Fiego Laurentis de Gryphon
Fiego Laurentis Laurentis de Gryphon (a.k.a. Worgskrum "Wolfbait")
The De Gryphones are a noble family of Waterdeep with a somewhat scandalous reputation. A few generations ago the head of the family caused a stir of gossip by marrying the daughter of a Wood Elf Chieftain, but his alliance with the reclusive elves of High Forest allowed his family to prosper through the trade of rare elven goods and crafts. After her husband passed away, Linathandra steered her children and grandchildren to become a successful Waterdhavian family, purveyors of fine elven woodcraft and textiles. Fiego exhibits his great grandmother’s elven blood in his grass green eyes and his lithe agility, but otherwise looks like a typical Waterdhavian noble, swarthy of skin and wavy of hair. As a younger son, he never had much responsibility and instead whiled away his time dabbling in music, magic, and swordcraft, until the day that his family expected him to take on his duties as a young noble. Fearing that he would be married off to cement a political alliance, Fiego has taken on adventuring to avoid family responsibilities.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Fiego is lithe and athletic, appearing to be in his late teens due to his half elven heritage.
Body Features
Fiego wears his wavy brunette hair long and in a tail.
Facial Features
Fiego inherited his grandmother's grass green eyes.
Identifying Characteristics
A silvery scar in the shape of a downward pointing crescent on his upper right arm.
Apparel & Accessories
Fiego always wears what is fashionable for whatever event his is attending, generally something he can dance .. or fight .. in. Usually he has his green cloak thrown rakishly over his left arm.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Running off to avoid family responsibility, Fiego joined Skorg, Lyra, Sly, and Bryseis on an adventure that led them to an encounter with the Cult of the Dragon. It was an exhilarating experience for him and gave him the taste for escapades.
He has since gotten into many a scrape with the up and coming heroes of Waterdep and is growing to appreciate the courage and will of the people he calls friends.
Sexuality
Fiego is a lover of beauty and beauty comes in all forms.
Morality & Philosophy
Fiego is a Romantic at heart. He sees the world in terms of Heroes with Grand Causes and Villains with Dastardly Plots and sincerely thinks of the world as a vast theater to dramatize the interplay between the two. Mundanities are something of a blind spot for him.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Fiego aspires to become a hero from the storybooks.
Social
Social Aptitude
Extremely charismatic and flirtatious. Confident when speaking to large crowds. Refined manners, but borderlining cocky behavior.
Speech
Fiego speaks with a Cormyrian accent. Think Inigo Montoya.
Relationships
Alignment
Chaotic Good
Year of Birth
1464
28 Years old
Birthplace
Waterdeep
Spouses
Siblings
Children
Current Residence
De Gryphon Villa
Eyes
Grass or Emerald Green
Hair
Long, Wavy, Brunette
Quotes & Catchphrases
“The amateur fights with strength of the arm, the true student of swordcraft fights with their entire body. The Master, well .. the Master fights with the strength of her heart.”
“All of life is a dance. Your heart dances within your chest, your blood dances within your veins. Movement is life.”
"Come, let us dance!"
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Moonsong
9th of Eleasis
Ever since the escape from the Underdark, when the far off sounds of silvery hunting horns had led them to safety, Fiego couldn’t get their music out of his head. It had begun to haunt his sleep and on this particular night he woke up to moonlight streaming in the window, solid bars of silver gleaming with motes of dust. The night was quiet, but something about the silence called to the bard like the rests between beats of a song unheard. It was an expectant quiet as if waiting for the cue of an unseen conductor and Fiego’s hands yearned for the touch of an instrument.
He slipped from his bed and almost absent mindedly retrieved his fiddle, strapped his rapier to his hip, and walked out onto the streets of Waterdeep, not even noticing that his feet were bare. Even in the North Ward there were usually at least some guards patrolling through the night, but the streets were conspicuously empty. Fiego wandered, bemused by the moonlight, and found the northern entrance of the city open and unguarded. All the while, he played on his fiddle, working out the elusive notes of the mysterious song they’d heard deep underground.
(It was slow and melancholy, was it not? But phrases had ended with a lift that added a note of ... hope?)
As he kept puzzling it out, he found himself on the northern road toward Amphail, the countryside burnished in the silver of the full moon. As he was playing a particularly tricky passage he stumbled and lost the notes when his sword tangled between his ankles. In annoyance, he unstrapped it from his hip and drove it into the ground, directly in the middle of a crossroads. As the half elf continued to play, his feet found a rhythm of their own, slow and shuffling at first but quickening until he was leaping and spinning in circles around his sword, still playing with an intense focus.
He was finally (finally!) getting the song down when something distracted him and the music came to a stop. In the crossroads balanced en pointe on the hilt of his blade was a (flickering silver flame) beautiful woman. Her skin was dark as night and She wore nothing but Her long silvery flowing hair. She glanced behind herself at Fiego, the movement causing a cascade of shining (fire) hair (water) to fall and expose one perfect ebon shoulder. Her eyes flashed silver at him then died down to embers of deep blue and She raised an elegant hand toward him. She spoke no words, but the gesture was as clear to him as if She’d whispered in his ear …
~ please, continue playing ~
And so he did, picking up the song and the steps where he’d left off. It flowed from him as if he’d always known it, notes like long forgotten memories rising to the surface, an undercurrent to his entire life. It sang of love and of loss, steps leaping with happiness and spinning in spirals of despair. Through it all were silvery notes of hope always hinting at the dawning of a new day. It was the story of life itself, pure elemental vitality distilled into movement, rhythm, and melody. It came to a crescendo, Fiego’s fingers flying over the neck of his fiddle, and ended on a long high note, the bow drawing a keening wail from the instrument that seemed to go on forever without resolving, leaving the ending of the song hanging without resolution, a promise of continuance in the silence of the mind.
Fiego came to himself standing in front of the dark maiden, breath heaving. There was a moment of silence that was broken by Her laugh, a peal of silvery bells. Then She back flipped elegantly to the ground, drawing his blade as She went, and landing in a perfect fencer’s stance. Fiego found himself in that instant (making love) dueling with a partner who was the living embodiment of skill. Armed with nothing but the bow of his fiddle he countered the maiden’s attacks and, though She wielded his own razor sharp rapier, Her hand was so light and quick that She never cut a single horse hair from his instrument. Her swordcraft so far outstripped his that it made him feel like a fumbling virgin to the blade. Her (caresses) slashes moved with an elegance that left him breathless and Her (kisses) thrusts always caught him unguarded, aimed unerringly for his heart.
Though She could have dispatched him in the first exchange, She instead led him through the steps of the sword dance, every parry and riposte leading into the next. She led then followed and followed and led, Her knowing smile teaching him more than any master ever had. Their dance took them over fields and through woods until, exhausted, Fiego collapsed by a stream. With a smile, the maiden leaned over him, the fall of Her silver hair surrounding him like a veil and blocking out the light of the stars. She whispered in his ear …
Fiego blinked himself awake to late morning sun. He stretched lazily, muscles pulling oddly. Had he been drinking the night before? But no, he didn’t feel the impending pain behind his eyes that usually accompanied those activities, instead he felt .. pleasantly sore? As if ... but his bed was empty save for him and he didn’t remember bringing anyone home. The half elf shrugged, never one to question life’s pleasures too deeply. Yawning, he made his way from his bed, not noticing the mud stains he was leaving from his bare feet.
The Dark Below: The Epic of Sir Edwin Bryce
4th of Eleasis
Listen now and hear the tale,
Of the brave Sir Edwin Bryce.
Of a soul whose brav'ry did never fail,
E'en as he paid it's price.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
Sir Bryce took oaths that he held dear,
Defending knowledge and the wise.
So when his charges fell to fear,
He leaped to avenge their cries.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
The shadows rose and scholars fell,
When their magics gave them fail.
No light could live, though they cast them well,
So they passed beyond the veil.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
One by one, the lights went dark,
Snuffed by the creeping murk.
In desperate fear they grasped any spark,
And burned away their life’s work.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
Sir Edwin Bryce, a knight so brave,
Boldly leaped into the fray.
Of the brave Sir Edwin Bryce.
Of a soul whose brav'ry did never fail,
E'en as he paid it's price.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
Sir Bryce took oaths that he held dear,
Defending knowledge and the wise.
So when his charges fell to fear,
He leaped to avenge their cries.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
The shadows rose and scholars fell,
When their magics gave them fail.
No light could live, though they cast them well,
So they passed beyond the veil.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
One by one, the lights went dark,
Snuffed by the creeping murk.
In desperate fear they grasped any spark,
And burned away their life’s work.
Beware, beware, the shadow of the blade,
Beware it’s vicious bite.
When daylight turns to ever deep’ning shade,
And darkness devours all light.
Sir Edwin Bryce, a knight so brave,
Boldly leaped into the fray.
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