#lentarys

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Lentarys Cinderwing Lentil, elven artisan, for a new Zweihander RP.

Quite happy with her RBF.

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Two merchants exchanging goods.

More to come.

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Lentil is tired of adventuring. No amount of gold is worth this. Fingers almost got this very stein thrown at him.

Tonight's rp was AMAAAZING. Harganis is an orator unrivaled.

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Zweihander Character Sheet

Name: Lentarys Cinderwing Age/Gender/Race: Adult Female Elfblood Racial Trait: Lament of the Ages Build: Husky (muscular), 5’8″, 154 lbs Hair: Black Hair with White Streak Skin: Tan Eyes: Hazel Eyes, Steely Gaze

Order/Chaos Alignment: Ferocity vs Hatred Drawback: Choleric Temperament Upbringing: Cultured (Favored Attribute: Fellowship) Social Class: Burgher  Archetype: Commoner Profession: Artisan (Blacksmith) Professional Trait: Guild Privilege Season of Birth: Winter Dooming: “Six of one, half dozen of the other.”

Combat: 41 [CB 4] Brawn: 43 [BB 3] Agility: 55 [AB 6] Perception: 35 [PB 4] Intelligence: 42 [IB 5] Willpower: 44 [WB 3] Fellowship: 46 [FB 3] Peril Threshold: 6 (12/18/24) Damage Threshold: 3 (9/15/21) Encumbrance Limit: 6 Initiative: 7 Movement: 9

Trappings: Bandages (3), Bottle Bomb, Grave Root, Holy Symbol, Heavy Boots, Ruck Sack, Shiv, Simple Attire, Warm Vest, Splitting Maul, 17 Silver Shillings, Trade tools (Metalsmithing)

Her story:

Lentarys should have stayed home. Her kin were right, the human kingdoms are no place for elfblood. The squalor of their cities is a far cry from the natural beauty of elven lands, and these simple folk have no appreciation for finery, no capacity for the concept. The only thing she'll find here is an ugly death and early grave. And with ever-mounting production costs and dues and fees and fines eating into dwindling profits, her dream of returning to the isles in any capacity is rapidly diminishing.

What certainly isn't helping is being pressed into service by the local guard to solve a spiraling mystery alongside a trio of unlikely fellow “detectives.” All things considered, they’re not the worst band to be with, though why she was roped into it still makes her head spin. The sassy smuggler urchin, despite being little better than the troublemakers Lentarys chases off daily, has skills and friends in low places that so far have proven handy. The old professor is hiding something, but is a pleasant enough fellow and isn’t shy about dishing out eloquent derision. The nobleman half-elf, pompous as he is, is at once the most out-of-place yet most at-home on this mission and no doubt the most dangerous and disarming. Although it was his actions that inadvertently lead her on this quest she is quite pleased to see a fellow elfblood again after so many years. 

The delays and mounting frustration in returning home would bring any lesser being to heartbreak and tears, but she's refined it into a fiery drive. The sooner this fiasco is resolved, the sooner she can see green leaves and blue sky once again and be free from this miserable dung heap, and Isha help anyone who gets in her way.

Some may have heard...

Her elven craft specialty was enchanted, exotic, unusual items: a pot that boils water without a fire, a knife that never needs sharpening, utensils that taste their user's food and alert for poison. People cried foul elven tricks after a customer "misused" an enchanted piece and nearly severed both of his hands.

She has been fined for runesmithing without Guild sanction from the Thanes. Three times. She still hasn’t applied for membership, claiming her elven blood stands in stark opposition to the crude dwarf guilders (who claim the same) in addition to the "outrageous, sickening, astronomical" dues she refuses to go further into debt to pay. Such arrogance is unbecoming, the elfblood and their superiority complex.

A local adventurer requested a blade with the hilt inlaid with a jewel of his missing beloved. Off he went to avenge his love and was never seen again. It wasn't the blade that failed him, is her deceitful elven defense. Surely more fey treachery, locals cried.

She received an order for horseshoes. Lots of horseshoes. More horseshoes than would shod all the horses in the city. Day and night she would hammer away, filling crate after crate. The crates disappeared one day and she acts like nothing ever happened. What fell entity ordered all these horseshoes? Why?

She chased down and assaulted a merchant’s son with an iron skillet. She claimed he and his friends were vandalizing her workshop, but they’re good boys and her twisted magic won't work this time.