Moon Elf, Rogue - Played by
Joe Murphy, Micheal Scanga
The party knew very little about Jusarian. He was first encountered when he responded to an advertisement posted by the party. The party was looking for someone to fill the spot missing after Quinton left the group.
A lithely built elf of young years is before you, his pale-hued skin without spot or blemish, stretched tautly over his well muscled frame. Piercing almond shaped eyes of a brilliant emerald green are set to either side of his fine aquiline nose, just above a thin lipped mouth with lips a rosy pink in hue. Deep black hair falls to the middle of his back, held in an intricate braid, kept from his face by a simple thong of braided leather. Adorning his evenly set ears are a pair of mithral studs which pierce the lobes. His athletic frame is covered with studded leather armor that looks to be well cared for. This elf stands 5'1" tall. This elf weighs 97 lbs. Current Age - 134.
Born in the elven city of Evereska, Jusarian spent a good portion of his youth there. In later years he began to migrate south and east in an attempt to find a more suitable place for an elf of his kind (a home for a scoundrel). Cities in his path included a few years spent perusing ancient texts and wooing noble daughters in Silverymoon. Quite a few years in Cormanthor and Silverymoon with various different adventuring bands that were attempting to brave the dark-elves and demons of the legendary Myth Drannor. A very brief stint in the trading city of Westgate, before his more roguish activities were detected by local denizens. He left that place quickly before the ruling thieves guild (The NightMasks) could have a talk with him about the lack of equal opportunity for his craft within city limits. A short boat ride north and he eventually found himself in the country of Sembia, welcomed with what he perceived as open and honest regard in a small town know as Whillip. He has since spent two years in this city, joined the local guild and kept a low profile.
Background / History
I never knew my mother. She died during a troublesome childbirth to her.. ..well, her only child. Me. Spent a good portion of my childhood being pawned off on various family members to learn a good deal about elven life and what was expected of me. My father was gone for a good portion of my first 20 years of youth. Some people say it was because he needed to get away from the loss of my mother for a while, but I have sinking suspicion that his warriors heart had not been completely quenched of its righteous flame, and the road still called to him. Spent a good deal of time with my aunt. She liked to sing and dance, tend her gardens, and cook. Next was a favored uncle. He was a blade master with the Swords of Evereska, after spending a bit of time as a Tomb guardian. I really looked up to him. Wanted to be just like him.
Then my father returned. I guess the road finally caught up to him. It was an odd reunion as I had never really known him. But, in true elven style I had plenty of years ahead to know the man who sired me. At least I thought I did. He had different plans for me though. Apparently the road hadn't caught up to him. A Dark-Elven rapier had. He spent a good portion of my first few years with him educating me on things like different locking mechanisms, irregular tile patterns, how to spot a tripwire, and how to set one too. Smaller things he said that would encompass a larger variety of skill sets that I would need to survive in this wicked wicked world. He was bent of teaching me everything he could. Said it was very important that I learn as much as possible so that I could serve Corellon Larethian in the best way possible. It was my duty to ensure the future of our race, the Elves.
It wasn't long past my 24th birthday that my father started to teach me other things. How to spot an important person, a rich one, royalty, etc. He also taught me how to spot the people that guarded them. Their stances with concealed weapons, shifting eyes, the feigned ease at which they were always at the ready. These are the things he said I would need to know if I was to ever follow in his footsteps. He showed me how to survive in the cities. He'd also take me out into the wilds and give me lessons on concealment and evasion. Its almost as if the point of my birth was merely to create the perfect weapon with which to battle his enemies.
He was a hard man in his prime, but he was also very loving and understanding towards me as a youth. I had very few friends and the majority of my time was spent in his company. He taught me to read, and write, to think and devise. "You must always think ahead my son, think about your options and think about theirs. Anticipate theirs moves and you will always come out on top." I learned as best I could from that old man before he sent me out into the world to do my duty. Honor doesn't necessarily play a role in my life though. I use what I have to my advantage and I have been known to be quite devious at times in the manner in which I act. My intentions and my heart are always pure, but I can come close to that line I think. I will never cross over it intentionally however. I know my boundaries and I know what is expected of me.
I am not a warrior. I am a scout. I help others stay strong by guiding them to the unseen, and by giving whatever help I am able to (a jack of all trades). I don't generally make my battles out in the open. I tend to lurk about and pick off targets of opportunity. I am willing to take risks, and willing to give my life for my duty and for others. While that is true, it doesn't necessarily always have to be that way. I do what I can to survive and to bring strength to those around me. My only hopes are that when all is said and done, I will have earned my place amongst the fallen before me in the blessed Elfhome of Arvandor. In the good graces of our Lord Corellon.
After leaving my fathers side many years later. I set out in search of righteous adventure! I learned along the path of many different bands, companies, and other organizations that were dedicated towards doing valorous work throughout the realm of faerun. It was high time I left my mark.
First came a group known as "The Knaves of the Missing Page"- By the gods this didn't work out well for me. They were a group of thieves and such that were dedicated to the recovery of magical Elven artifacts, tomes, and scrolls. I found that the skill sets my father taught me were perfectly suited for this type of work. I also found that though I enjoyed my time with them, once the trinket or artifact or tome was found? I didn't particularly like letting go of it. In the end we parted ways.
Next was a group known as "The Chaperones of the Moonlight Tryst" - A group dedicated to ensuring the safety of young Elven lovers from those who would prey on their distracted states and innocence. I coulda done very well here except that I often times found myself trying to outdo the suitor in his attempts to woo the suitorette. Oh right, like a little healthy competition ever killed anyone.
"The Fellowship of the Forgotten Flower"? - Well, this group specialized in the same thing that the knaves did. I thought I was cured of my twitching fingers. Guess not. They focused a lot more on lore lost to ancient Elven realms. In my case, it was Myth Drannor. I got my first look at Dark-Elves here as they infest the Cormanthor forest. Dirty dirty Elves. I swear they are no good. Anyway, It seems I still like to hold onto artifacts and trinkets of magical value. Can you blame me?
Westgate - If there is one thing I can teach you in my many years of life? Don't cross a thieves guild run by the undead. I think that about covers that.
Whillip - What a wonderful place this is. So full of rich and interesting people. Rich in the gold sense of the word. Not varied or colorful, though if you asked me to my face that's what I'd tell you I meant. I've spent the last two years here. Worked my way up to the voting council of the thieves guild. Got a nice small collection starting on my way to amassing greater wealth than ever before. Just joined a fellowship of friends called the Hallowed Knights. They seem to be something new and refreshing, and who knows? Maybe I will find my way with them. I guess only time will tell from here on out.
On the 1 Junta, 1004, Jusarian was slain in combat. A less than glorious ending for this developing Ranger. Scooped up by a humongous bird of prey, Jusarian stood little chance at defeating the odds of his encounter. The Roc lifted Jusarian aloft and the party did it's best to bring it back down to the ground. Volley after volley of arrows, magic missiles, fireballs and all manner of attacks flew forth towards the feathered foe. Unfortunately, the party failed to bring down this house sized bird. As it flew off with Jusarian, it continued to crush him in it's vice like grip. The morning after the brief encounter, the party confirmed Jusarian's fate - Crushed to death by the huge bird, there was little they could do. Prayers were said, a period of mourning observed, and the party resumed it's march. Farewell brave Jusarian, are thoughts are ever with you.