PLAYED BY: Daniel Sulman
CHARACTER NAME: Robert Shet
GENDER: Male
PRONOUN(S): He/him/his
CLASS: Warrior
AGE: Appears to be in mid-to-late teens. (As of 273)
RACE: Human
HAIR: Light brown
EYES: Blue
OCCUPATION: Part of a group of bards called “The Bardbarians”.
KNOWN SKILLS: Robert has trained with a sword and shield, and can fight well enough. He is intermediate at the violin.
BIRTHPLACE: Robert was born in the outskirts of Newhope, in the healer’s wagon of the nomad caravan his family lived in.
APPEARANCE: Robert is around 6’0”, with short, straight brown hair and blue eyes. Usually wears simple armor, and when he doesn’t, simple clothes.
NOTABLE TRAITS: Is missing one eye. Slight pyrophobia, as fire has destroyed his life more than once. Honorable, yet jaded and cynical, despite being only in his late teens.
RELATIONSHIPS: Other members of the Bardbarians; Ivar Shattered Spear; Bjorn and Astrid Shattered Spear; villagers of Lowestoft.
RUMORS: He’s missing an eye. Why would a half-blind swordsman join a group of bards?
BIO:
I was born into a group that never stayed in one place for long.
They were the Few That Traveled Together, a group of nomads, and they went around Mardrun (and Faedrun before) trading, exploring, and whatever the hell they wanted. Soon after the flight from Faedrun, I was born.
My mother died birthing me, and my father stopped caring about me once that had come to pass. My uncle raised me, but when a fever took him, I was left with only my fathers ruthless and plentiful beatings. Once, he beat me so badly that I ordered a sword made, and the Few’s blacksmith, a kindly Syndar man, gave it to me free of charge. I trained with it near every day. When I came of age, I chose to apprentice under Fret, the caravan’s bard. At seven-and-seventy, he was the oldest of the group. When my father learned of this, he beat me even more and harder. The only reason I got was that my mother had sung in life, and this fact made him hate all music, apparently enough to beat his only son over it.
One night, when he was red-faced and drunk out of his mind, my father returned to our wagon to find me playing the violin Fret had gifted me. In his rage, he beat me mercilessly. At the peak of his fury, my father grabbed the knife with which he cut his steak and cut out my eye. I remember the pain, the hellish feeling as the knife slashed over my eyeball. The helplessness I felt had half my vision was stolen in a matter of moments. My father went off to his curtained off part of the cart, and I passed out from the pain. When I woke, Torlan, the healer’s apprentice, saw me lying on the floor of the wagon. He swore and turned. He returned with the Few’s healer, and she fixed me up.
When I was strong enough to leave her wagon, I returned to my wagon to gather my things. As I was preparing to leave, my father stumbled in, drunk to hell and back. He murmured something and passed out. I left the wagon for the last time. From then on, I slept outside, carrying all my possessions. That might be why I was the first warned when everyone and everything I knew was torn away overnight.
I know that the Few had camped somewhere in Grimward territory, far from any major settlement, but a few hours walk from a respectably large town. I couldn’t sleep, and was studying the stars. I heard low voices off to the side, and what sounded like many feet stepping over the grass. Then a scream, and all hell broke loose.
A voice near me called out something. Battle cries echoed through the night. I got to my feet and belted on my sword. I ran to Fret’s wagon as I saw Ulven with crude weapons attacking and burning. Just as I approached his door, a brute broke the window and threw a torch on the ground. Before I could do anything, the wagon erupted in flames. I stabbed the bastard who’d done it and looked around. Torches were being tossed at wagons, and Ulven with pitchforks and shovels were doing the throwing. The flames quickly engulfed the brush, trapping most of the Few in a circle of fire. I knew what I had to do. I ran back to my bedroll and gathered my things. I ran into the countryside, tears streaming down my face, and didn’t stop until the sun pierced the sky.
Soon after dawn, I hit a creek, where I refilled my waterskin. I continued through the wilderness until I ran into a small dirt road. I followed that until I came to a small town. I was ushered into the inn by a plump Ulven woman, who brought out a large bowl of stew. Did I really look that hungry, that she would bring food without my asking for it? As I greedily ate, a strong hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned to see an Ulven man holding an axe.
“These are bad times, son. I won’t have any who wish us ill in my village. Do you fight for us or against us?”
Perplexed, I said, “I fight only for myself.”
The man furrowed his brow. “Bare your teeth.”
I did, and a grin spread across his face. “We haven’t seen humans for years! You’re welcome here in Lowestoft, son. And don’t worry, none of us will try to kill you. We all think it’s good to get more people to help out, even if they’re from another continent!” The man’s name was Ivar Shattered Spear, the leader of the village.
I stayed in the village that night. I meant to leave the following day, but I talked, and soon enough, the sun was setting. Rather than sleep in the inn, as I had last night, a farmer named Bjorn offered his hospitality. He had a daughter named Astrid, who was around my age and had long, black hair.
After we supped, Bjorn offered me his bed. I went to sleep almost instantly. A noise in the common room woke me in the middle of the night. I clothed myself and headed out to see what it was. Astrid was sitting at the table, gazing at the stars. She turned and saw me, and pulled out the chair next to her. I sat. Astrid leaned her head on my shoulder. We stayed like that for the rest of the night.
Before I knew it, I had become a villager of Lowestoft. I would work beside Bjorn in the field during the day, and play music in the inn at night. Astrid and I grew closer, until we affirmed our love for one another. Life in Lowestoft was perfect. I preferred it infinitely to life with the Few.
Until that day. There’d been no rain for a week or two, so everything was dry. A lantern must have been knocked over in the bakery. I was heading over to the tavern after the day’s work when I saw it coated in fire. As I looked, to my horror, the roof collapsed just as the baker was running out. A burning wall fell onto the ground, just close enough to spread the flames to the building next to it, a butcher. I ran to the tavern, where everyone was sure to be in the evening. I called out, “Fire, fire!” People were only on their first tankard, and sober enough to get up and rush to the well. By then, three or four buildings were in the blaze. Just as Bjorn was running into our house to find Astrid, the thatched roof caught a spark and went up in a burning crescendo. I heard Bjorn yelling from inside, and saw Astrid burst through the door just as the front wall fell inward.
“No!” I cried. “Bjorn,” I said quietly, tears beginning to stream down my face. I slapped myself, clearing my head, and ran to the well to help fight the fire. As the sun grew low, the fires did as well, until all that was left was the ruined ash of Lowestoft. Left standing were only the well and tailor’s, and even that was missing a roof. I picked through the wreckage of my house, finding my sword and nothing else. My violin was safe, as I’d set it by the well before the inn collapsed. Deep in my heart, I wanted to stay, and help these people I’d known for months, but I knew I had to go. So I said my goodbyes, swearing to all that I’d return. Astrid begged me not to, but I kissed her and left.
I went south-east, to Bladehome and Shieldhaven to get to wherever I was going. To earn money for food and board, I would play for the inns and taverns in the town and villages. Thrice during my journey, I sold my sword, once to defend some rich person or another, once to dispatch some bandits, and finally to escort an overland shipment to Aylin’s Reach. From there, I saved up coin until I bought cheap passage upon a cargo ship to New Vandregon. In New Vandregon, I did much of the same, performing in taverns or getting my allegiance bought for a day. One day, though, a lad around my age named Drake approached me. Him and his father, Tor, were traveling to Newhope, and he wanted to know if I would go with. I had heard stories about the city, and figured I could make a nice living there. I accepted. On the road to Newhope, I learned that both were good singers. Upon our arrival in the city, Drake asked if I would be interested in joining the group of bards he was trying to assemble. I agreed. After we’d been in Newhope a few days, I spied a drummer playing on the curb. He joined up with us, and that’s how the Bardbarians were formed.
I was born into a group that died out. My father beat me as a child, and I began training under a bard. My father took one of my eyes from me. Everything I knew was burned overnight by angry villagers, angered only at our existence. I fled, and found a life and love in Lowestoft. When that too was taken from me, and I made my way to the south shore, I met people I could trust. Now I am part of a group of bards, and I can play without fear of losing an eye. I may seem like a dishonorable man, but I am anything but. I fight to stay alive, and I fight for honor and justice. However, I’ve seen my fair share, and am jaded enough. I may often bloody my sword, but I won’t turn it on one without. I’ve seen the world through many lenses, both good and bad, and still have some hope for it.
My name is Robert Shet.
I fight for honor. I fight for the world.