How the Blightburners Came Together
They met in the smoky, low-beamed Black Boar Inn, three hard days’ ride north of the Blightscar border — the last real tavern before the green river and the rot begin.
Sigrid Vale stomped in first, bastard sword across her back. Rose Blackthorn followed, all resting-bitch-face and sharp edges. Dustryder slipped quietly in after dark. Last to arrive was old Grimwald, muttering for ale to quench an old man’s thirst. Then the screams broke the silence.
Sigrid was first out the door sword in hand. Dustryder slipped out into the shadows arrow nocked on his small bow followed by a very inconvenienced Rose. Grimwald muttered under his breath as his knees creaked while he rose from the table ale still in hand.
Brigand slavers in the courtyard. The tavern keeper’s wife bent over the old well. Two at the well and two heading into the blacksmiths.
Dusk loosed the arrow, and missed. The brigand archer returned fire and missed. The brigand that was about to kick in the blacksmiths turned and rushed Rose, blows exchanged and he found himself pushed back.
By the well the tavern keeper’s wife was already collared…screaming. A thug rushed Sigrid. It was the last mistake he ever made as after a flurry of blows her bastard sword rang true and sent this bastard to the grave. The leader pounced, Sigrid’s armor saved her.
Then it was their turn. Sigrid split the thugs head, Rose continued exchanging blows with the wily brigand. Grimwald muttered arcane words, marking the archer with a faint glow.
Dust took the initiative and put a well-placed arrow into the archers eye, nodding thanks to Grimwald.
The last thug pounced on Rose again, only to find himself skewered by her fencing sword.
Four strangers, four different reasons, same direction south. A shared table, cheap ale, and louder talk turned into a pact after blood spilled together: ride together, split the spoils, burn whatever needed burning.
Two days later, still at the Black Boar, a handful of local thugs tried to rob them. Garric Hale cracked the first one with his mace. Finn Vey dropped the second with a single arrow from across the room. When the dust settled, both men were offered a place in the crew for coin and a share of whatever glory (or loot) the Marches had waiting.
They took the deal.
Now the six of them ride together — a warband forged in spilled blood, spilled ale, and the promise of fortune in a land already bleeding green.
Sigrid Vale and Rose Blackthorn
Sigrid Vale Human (Zealot Background) – Avatar
She came down from the cold northern ridges with fire in her blood and a bastard sword across her back. Sigrid Vale has always been the one who walks into the dark when everyone else backs away. The Blightscar Marches called to her like a wound that needed cauterizing — fame, fortune, and the chance to burn the rot out of the land once and for all. She doesn’t pray to distant gods. She brings the fire herself.
When the rumors of iron, lost treasures, and a land bleeding green reached the north, she didn’t hesitate. She strapped on her chain, buckled the shield, pulled on the helmet, and joined the crew of outsiders heading south. They think she’s just the hard-eyed leader with the loudmouth and the bigger sword.
They’re half right.
She’s here to carve her name into the Marches, to make the Blightwomb scream, and to leave this cursed place either rich or in flames — preferably both.
Traits & Skills
- Battlewise
- Leadership
- +1 Speech (Human)
Stats +1 Toughness, +1 Combat Skill, +2 Will, +2 Luck
Gear Bastard sword, shield, helmet, chain (partial armor), bandages, scout’s cloak
Rose Blackthorn Human (Noble Background)
Long and lean as a dueling blade, with the kind of resting-bitch-face that makes bigger men check their tone, Rose Blackthorn rolled in from the cold northern courts with a fencing sword on her hip and a centuries-old grudge burning in her gut. Blackthorn Manor — the stone pile and blackthorn hedges that should have been her family’s by blood right — is currently squatted in by some soft-handed rival house. She’s here to take it back, one way or another.
When word of trouble and easy coin reached the north, she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her gambeson, the rapier that’s already tasted more than its share of noble blood, and joined a crew of rougher outsiders heading south. They think she’s just another arrogant sword-for-hire with a fancy name.
She lets them think it. For now.
Traits & Skills
- Expertise
- Wits
- +1 Speech (Human)
Stats +1 Agility, +1 Combat Skill, +2 Luck
Gear Fencing sword, partial armor, 2 Gold Marks
Dustryder “Dust” Halfling (Frontier Background)
He came from the rugged northern wilds, where the hills are stony and the forests bite back. Dust spent years guiding caravans along the cold northern roads, learning how to move silent through undergrowth, drop game or raiders with one clean arrow, and slip away clean when trouble grew too large for his small frame.
When word reached the north of rich iron veins, lost treasures in ancient ruins, and quick fortune to be made in the Blightscar Marches, he joined a band of outsiders heading south. The promise of glory and coin was too strong to ignore.
Traits & Skills
- Lucky Shot, Slip Away, Lacking Strength
- Wilderness (+1 Halfling +2 skill = +3 total)
- Traveling
Stats +1 Agility, +1 Combat Skill, +1 Will
Gear Self bow, dagger (light weapon), light armor, 3 bandages
Grimwald Human Mystic
He came from the cold northern hills, where crumbling monasteries cling to the cliffs and the wind carries echoes of old, forbidden rites. Eldric Grimwald was already grey and battle-scarred when the rumors of the Blightscar Marches reached the north — a land where the earth itself bled green and the dead refused to stay buried. Decades spent studying alchemy in forgotten libraries had left him hard, cynical, and unafraid of the dark.
When the whispers grew too loud to ignore, he packed his staff, a suit of light armor, and the strange mystic trinket he’d pried from a barrow long ago. He joined a band of younger outsiders heading south, chasing fortune and glory. They think he’s just the cranky old man who can mend wounds and curse enemies.
They don’t know he came to look the Blightwomb in the eye… and decide whether to heal the wound or help it finish swallowing the world.
Traits & Skills
- Alchemy skill
- +1 Toughness, +1 XP
Spells Confuse, Heal, Mark, Slow, Steelbreak
Garric Hale Human – Former Soldier (Follower)
Big, scarred, and built like a siege tower that’s seen too many walls, Garric Hale was a sergeant in the northern levies until the last border war chewed him up and spat him out. He lost his unit, his pension, and most of his faith in lords and banners. Now he drifts south with nothing but a dented mace, patched light armor, and a thirst that no ale can quite kill.
He was nursing a mug in the smoky roadside tavern when a handful of local toughs decided the four northerners looked like easy marks. Garric stood up, cracked one across the jaw with his mace, and the fight was over almost before it started. The crew offered him a spot on the spot. He took it.
Gear Mace, light armor
Finn Vey Human – Wily Rogue (Follower)
Slim, quick, and smiling like he already knows where you keep your coin, Finn Vey has spent his life slipping between caravans, picking pockets, and vanishing before anyone can hang him. He’s no hero — just a man who figured the Blightscar sounded like the perfect place to get rich or disappear.
He was running a quiet three-card game in the same tavern when the brawl broke out. The moment steel cleared leather he put an arrow through the biggest thug’s shoulder from across the room, then grinned and asked if the northerners were hiring. They were.
Gear Self bow, light weapon (dagger)
They have only recently crossed into the Marches. To the south the land grows darker and more rotten, falling away into the Ashen Badlands — a poisoned, broken expanse that seems to be the source of the threats now creeping northward. Dust keeps one eye on the treeline at all times.
"Well boys, we're here...stay frosty" Sigrid says aloud. Rose raises an eyebrow, Grimwald takes his last sip from a flask. Garric and Finn just look at each other.
The Blightscar Marches await...
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