Drústan Arthfael

Human bard


Lord Vyncent and Lady Celia Arthfael have five sons. Four of those sons have served as Commanders in Braddon’s Royal Navy, as their father. Four of those sons have Been knighted at Bellwether Palace in Derryport. The other one is Drústan.

The youngest of the five brothers, Drústan was raised more his mother’s son than his father’s. Lord Vyncent was at sea for long spans, assigned to protect trade routes between Derryport and Gho-Ralakk against pirates from Amiere.

Possibly lamenting her lack of a daughter after five tries, and seeing an opportunity in the absence of her Lord Husband, Lady Celia had her youngest son trained in the arts: music, theater, and the written word. Growing up in the city of Varonne, renowned for its arts and architecture, Drústan had no shortage of things to immerse himself in.

His elder brothers, who continued to train with the family’s master-at-arms, would mock Drústan mercilessly for his interests and lack of physical training and military aspirations.

Growing restless in the city of his sheltered childhood and tired of the disrespect and derision, Drústan decided that he would leave the city. Before he had considered where he would go and when, an opportunity presented itself. On one of the many nights he spent at the Gilded Grimoire, a fine alehouse in the theater quarter of Varonne, he spoke at length with a merchant of some sort who was traveling west toward Pembray from Derryport. The merchant, a stout blonde man named Harlew with a highly-styled curled mustache, mentioned that the small town of Pembray was under siege from Lizardfolk raiders from the nearby swamps. Most merchants have stopped venturing near it for fear of the scaled monstrosities, and so he plans to make a killing braving the trek.

Drústan felt an excitement in his spine, and knew he had found his opportunity. An opportunity for adventure, for glory, and to prove that he wasn’t the piss-ant that his brothers said he was. He gallantly volunteered to be a guard on Harlew’s caravan. In response, the blonde man chuckled, and politely declined. He explained to Drústan that bringing a young noble into dangerous land is something of a liability, and generally a service that someone is paid for. He also stated that he had capable guards already in tow, from The Buckets, the most crime-stricken neighborhood in the great city of Derryport. Not the most savory of characters, but loyal to the purse that pays them and very handy with a blade.

Acting with equal parts stubbornness and desperation, Drústan bid Harlew adieu, but not before asking when the caravan would be departing the city. He then returned home.

The following night, hours before the scheduled departure of Harlew’s caravan, Drústan entered his father’s study, backpack in tow. A gaudily-decorated room even slinked the standards of Varonne’s aristocracy, the walls boasted huge oil paintings of various naval battles. There were shelves lined with books of many different sorts, as well as scale models of warships, ivory busts of historic heroes of Braddon, and artifacts from many distant islands. Searching for something both valuable and portable, Drústan settled on a gold-tubed spyglass with a swirling jade inlay on the side. He assumed Harlew could make plenty of gold selling it in Derryport. Excitement outweighed guilt as he stuffed the spyglass into his bedroll and headed toward the Gilded Grimoire.

Drústan Arthfael

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