CG Female Ayr’Dal Spellsinger 13
Weapon of Choice: Small Sword
Though the slums of West Freeport offered little guidance for the creative mind, Alora’s musical ability revealed itself at a young age. Child to the streets, she sang for her sustenance and often crept into the corners of taverns so she could listen and recount the tales of the many travelers that passed through Freeport. Under the docks, Lothar Blackhawke happened upon the young girl telling a story to the local street urchins. Immediately taken with her charm and skill, he took Altora under his wing and introduced her to Caskin Marsheart in North Freeport. The Choir of Love welcomed her with open arms, and soon her days were filled with music, study, reading, and writing. Eyes filled with tears, she Bade Lothar farewell when the winds of wanderlust called him away from Freeport. Three years later, after she had made quite a hame for herself in the common lands of Antonica, word reached the chord hall that Lothar had fallen while in search of the missing pieces to a legendary symphony yet unfinished. She now follows in the footsteps of her slain friend, hoping to uncover the secrets of his perilous quest. The journey proved far more intense than she imagined and her design to find the missing pages of the strange symphony has grown to equal her need to uncover the details behind Lothar’s death. Once rumored to have been romantically involved with the brooding Vagner from Halas, Altora adopts a simple smile when confronted with her romantic endeavors. After all, a good brad knows what stories to tell and ones to leave buried in the past. The songs in her heart and the stories on her tongue belong to the people of NOrrath, who feed her inspiration with their own tales of fortune and glory.
“Altora ran as fast as her song of clerity would allow, chanting easily as she went, her rapid footfalls acting as accompaniment to the song. She could see the smoke filling the sky from miles away, thick columns of black rising up in the air-Freeport, city of men, burned. The attractive bard thought occasionally to stop travelers along the way, wanting news, but something in her would not allow it. Freeport, her home, her birthplace, called to her and her heart compelled to answer swiftly. As she neared the western entrance, Altora heard shouts and cries from within the city walls. Families, carrying whatever belongings they could, were leaving Freeport in droves. Altora stopped just outside the gates and-disregarding her earlier advice-grabbed the arm of a young man hurrying away towards the Commonlands. “What vexes the city?” Altora pleaded. The man, barley twenty winters, broke free of her grasp, his eyes wild with panic. Altora smiled at him, humming a short ditty that would sooth his nerves (because mind control is fun). His shaking eased and he took in a deep breath. “Riots” he told her. “Riots” Altora almost laughed “no here, not in” “Riots m’lady” he said again “The city burns. People are looting, pillaging. My home is gone” he said falling to his knees and sitting, his satchel landing beside him. “All i’ve worked for is gone. My parents..they told me to stay in Qeynos, that no sensible man would seek a fortune in Freeport. I should have listened.” Altora’s face darkened, but she fished a few platinum coins from her pouch and pushed them gently into the man’s hand. “Travel well my friend. If you return to Qeynos, speak to Sollari Bekins and tell her that Altora sent you. She will give you work and a place to rest should your family not receive you kindly” she said sympathetically. The man nodded and looked at her gratefully, struggling to find the right words, managing only an awkward silence. She simply nodded. Slowly he rose his feet and moved to pick up his things. After bidding the young man farewell, Altora began to fight her way through the maddened crowd. Shouts and screams filled the city. Guards had taken to the walls, kicking and stabbing any man, women, or even children who approached. An arrow flew through the air, striking one of hte older guards in the chest. He faltered and was pulled from the wall by an angry crowd, who beat from him what remaining life he had left. Altora had seen her share of death during her many long years of travels, but she had to fight hard against the urge to sob. The city of her birth was being torn apart by riots wholly incapable of reason. Slowly, she worked her way north towards the bard’s unoffical guild hall, Marsheart’s Chords. It took the better part of the afternoon to push through the crowds and avoid the flames of burning buildings. Here and there people, young and old, capitalized on the horror, smashing windows and grabbing whatever their hands coudl carry. Freeport had never been without its flaws, but Altora grew sick at the ugliness of it all. She song an impromptu verse
Mourn for me not when I am dead
Hear the ringing of the bell,
And know what I have fled
From my home, with strangers to dwell.
Death: Dies fighting against a group of Iskar