Theia Reinhold
Theia Reinhold
Alignment
Lawful good
Age
21
Birthplace
Rexxentrum
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Green, golden glow
Hair
Dirty blonde
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Fair
Height
5' 7"
Weight
120lb
The Empyrean Company
30th Misuthar 836PD
We have finally concluded our business in Lebenda Swamp and Berleben, the awful business of avenging Zeke behind us. We have packed the caravan of villagers, supplies and the dragon's hoard onto our three wagons, settled up with the local guard and started heading towards the Clovis Concord, so many miles away.
Initially, I wasn't sure we would ever fulfil our contract with Thornbank to the letter, and I was admittedly prepared to let Arinoth escape should the trail run cold. Now that our foes have played their hand and we have emerged victorious, however, I do feel a sense of closure and justice for this overall bitter situation. The local Crownsguard, conspicuously absent until the fighting had abated and their local crime lord lay dead at our feet, arrived with all the pomp and arrogance expected of those in uniform. Thankfully they had an exceptionally competent sergeant in Tarak Nadir, and he helped us resolve the situation as common sense would expect. The guards would only negotiate short of arrests with a registered mercenary company, however, so Roderick coined the name "The Empyrean Company" for us on the fly. I like it, but I can't shake the feeling that he got it from something I said before the guard arrived; I'm mostly amused, as I would have sworn he wasn't listening otherwise. Feylari, GG and Roderick have designed and built us a company seal, and the paperwork was squared away this morning declaring us working for the good of the Empire. I must admit, I could get used to the way this interaction played out. I had no idea this was even possible, and it feels like an expedient way to deal with the friction between the inherent impotence of law enforcement and a party such as ours actually producing some good in the world.
I appreciate that this newfound disdain for the Crownsguard is unlikely to be of benefit to us in the future and I must temper my expectations so it doesn't leave me jaded. It comes from a position of realising we really can project a higher order of justice and rectitude on this world, and perhaps the Empyrean Company are the ones to do it.
We are camped by the side of the road between Berleben and Zadash as I write this, and so far it's been generally smooth journey, albeit tiring to walk for so long. Perhaps I'll take up the offer from some of the others to ride for a bit tomorrow, as we have a week's journey before we arrive at Zadash. It'll be good to be back in a big city again.
What's in a Name
22nd Mithusar 836PD
I am writing whilst sat in a riverboat, unable to sleep in this constant roiling. I had intended to write more often, but my mind has been elsewhere, mulling over the upheaval in everything I held as normal and true. My little act of rebellion has reaped a myriad of repercussions; I have discovered that I am not even human, that my childhood was a calm before the storm. Roderick calls me an Aasimar, but the most I've gotten out of him about the whole thing was the little he explained over the dining table at home when it first came up. It seems that my parents always knew, were shielding me from this upcoming chapter of my life as some kind of divine messenger or tool of a god. Of Sarenrae. Quite how a goddess, particularly one whose tenets include such basic moral principles like compassion and forgiveness was "forgotten" still eludes me. Still, it could be worse, and strangely I find myself grateful that this has bleached out any trouble I could have been in for running off in the first place. That, and I'm quite content with the new companions I find myself travelling with.
The group we have formed appear to be content to keep travelling and working together for the foreseeable future, even the likes of Ceonwulf and Gwen who I sometimes fear will skulk off into the woods and not return. As far as I can tell, all are comfortable with one another, though I do find Ongar's lack of humanlike expressions difficult to read and struggle to see whether he's pensive, angry or simply lost in thought sometimes. Still, when I've asked, he has announced that he is glad to have found some direction, even if it is on a strange mission from a dragon, a treasure hunt disconcertingly light on specifics.
We met a strange man who has offered us work, a man named Thornbank who soon revealed himself to be a brass dragon. Having never tangled with their kind before, this made my stomach drop, thinking I had invited some great evil into my family home, but many of the others took this in their stride. Thornbank seems to be a forthright sort, though one to always get his way. He has tasked us with tracking down the lair of one Ralarzika (I think - I'll refer to him as Zeke hereafter) and investigating rumours of his demise. It would seem that local factions have potentially slain the young bronze dragon, and Thornbank wants them brought to violent justice. He's offered a supposed hidden treasure as a reward, though it strikes me as a little too convenient for me to count on. Regardless, he paid us 50 gold each up front, an amount I would have rarely handled a year ago. I am also enjoying our journeys together with the little team we have made, and looking forward to seeing more of the world and spreading my wings, both figuratively and literally.
As our group's cohesion forms and our bonds deepen, it would seem that my hopes of a more permanent companionship is potentially going to be realised. To that end, I've been quietly trying to formulate a name for our party, one not bound to the Empire or beholden to any one of us specifically. I haven't mustered the courage to broach the subject to the others yet, but hopefully a good name will improve the odds that such a concept is well received.
(The rest of the page is filled with names and keywords, most of which are crossed out. Some appear to be circled, underlined or annotated with question marks, while others are crossed out in a series of angry, thick lines. The words "Heralds", "Seekers", "Journeymen" and "Bannermen" appearing to be in favour and another small section dedicated to synonyms around light and divinity, such as "Radiant", "Lambent" and "Empyrean". The page is a mess of ideas with no semblance of a clear winner. A winged figure holding a sword aloft decorates a margin.)
New Beginnings
7th of Misuthar - 836 PD
What an eventful day this has turned out to be. I understood when setting out from home that my decision to hit the road and see the world may bring surprises, but I wouldn't have gambled on a brush with death, new acquaintances and a discovery that I can perform magic. Magic! Such things aren't wielded by us common folk - it's the purview of the rich and learned, the wizards in their towers and heroes of legend.
I started my journey on safe and familiar terms, heading west with the intention of visiting Odessloe, Erdeloch and possibly Yrrosa. I figured I could make it to Odessloe in a day of walking, and late afternoon a gruelling day of drizzle and miles of unassuming road finally paid into my expectations as I arrived in the town. I dropped into the first tavern where I couldn't smell the stale beer from the street outside and imposed myself upon a busy barmaid, who could clearly see how weary I was. She deposited me on a table opposite a strange fellow wearing armour and with his nose in a book, whom I tried and failed to solicit conversation from. Roderick, as I found his name to be much later, seems like a wise and learned fellow more at home in the wider world than I, but not one for idle chatter. Before I could further make a fool of myself however, the same girl who had delivered unto me rest and a mug of water returned again to settle a wide, imposing creature I believe to be a tortle to our table. He introduced himself as Ongar, a wizard apprentice under a member of the Cerberus Assembly nearby. We didn't exchange much more than names however before a duo of raucous dwarves named Jakuki and Ceonwulf, clearly half-cut and high on life, descended upon our table and knocking Roderick from his literary reverie. Their loud, boisterous nature and nearly spilling his drink over his book seemed sure to spark an altercation, but the two seemed oddly disarming in their greetings and soon had the table in cheery discussion with the addition of some extra drinks for all.
The first revelation of the day came soon after; Roderick, silently nodding his thanks to the duo for his extra flagon, reached out and muttered some incantation while pressing his fingers to the mug of ale. A slight sense of power coursed through him and upon noticing my intrigued glance, explained that he was using a spell to flavour his drink more to his tastes. Purely as a jest I haughtily demanded he teach me this critical skill, and following his instructions I inadvertently managed to summon a puff of smoke from atop my own mug. Taken aback, I tried once more, focusing on the intention behind the words and channeling my will into a subtle vanilla and berry flavouring my grandmother used to make into a drink many years prior. It worked! I used magic to flavour my ale, and giddy with this newfound ability I soon drained my flagon and joined the conversation around the table. The scene seemed a little rowdy for my tastes in truth, but I soon found myself swept into the conversations and swapping tales and origins with the gathered group. More drinks arrived seemingly without being ordered, courtesy of one exceptionally pale elf trying to curry favour but unsuccessfully stay on the sidelines. She was soon persuaded to pull up a chair, at the expense of a poor local about to sit down, who fell in a heap with a crash!
Ongar regaled us with tales of his apprenticeship as a wizard and the recent death of his mentor, revealing some measure of ability by upsetting the proprietors with an ill-advised dweomer (new word from Ongar, remember that one) cast into her mind in order to show off and request more to drink, resulting in some rather ruffled feathers. He seems rather adrift in society for someone so learned, but he's a darling nonetheless. Gwen, the pale elf, was as a respite from the surrounding revelry, reserved and dignified as she appeared in the face of the machismo and loud drinking competitions borne from the three others nearest. I got little chance to converse, but she seems at home in the wild, her attire and bow revealing a self-sufficient nature and a discomfort from such an urban press of bodies such as this. I fully intended to ask the reason for buying the drinks and therefore her ticket into this madness, but our conversations were cut short by screams and calls for aid from outside.
Fires raged, people were trapped and initially unbeknownst to us, goblins raged and looted. I shan't document the ensuing battle in the area known as the Tumbledowns against the group of goblins, but ultimately it taught me much about the mettle of the people at our table, and ultimately of my own. While my conscience remains clear, today is the first time I have knowingly taken a life, that being a goblin assailing our group with a hail of arrows. I brought down my anger, frustration and pain in a blast of searing light which charred the vile creature to its very bones. The image is burned into my mind and grateful am I that the creature died at such distance that I don't have to spare much thought to the details. Thankfully my mind is soothed by the good we have done this day, saving many and helping to dampen the fires before they could spread. Roderick, Gwen, Ceonwulf and I all sported serious injuries that required tending, but again Roderick simply magicked his troubles away and healed his wounds with a spell. Ceonwulf, selfless to the last, brought the healing light of Pelor to bear for Gwen before she lost too much blood. Roderick taught me to channel my will once more, this time for healing as he did, and once I persuaded the mad dwarf to stand still for a moment I used this upon him. Healing magic is strange, foreign to me so far and while it knitted together the laceration in Ceonwulf's side, it was untidy and borne of my uncertainty. I decided not to attempt the same thing on myself, lest I somehow do myself some real harm. I've used the classic sheep's gut and needle to suture my own shoulder and arm, and I should fare just fine as I am.
We have returned to the Lying Bear inn as I write this for some well-earned rest. Board and lodge has been paid for, and despite the new medical supplies I have bought I somehow have plenty of money to journey on with. A Crownsguard captain called Reseigh stopped by to offer his thanks for our deeds in the Tumbledowns, suggesting we consider some work being offered by a nobleman of the town, a man by the name of Thomas Edemah. Certainly nobody I have heard of and the offer comes with some request for discretion. It sounds a little suspect as gainful employment goes, but truthfully between the interest shown by the others and my deep desire to keep such companionship on the road, I will likely try to persuade them to investigate with me in the morning upon Reseigh's return. I will not be surprised if Roderick or Gwen are absent come the morning given their reticent demeanour at the table so far, but I may petition the dwarven duo for their company and stick with them for a while if their odd crusade against "men with sticks" leads them away from Rexxentrum. As for Ongar, I can somehow tell that he has latched onto our little outfit, lost as he seems since his life was so suddenly upended recently. We shall see.
I can perform magic.