Bio

The slight rustle of the command tent flaps opening and the soft breeze of the night air dancing with the candles’ flames on his desk were the first signs that his “guest” had finally arrived. He didn’t stand, he just put down his quill and looked up with annoyance from the parchment of tomorrow’s orders. He knew that the entering command tent guard, while a beast of a man, was always slightly intimidated when he had to address his superior directly. It was not a feeling he enjoyed, not from his own men at least, but his actions and the stories being what they were, he cared little to change it.
“Uh, Major General sir, the person you said that you were expecting tonight has arrived.”
“Name?”
“He, uh, he never gave me his name sir.”
“Did you even ask for her name?”
“Her? …Yes. Well, no. That is sir, you never told me his, uh her name so I thought…”
“Nevermind. Has she been disarmed?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Check her again, then let her in and leave us in private.”
“Yes sir.”

Standing and turning from his desk, he happened to have his back to the entrance when he felt, more than heard, that his guest had entered the large command tent. He wasn’t at all worried about being alone with the stranger, he knew that his visitor would already be well aware of his reputation, and that his guest would prefer to stay in the shadows near the wall of the tent. He placed his hands behind his back and never bothered to turn around as he spoke.

“Worgrave. … I’ve known the family for a long time. Proud. Skilled. While not religious, or of noble blood, they never-the-less have a commendable sense of right and wrong …or so I thought. As the local protectors of the township of Eshher, they were the most popular family for miles around. … Oh, they were such a prize when the call to join was made.

Jeric Worgrave is a duskblade. His father and older brother, both recently deceased, were practiced as well. Duskblades you see, are very rare, the art is usually practiced by far-off elves, but the Worgrave clan has trained in it for generations. Some say that the family has ancient elven blood in them. … Have you ever seen a duskblade? No, I’m sure you have not. The way that they battle, mixing magic and steel the way that only they can, using each harmoniously for deadly effect… it’s beautiful really. They fight the way no other soldier can. The young Worgrave wasn’t the best, his father and sibling were much more experienced, but he’s strong, a superb fighter, quick on his feet and with his wit …and with a potential for power that far exceeds that of any of his kin.

He’s as tall as I am, short, dark hair, no distinguishing marks… you already have the written profile with all these details and more. The deal is that you get nothing until you bring proof. And he’s already looking over his shoulder. Oh, and I wouldn’t bother starting your search in Eshher. There are no Worgrave’s left there, male…or otherwise. … Now go.”

The candles’ flames danced one more time and he was alone.