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The Rootcrow Theatre Company is composed of three core members: Luthanel, Brisemur and Élisandre. They travel together in a worn-out wagon pulled by two donkeys, to display their talents from villages to towns, from towns to cities, and sometimes on the side of busy roads.
HOW IT ALL BEGAN:
Luth and Brisemur are orphans — an all-too-common occurrence among adventurers, and even more among half-breds. Neither knows but rumors about his parents. Luthanel received his name from the hooker who raised him to replace and support her in her old age. Since, as a half-elf, he was aging quite slower than the woman, he was still a kid when he decided it was time for him to depart. With not so much as a good-bye, the ungrateful brat left when everyone else slept, in the middle of the day.
He did not stop before reaching the next town. As it happened, it was a city of some wealth, for a share of which Luth began to beg. Being a cute child, with a cute smile, and still rather clean, he proved successful enough to buy his first meal. Soon thereafter, two delegates of the local guild of beggars came to “invite” him to their headquarters, where he was slapped back to consciousness.
With a whorehouse for home, Luth had spent his nights wandering the streets so his mother and many aunts could work. He knew the rule out there: wherever an underworld “guild” exists, even just begging without its benediction is a no-no. Of course, he also knew enough not to brag about his being street-savvy. He pled ignorance. He started to weave an incredible tale regarding his rich father and mean stepmother, that kept the whole audience quiet until he was out of breath, and maybe half out of ideas.
The first reaction, after a pause, was a huge laugh, coming from the middle-aged man sat beside the guildmaster. This laugh was followed by many others, merging into a thunderous roar. When the last wave quieted down, Luth could not decide if he was alive or not. But he was, and soon a bard’s apprentice for the middle-aged man.
It is in the course of those years of learning that Luth met Brisemur. One night, hearing a commotion, his natural curiosity drove him close enough to witness a group of street toughs trampling on a form on the ground, shouting “half-bred” and “bastard” the whole time. He reacted as if the insults had been directed to him: he leapt out of the shadows right into the fray, first punching two surprised bullies away from their prey, soon being punched in turn, then kicked when he fell down.
The next surprise came from the first victim. While Brisemur had let the thugs waste their shoes on his tough hide, he could not agree with their hurting someone who had come to his rescue. He stood up. He was awfully tall. He was awfully big. At first, the bullies sníggered nervously, then they tried to resume their beating and they met with a wall. They met with a wall with fists, who answered back, pummeling them into a headlong flight. In an instant, Brisemur alone was standing, Luth half-conscious behind him.
Brisemur took care of the half-elf, carrying him back to his abode: a temple he had dedicated to the god who had helped him – a half-orc in a human city – to survive all those years. Brisemur was a self-proclaimed cleric of Olidammara, whose converts were mainly street urchins whom he protected, and sometimes healed through non-magical means. What skills he had, he had learnt from other social rejects, members of this “guild of beggars” also known as a guild of thieves.
Even then, never had he been really accepted, and that too linked him to Luth. If few people had the knowledge to recognize a half-drow in the bard’s apprentice, his appearance was alien enough to elicit suspicion in most parts of the city, even among its outcasts. Being naturally charming and witty, the kid had soon learnt to compensate and gather people around him, yet until Brisemur, he had never trusted anyone but his mentor; until Brisemur, he had never had a friend.
With his mentor gone on some adventure, Luth decided it was also time for him to leave the city. Brisemur left with his friend like it was the most natural thing in the world. They gathered their meager possessions one morning and departed. They became wandering entertainers, Luth with his wits and Brisemur his strength. With some practice, they also became acceptable comedians, rehearsing new roles while walking between towns and villages. When it would not feed them, they also accepted odd jobs; they became “adventurers” and, in the eyes of some, heroes.
Still, for most people, the half-breds were better kept at a distance. While Brisemur lacked in social graces, Luth’s exotic charm made him the fear of fathers everywhere. The pair happily kept on the move, now more comfortably as a wagon had been the reward of their oddest job to date. Only once did they part, and then not for very long: Luth had learnt that elves lived in a nearby forest and, always curious about his non-human legacy, he had set his mind on paying them a visit.
Brisemur did not like the idea; he did not like elves, or rather, he knew all too well that elves liked him even less than did humans. They decided to meet two weeks later: Brisemur would wait in the wagon, letting his friend pursue on foot.
To pretend that Luth received a warm welcome would be an exaggeration, but the elves finally let him stay one night among them. He was housed by their ruling family, sun elves whose grace and knowledge the half-bred could not but admire. Still, he began to feel that what kindness he was shown was painfully close to pity, a sting he could not stand. At dawn, he had already left, with due thanks to his hosts.
On his way back to the edge of the forest, he became aware of being watched. At first, it did not surprise him. Only when the stalker followed him in the open did he feel it was odd. When he turned around and discovered who had been in his steps, he thought he was seeing his death. The young daughter of the family who had welcomed him was standing there, her hand on the last tree, looking at him questioningly.
Abduction. He was going to serve as practice target for elven arrows. Could he run away? As if reading his mind, she had already taken a step toward him. Controlling his first impulse to back up, he let the maiden get closer. The archers would not dare shooting if there was a risk of hurting her. Would they? She was facing him now and explaining how his tales had moved her, how much she wished to discover the world. When he mentioned her parents, she claimed they had no right to restrain her, that she was of age and free, as any elf should be free to choose their own path.
Yeah, sure. Luth bowed, smiled and agreed. He invited her to follow him to his wagon, where his companion was waiting. She hurried by his side. The half-elf called for Brisemur, who slowly extracted himself from the wagon. The elven maiden missed a heartbeat, her eyes suddenly wide open. Then she passed Luth and, curtseying in front of his friend, presented herself: “I have for name Élisandre, and it is my pleasure to meet you.”
Luth made a bet with Brisemur that their princess would leave within a month, or would beg to be brought back to her parents. One month later, the half-orc was ten silvers richer. The whole little troupe was more in funds, though, as the exquisite Élisandre added to its luster. And she had more to offer.
She had felt estranged all her life because magic, which was a subject of study for her kind, was for her a natural talent… that she did not control all that well. Luth found a way for her to gain this control, when he suggested that she copied the wizards in her family, using the same gestures and material components. The weird part is when Luth found that he could, also going through the same motions and using the same props, cast spells too.
What she was to magic, he was to acting: they both had a Gift. As for Brisemur, he had been blessed in another way: one day, after a nasty battle that had left Élisandre bleeding on the ground, unconscious, the half-orc had thrown a tantrum, calling to Olidammara and even insulting the god, until this one answered and made a miracle, curing the elven maiden completely.
In a glow of holy light, and the echo of a laugher, the small troupe had been granted a cleric.
THE CAST:
Luthanel
CG half-elf, bard 1. Str 12 Dex 14 Con 14 Int 16 Wis 8 Cha 15. Feat: Improved Initiative. Skills: Bluff 4 (6), Concentration 4 (6), Diplomacy 4 (8), Disguise 4 (6), Gather Information 4 (8), Listen 4 (3), Perform: staging 4 (6), Sense Motive 4 (3), Tumble 4 (6). Spells: 0- Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Read Magic.
Luth walks the world with the grace of a dancer, with the sparkling fluidity of a cat. His almond-shaped eyes light a dark blue fire under a bush of white hair, dense and soft as fur, while his feline smile is made even more dazzling from the swarthiness of his beardless skin. Naked, his long limbs and leanness make him look taller than he really is; of course, most people never see him but in costumes or in his traveler’s outfit: a patchwork of materials gathered during his wanderings, nearly a wearable logbook.
In his mid-twenties, Luth still comes across as a teenager playing the part of an adult. He exudes self-confidence; his ready smiles and exotic looks never cease to intrigue the fair sex. Still, in spite of his treating the ladies with what many call undue familiarity, he stays inexperienced. Only Brisemur, who knows about his friend having been raised in a whorehouse (from a time they brought some money to Luth’s foster mother), has an inkling of how the half-elf feels in the presence of women: while he treasures their company, he is wary of those who show too much interest in him, and even more of the few he finds himself attracted to.
In spite of that, he seems unable not to be charming, a talent that saved his life a tad more often that it got him into trouble. He is especially fascinating when spinning out tall tales, which he often acts out with his comrades. Should you believe Brisemur and Élisandre, his talent for staging is such as to border to magic, expanding beyond the boards even to the battlefield.
Élisandre
CG elf, sorcerer 1. Str 6 Dex 15 Con 11 Int 12 Wis 10 Cha 18. Feat: Skill Focus (Craft: illusions). Skills: Bluff 1 (5), Concentration 4 (4), Craft: illusions 4 (8), Knowledge: arcana 1 (2), Spellcraft 2 (3). Spells: 0- Detect Magic, Flare, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Read Magic. 1- Mage Armor, Magic Missile, Shield, Silent Image.
A smile of Élisandre’s is like the break of dawn, like a flower opening after the rain. Supple as a reed, and just as frail, she is never happier than when she can share her love for life. Though many have felt love for her, for this unsettling mixture of childlike enthusiasm and long life, she has never answered sigh for sigh. She looks everyone straight in the eyes, with a disarming frankness.
Only the wind is her avowed lover, when it makes a banner of her pale golden hair. When it kisses her brow, she drinks it into her violet eyes and it seems that the whole world is suddenly brighter. Élisandre likes to wear clothes that flow easily; she favors colors you can find in a natural environment, with a predilection for the lighter hues.
Is she still a child? She may look even younger than Luth but Élisandre has matured quite a bit since she joined the half-elf and his half-orc friend. Though barely past her first century, she has seen more of the world than any of her older cousins. She has begun using Silent Image to express her feelings artistically, and as she gains experience – and access to better Illusion spells – her talent may outgrow the little troupe.
In the meantime, she is a vital part of it. She even christened the company, from the picture of a crow holding a root in its claws, on the side of their wagon. She also found this one to be magical, but she still lacks the ability to pierce its secrets.
Brisemur
CG half-orc, cleric 1. Str 19 Dex 10 Con 16 Int 7 Wis 15 Cha 8. Feat: Martial Weapon Proficiency (greatsword). Skills: Bluff 1 (0), Concentration 1 (4), Heal 1 (3), Knowledge: religion 1 (-1). Domains: Luck, Trickery.
While younger than his two comrades, Brisemur looks the oldest and also acts the part. If he seems sullen, it is only that, aware of being a lousy speaker, he prefers to listen and ponder. He knows enough to welcome the many pleasures of life, if seldom the same as Élisandre. Still, does he have feelings for the elven maiden? Luth has sometimes thought so, but for once his intuition failed him: Brisemur sees Élisandre as a flower to be preserved, maybe as a younger sister. For lovers, he prefers women who will not break in his arms. Contrary to Luth, he gets his share of sexual bliss — with the occasional bold lady, less afraid of his looks than attracted to his muscles or more subtle qualities.
Brisemur is big: big hands, big arms, big chest, and a big big heart beating under his tough hide. You will always find him siding with the underdogs, with a religious devotion he ties to the “laughing rogue”: before even Luth and Élisandre, for whom he would lay his life, he has Olidammara as his best friend, if an unreliable one.
The god’s weapon of choice is the rapier; when the half-orc proved unable to wield effectively the puny weapon, he picked up a greatsword instead and named it “Rapier”. For lack of better, he currently wears as armor the hides of beasts that proved stupid enough to prey on him. His overall look is more that of a barbarian warrior than of a cleric, but his god himself being deceptive, the fact does not bother Brisemur.
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