Cyril Chadwick

Basic Information

Name: Cyril Chadwick (translation: Lord-Like Warrior)

Title: Alastair Knight of the Order of Sallayas 

Player: Dan Bowling

Age: 62

Sex: Male

Traits

• Honor bound
• Despises lying
• Outspoken
• Extremely fit for his age
• Honest face
• Tell-tale white mustache and long beard
• Bowlegged (says it's from all the time he's spent on a horse)

Campaign (GM) Back Story:

After being imprisoned by Martoy Rathsig (aka Rathsig the Betrayer) for an unknown amount of time, you were recently loaded into a wagon, of-course blind-folded and bound wrist and ankle. The brutish half-ogre jailer/torturer of Rathsig, known to you as Sevog mumbled something about slave market as he bound you.

Punched once hard in your empty belly to double you over, you were loaded onto a crude hand-wagon and hauled out of Martoy’s dungeons by Sevog. You then heard muffled voices discussing something at a distance before being thrown into a wagon which, from what you could tell from within was nothing more than a box on wheels, enclosed on all six sides with a sealed aperture somewhere which you were tossed in through. Despite pulling off your blindfold, you were immersed in an inky blackness making you doubt your vision. The journey in the box was disheartening because despite feeling large bumps and being shaken about the interior, you heard nothing. No clattering wooden wheels upon hard stone, no wagon-master shouting at horses or passers by. You only could sit and wonder what fate Martoy had consigned you to.

After riding for what you guess was some days, the wagon stopped, this time for longer than any other stop to relieve the teamster’s bladder or to rest and water the horses. No more bumping, bouncing or banging. Your ankles were only bound by rope, which you had removed when it occurred to you. The manacles on your wrist were metal and beyond your strength. After sitting in utter darkness and complete crushing silence until starvation compelled you, you attempted to stand in the box that strangely felt to be a five-foot cube. Wizards are odd folk. Hunched over, you began to push and prod on the walls and eventually the ceiling, which opened as if hinged on one side.

As you stood erect and looked out you had a strange sense of vertigo as you looked straight up into a starry sky, though you stood flat footed and gazed parallel to the ground beneath your feet. The odd feeling only lasted a moment before you fell on your back. You crawled from within your odd cell. In the moonlight, you discovered that the vessel you were being transported in on the exterior was a simple in-ornate looking chest, only about a two-foot cube. Odd fold, indeed. It appeared to have been cast into a bush when the wagon was run off the road. In the darkness you found the body of Sevog, dead. Probably bandits, or some enemy of Rathsig. In any case they were thorough in taking anything of value. You gathered what you could that may be of use or value and scampered down the road hoping to encounter civilized folk before the possible bandits that ended the dark days of the hulking half-ogre Sevog.

Having slept, curled under a bush cold and hungry for some time, you awoke just at dawn and continued your trek in nothing but a rag of cloth around your waist, and the over-sized boots of the half-ogre, manacles intact, with a length of rope and a magical box tucked under your arms. You came upon a small farm house in the morning where you were able to convince the farmer using your (insert skill or advantage) to help free you from the manacles and supply you with a meal, trousers and a shirt as well as one gold piece in exchange for the magical box. He then told you that the nearest city is known as Raal and lies a number of hours down the road.