Caellach Ferdvorn

Description: Caellach is a strongly built dwarf, with a pale but travel beaten complexion, and sports
thick, ruddy, dark brown hair and beard, which are left loose except for two framing braids. He wears
thick travelling clothes in earthen colors. His shirt is brown with gray runic trim and pants forest green,
tucked in to his thick boots. He wears a thick, dark brown leather robe with numerous pockets sewn on
to it over these clothes. His shirt is tucked into a thick brown belt onto which numerous satchels, vials,
and a dagger are attached. Slung over his back is a pack filled with odds and ends and the necessary
travelling supplies. Slung within easy reach is a light crossbow and bolts. Hanging from his right side is a
thick leather-bound book, with iron clasp and dented iron reinforced corners. Around his neck, wrought
in dull silver is the symbol of Aldayaun. Wrapped around the fingers on his gloved left hand are
prominently displayed wooden prayer beads of the god as well.

An aromatic and pungent smoke wafts from the smoldering stick of rolled leaf that hangs almost
forgotten from the left corner of his mouth. The inquisitive and focused eyes of a large dark-brown
polecat stare out from over his shoulder. Visible on his forearms and hands are black runic patterns. His
eyes are an intense steel grey. His left hand grips the head of a long-hafted dwarven waraxe that he
uses as a walking stick and weapon.
 Early Life:

Caellach Graenn Ferdvorn hails from the village of Hvittbrun, high in the mountains of Breforr.
There the Stedjor, Heilsur, Ferdvorn, and Hnullungur clans lived in a secluded valley. Caellach was born
into the Ferdvorn clan, the scouts and warriors of Hvittbrun. The village divided responsibilities between
the clans, Stedjor being the craftsmen and traders, Heilsur being preists and healers, Ferdvorn being the
guards and protectors, and Hnullungur being the miners and farmers. Each decade the clans elected
one member from them to be Jarneldur, the leader of the village.

Early in his young life Caellach was exploring outside of the village and happened across the
recluse hermit Snarvitlaus, a crazy old Rokourd. The old man, a wizard, recognized that Caellach had
innate magical talent, and began tutoring him. Arcane magic was generally absent from the village and
Caellach was trained as a warrior and scout by his clansmen. Some in the village questioned the wisdom
of spending time with Snarvitlaus, due to his rumored insanity and what the dwarves viewed as
vagrancy, but Caellach grew to view Snarvitlaus as a mentor and friend as well as discovering his own
talent for arcane magic. Snarvitlaus was a mage, musician, skald, and naturalist, and passed much of his
knowledge and skills down to Caellach. He also instilled in Caellach a yearning for discovery and new
experiences, something uncommon amongst the dwarves of Hvittbrun.

At the beginning of Caellach’s adult life, mere weeks before he was officially made a member of
the Vardmadar, or guardians of the village, a group of giants was spotted making their way to the village.
The village prepared itself for a fight, but sent Caellach, who was a swift runner, to the nearest village,
nearly a days walk away for help. Despite his best efforts, by the time Caellach returned with warriors
from the other village, Hvittbrun had been destroyed and the inhabitants killed or taken. Caellach found
the bodies of his family and Snarvilaus (who it seemed had tried to help defend the village), and realized
that he was alone in the world and there was nowhere for him. The dwarves from the nearby village
offered to take him in, but he declined, setting his eyes Taking the belongings of his father, who had
been the Jarneldur, and the possesions of Snarvilaus, Caellach vowed to preserve their memories and
left the mountains, descending to the towns in the foothills.

Travels:

For years Caellach travelled across the trade routes seeking new knowledge and experience
wherever it could be had. He spent time with a recluse druid, a brief stint with a traveling minstrel,
worked for a caravan guard company, worked in the library of a large town, and for a mason, and
travelled to numerous ruins and befriended a wounded polecat kit whom he nursed back to health. His
adventures and discoveries are many, but his time on the road with only Snoggur has given him a few
eccentricites.
 Partnership with Thorgrin:

[The Life of Morgan Delecleve is a one of both trouble and triumph. Raised by an abusive human step-
father who never accepted Morgan as anything more than a curse put upon his house made him
tough and jaded toward humanities false promises. He learned how to use a sword only days before
using it to slay his drunkard of a keeper, thinking it would free him from the rule of a malevolent man.
All it did was send his flooze of a mother to the gallows, and he, a large half orc of only twelve years,
to a work camp. There he honed his strength, raising his reputation as a worker and a guard dog,
Eventually, his prowess caught the eye of a Lord in (NEED TO LOOK AT MAP) and was offered a chance
to work on the land of Sir Fesmick the Brave.

It was a cold November day, only just after becoming accustomed to his new home that Morgan was
offered a chance to prove himself the hero he always felt he was. Sir Fesmick's son Rod had come
back late in the evening being escorted by a a small horde of ransoming pirates who wore holy
symbols of an evil god. Seeing this from his hut of thatch near the front of the property, Morgan drew
his late step-father's sword called "Lancer" from the chest wherein it rested. With great strength and
the honor of a thousand splendid souls Morgan Denecleve charged from his hut to the flank of the
enemy, felling each and every man as if he were born to do it... saving Son Rod, and the heir to this
land.

Upon seeing this, the Lord Baron Fesmick offered the hero anything he desired. Morgan asked for a
the opportunity to be free and fight in the name of Lord Fesmick. And to be Knighted, and given the
title of Sir, and all of the badges, and plates that came along with it. He was granted this wish, and
ever since he has traveled Dalun honing his abilities and waiting for a daring chance to acquire the
greatness he was destined for. ]

Intro: Caellach sat on his heels next to the small fire he had built and stared off down the road next
which he had made camp. The chill autumn wind rippled through the brown grass of the plains. As the
sun slowly descended from the sky toward the horizon in its interminable fashion, a large figure came in
to focus 100 yards off and the setting sun flashed off of what could only be armor. Caellach gripped the
haft of his axe and rose slowly to his feet, raising his hand to block the sun and get a better glimpse of
the figure.

Turning his head to the small weasel-like creature perched on his shoulder "what do you think, Snøggur,
friend or foe?" he asked. The small creature turned and looked at Caellach cocking it's head quizzically.

"You're probably right, seems a big fellow though". Caellach said softly.

Drawing a thin piece of copper wire from one of his many pockets, Caellach gestured almost
imperceptibly and asked "Are you friend or foe?"
Sitting high in the saddle of his honor begotten horse, whose hooves sported white tufts and a knuckle
just above as big as the hoof itself. The large human-ish creature above comes blindingly into focus as
he shifts from silhouetted by the back light of the sun. One loud thud as his boots hit gravel
simultaneous. "Hail Dwarf! Though you are not the person whom I seek, surely something in the wind
must have brought me to you." Having removed his right gauntlet, he tucks it beneath his left arm and
extends a hand in friendship. "What brings you to the steppes of the Brerforr?"

Sizing up the strange figure, Caellach glances at Snøggur, takes a thick drag from the burning stick of
rolled leaf, then turns and takes the proffered hand.

"I may not be whom you seek, but I have a shank of mutton roasting, more than enough for you,
Snøggur, and I. I grew tired of Caelidran's endless greenery, and I travelled briefly in Drazgard, but I
found the people to be rather serious and dour, and as I had not been to eastern edge of the
Burnordraath steppes here near the foothills of Breforr, I decided this road was as good as any. What
brings you here, Orcen?"

“This is my home, for what you may call it. I am a Knight of this land, and a lord. Though I own no
property, beyond that which I carry on my back." The Orc sits upon a cut log and continues to speak.
Dropping his guard, he lights a smoke of his own using he fire. He rolls it between his teeth and
continues. "Sorry, I can never seem to be around them without indulging myself... Formally, I am Sir
Morgan Denecleve, but please" he smiles with orcy teeth, "call me Sir Morgan." The horse kicks dust
as the cavalier continues "and this is my traveling companion, Wainright"

“"Caellach Ferdvorn. Explorer, traveler, minstrel, storyteller, knowledge seeker and wizard. " He pulls off
his pack a travel beaten lute, and begins strumming it, with varying degrees of success.

"I havent got any destination, Morgan. And Snøggur seems to think you're the trustable type. I haven't
had a good traveling partner since Grænn Bramblebritch fell in with that sow. And I could use a good
man at my back" he offers his hand and sets his lute down, casually drawing his crossbow, "because
there's a band of gnolls preparing to attack us any second here. What do ya say?"

With a long slow peel Sir Morgan withdraws his long sword from its leather scabbard. He grips the
banded pommel between two gloved hands, the bare tops of his knuckles wring against the leather as
he assumes a defensive stance and backs slowly toward the Dwarf. "I see can see there yellow eyes...
Have you the STONES to con-front me?!" He shouts into the darkness of the thicket that surrounds
them--revealing as he does so the brutish drawling accent of he developed in his past. Still, onward he
boomed"I am Sir Devecleve! Regent of this land, and Knight of the Brerforr! Return to the dirt, worms,
or be unmade!"
**This portion of the CYOA will be called "later back at the camp..." where deeper things are
explained in first or third person about our respective characters, and carry on as conversations
between us that have since taken place.

Morgan's anger and hatred heretofore described stems from something deeper than his toothy
surface precludes. A second human has now betrayed him, and it was none other than his lord. Many
moons have passed since Morgan saved Lord Fesmick's son, but when it happened the half-orc was
offered anything he desired in return for his heroism. Morgan is a proud man, and he seeks to further
his own name and gain power, and so he requested the be knighted, in hopes of gaining all of the
glory that would accompany the title. And while he was indeed knighted, his race and ragged
upbringing kept him from gaining any respect, money, land or status, so the warrior left... And this is
where you've found him.

Wiping the spell components from his hands and cleaning the viscera of dispatched gnolls from his axe,
Caellach nods appreciatively. "The wounds of betrayal and promises unkempt are deep, but being
judged on the nature of your birth cuts the deepest. I head north along the Circletown trade road.
Perhaps you, like many others, can wrest your glory and renown from the hands of vanquished enemies
and the gracious rescued instead of having them granted you. Men are petty, they will always whisper
that any other than themselves is unworthy of the fame. Feck em, may the gods take em all, they
wouldn't know a hero if he shat in their bed and bedded their wives" he laughs deeply and coarsely.
"Let's travel together, my friend, your blade hand is strong and your fervor is infectious. You'll steal glory
from the road, and we'll sing about it in the taverns." He draws deeply from his sootheleaf. "Snøggur
and I make for Rorain at first light" he says, rolling out his bedroll, "you and Wainright shall join us.
Plenty of glory and knowledge to be had there. And from there Dalun's our oyster."

He scratches his chin for a moment, does Morgan, and then he grumbles deeply "Hmmmmm... The
Circle Trade Route is dangerous, I've heard tell. Plenty of bandits who need dispatching. May we sleep
among their corpses as we do these fallen Gnolls!" He thrusts his foot forward punting a smallish gnoll
away from where he plans to lay his bed sack. "As for the singing" he says with a yawn, "I'll leave that
to you new friend. You and your ferret. Still, I thank you for your offer, and shall take you up on it.
Starting tomorrow at dawn, we will be a band..NO... An Army of Two the likes of which the Dalun
hasnt seen in ages!"