Ash Gaming Group
Nyx "Ashfeather" Waywocket
A young forest gnome with a big black axe.
The first thing you’ll notice about Nyx is naturally the large black battle axe she carries. The axe glitters balefully no matter what light it is viewed in – it seems to ooze menace. It appears utterly out of place in the hands of the small gnome who holds it. Her modest muscles do not strain under the axe’s weight, though If you were to try to lift it you would find it as heavy as you might expect a weapon of it’s size to be. Though not blessed with particular strength, Nyx can swing the axe with a grace and ease that would make an orc envious. Overall, a rather remarkable weapon indeed.
The rest of Nyx’s appearance pales somewhat in comparison to the fierce blade she carries. Brown eyes watch the world carefully from under a mop of dark brown hair, cropped short but shaggy and kept marginally at bay with a black headband. A fang of some long dead beast hangs at her neck, a trophy of her youth in the wild forests. Her clothes are travel stained, of sturdy but unremarkable quality. She moves with a quiet grace of one born to the forest. Indeed, she brings the forest with her wherever she goes – birds follow her, and she speaks to them in a chirping language, laughing and whistling. Among people without fur or feather, however, she is withdrawn and quiet – she seems to prefer the company of wild things to more civilized beings.
I guess I better introduce myself before I start writin’ about how it all went wrong.
Name’s Nyx, for all you boring humans out there. For proper gnomes with proper respect for proper names, it’s Nyx “Ashfeather” Waywocket Fabble Garolous III, of the Waywocket clan of forest gnomes. My clan lived in the Feyweather forest peacefully for as long as our history remembers, and were pretty normal as far as clans go, except for the Ash-Called. Each generation, one of our clan would start having weird recurring dreams when they reached maturity. This means they were destined to wield Ash, the hexblade that “blesses” our clan with it’s interest.
Our lore tells us that Ash is a legendary battle axe created by the Raven Queen, the arbiter of Death, to help enforce the laws of nature on those who would seek to cheat them. From my experience? He’s a real temperamental jerk. He’s silent most of the time, but when he does deign to share his opinion it’s usually rude, demanding, or so cryptic to be of no use. Sometimes he won’t even do what I want in combat, which has got me into trouble more than once. But I digress.
As you may of guessed, it was my great misfortune to be Ash-Called for my generation. Some Ash-Called in the Waywocket clan spend their lives peacefully caring for Ash in the shrine in Feyweather, never having to head out into this big, loud, busy, BIG world. I wasn’t so lucky. My dreams were dark, and mostly shrouded – old Garalee (the former Ash-Called) said that their meaning would be revealed by Ash over time. But one thing was clear – they didn’t call me to a peaceful life in Feyweather. So, begrudgingly, I took up the axe and headed west, where my vague dreams and Ash’s cryptic promptings seemed to tug me.
Along the way I ran into Elil Willowleaf (yes, that is her entire name, poor thing). She’s pretty okay, for a big person. I was still learning my way around the world and managed to get myself roughed up by some highwayman. I stumbled into Elil’s little forest village and collapsed. When I woke up, Elil had nursed me back to health, and proceeded to use me as an excuse to go on an “adventure”. A little companionship (and another body in a fight) certainly wouldn’t do me harm, so I agreed to her company and we continued on.
I wish our other companion was so congenial. Rotberger Soertoezoemestr, may the beer rot in his veins, is a plague on my patience. Contrary as the back side of a donkey, that one. He stumbled into our lives because Elil has a soft spot for animals (as do I, admittedly) – and never was there an animal more in need of help than Rotberger’s noble “steed”. His dragon (dare I even call it that) can barely carry his packs, not to mention the dragonborn lout himself. The poor thing is missing more scales than remain on his bedraggled body, his fire breathing is more of a puff of smoke, and his wings have some kind of nasty slime mold growing on them. Elil took one look at the thing and refused to leave Rotty alone until he agreed to travel with us while Elil treats the creature. Well I couldn’t lose my new traveling companion after I’d gotten used to having her around, now could I? So now I’m stuck with Rotty and his dang droopy dragon.
That’s where things stand – I’m wandering around aimlessly in the wilderness far from home with a naive elf, a boorish dragonborn, and a sickly dragon my only company. That, and my enigmatic and entirely unhelpful charge. Hopefully my dreams start making sense soon – otherwise, I think I might go mad!