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Aifric Camden

Afric Camden

Age 23

Class: Rogue

Starkhaven. In spite of the high walls and marching soldiers, young Aifric knew that this place was no more a haven to her than any of the other towns and settlements where she’d lived before. Every city was supposed to be the start of a new life, new scenery, a way out. And then they’d draw her in again, promising her money, promising her freedom, and every time, she fell for it. She let herself slip. It had always been this way, since she was little. The parents who’d exploited her were long gone now – she was on her own – but it didn’t matter. Impoverished in the war-torn colonies meant you had to do anything to survive. There was no escaping the danger.It was winter. She didn’t know what it was she was supposed be smuggling – Mordok weapons, or stolen wine, perhaps; it didn’t matter, because when she arrived at the drop-off point, they were missing. Stolen from the thieves. Unfortunately, this didn’t mean she got to take the night off. She was already running late, thanks to some side-jobs running long, and had an employer to report to. And they wouldn’t be happy – this very simple job had just become very dangerous. There were consequences for failure. She bit her lip and shook nervously. This was routine – these things happened, and it hadn’t killed her yet – but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.The wind bit through her rags as she meandered back to his house. She knew she shouldn’t stall for time – it would only make the punishment worse – but she couldn’t help it. She was scared to so much as see his front door. She circled through town a few times – past the old library she liked to sneak into after dark. Past the armory where she taught herself swordplay when no one was on guard. She didn’t see the soldier who’d noticed her suspicious behavior.She remembered arriving, and what happened next was a blur. It went poorly. He was drunk and enraged. When the sounds of violence echoed in the street, the soldier – a battle cleric of the Fists of Arnath – burst into the house, sword in hand. He was strong, but too hasty.Aifric awoke, her head surging with pain. The front door was still open, and the sun hadn’t come out yet. There was frost on the pool of blood she was swimming in. Her body was numb and frostbitten, her muscles weak and quivering. The gaping hole in her abdomen didn’t look real – her vision blurred when she saw it. The battle cleric lay dead – beheaded – by her side. But somehow, she was still alive.Coughing up globs of red and black fluid, her hands trembling, she ripped the knight’s armor and clothes from their body. He was about her size – it fit, roughly. Aifric stood up, clutching her wound but clad in mail. Wrapped in steel and wearing Arnath’s symbol, for the first time in her life, she almost felt safe. All at once, she knew – she had to get out of here, forever. She was already planning, plotting, thinking of the refugees fleeing the crumbling city. She would go with them, serve as their guard. She wasn’t a real knight, much less a priest, but she could pretend. This was her last hope.Upon arriving at the Archon’s Spire, a new settlement filled mostly with refugees from Starkhaven, she took up a position in the town’s militia. The refugees were people like her – peasants, laborers, runaways. When she was young, no one had been there to protect her. But if she could help it, she wouldn’t allow anyone else to go through what she did.Aifric had always been fascinated by history, by culture, by language. She spent half her time among the books – it was a small collection, but growing, little by little. It was there that she met them – the sorcerer Vazra, and the other Archons as well. Intent on learning more magical and historic lore, as well as mastering the divine magic she’d read so much about, she elected to join their ranks.She felt reborn. Although the Order was unaware of her existence, upon dedicating herself to the god who saved her, she was blessed with power nonetheless. But she never spoke of her past – the life of crime and depravity – she promised herself the others would never know. Bent on living as a true and legitimate knight of Arnath, she tried to forget the life she’d left behind. At last, she could begin anew. But the wars would rage on, and danger was always at the door…

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