flavor. I even like to flavor some of his improving saves, BAB, etc as luck. And for anything that can’t be stretched quite to fit that umbrella, he can always simply whistle.
“stout halfling male whistling while walking, irish, wide face, five o’clock shadow, age 45, lips pursed, hands in pockets, toussled brown hair, carefree grin, blue eyes, strong jawline, lucky, gambler, brown vest, blue tunic, brown pants, brown leather boots”
Keira and Kord together
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