Steapa the Legend of the Battlefield

Skill List

Role

Chapter 6

Steapa Cren has accepted his fate: for the death of the little girl, he
is doomed to a life of torment, hardship, and pain. He will die that others might live,
and where others are willing to learn from him, he will strive to teach.

His scars run deeper than the flesh, but his resolve is unwavering.

Role

Chapter 5

Stumbling through Seantryn Modan, a drunken Steapa Cren was picking fights with
the city's more scurrilous residents. A snow badger was chasing him, a mercenary had put
a contract out on his head, and several minotaurs were looking for an opportunity
to cut him down. A perfect distraction.

'Cren so stupid for traveling with angel. Angel's have no control over wroth.
That not way of Water-Bear.' The haughty elven voice of the ranger coming from
the woods angered him further. 'Yuh, ranger told Steapa Cren 'So!' Nuh want to make dead,
nuh want to make no one dead. People going to die in war. Avoid casualties, make right,
and take fight to shadow: more innocents will die from them wicked folk if we too scared
might hurt innocents.'

Where did that minotaur go? His stomach retched, and Cren leaned against the gate.
'Cren talk to god, talk to Captain, talk to Kri'vin, talk to Valaryue-elf, talk to ranger elf,
pay man-money, pay guilt, and listen to words words words. Yuh, lots of stupid everywhere.'

His stomach rolled, and Cren bent over to purge its contents on the city streets.
As he vomited, he pitched forward to his knees, and stumbled out of the gate into the waiting clutches
of Itzenxilaatl and his undead army.


As sleep overtook him, his parting thoughts were, 'Yuh, lots of stupid everywhere.'

Role

Chapter 4

Resting off the path in a wood purported to be haunted, Steapa Cren
thought about his recent conversations with members of the Brigade.
He had asked two people to bring down a grey-souled trainer in Hamsah,
and both had said no, and each had refused on the grounds he was not wicked.
Cren worried that the Fortress had turned away from properly arming itself
in the war against the shadow.

As he rested there, an invoker stepped into the woods with him. Anteluvion
identified himself as a member of the Brigade, and the two spoke of philosophy.
When asked of his thoughts on slaying the dusk-souled, the invoker stated
that in fulfilling his duties as a maran, sometimes he must gather wands from
those whose souls were in the twilight rather than wicked. For this reason,
he saw the practical view that in order to do as we are tasked, we must strike
the wickedness within the less than pure.

Cren realized that there was yet hope for the war: we must arm ourselves,
but as creatures of the light it would be improper to ask others to
stray from their path to strike those who were not wholly wicked.

Role

Chapter 3

Decay burdened the air, and the hot dank air of Ysigrath
annoyed Steapa Cren, for why should humidity bother a storm
warrior? But then, maybe it was the insects, or the boghoppers.
One had lept out of a pile of thrushes, kicked dirt in his eye, and then
knocked his spear from his hand, and although he would never admit it
to others, his legs were tired.

Stomping and cursing his way as he blazed a trail through the swamp,
his weighty boot stepped on something that rolled beneath his feet,
and as he became aware of that he immediately felt the pain of
a pair of fangs sinking into his calf. Looking down, he saw the boa constrictor
rapidly coiling about his legs.

No staff. No spear. He slammed his fist down upon the snake's head,
but to no effect. He tried to pry its mouth open, but his fingers were too
weak. In time, he found his belt knife and pried the serpent free.
A slash later, and the snake opted to melt back into the jungle.

Cren chided his ill-preparedness, and vowed to not let that happen again.

Role

Chapter 2

Cren slipped away from his traveling companions Elysmin and Maddee
and into the forest. The mosquitoes were humming in the distance,
and in a nearby clearing a young troll was mewing for its mother.
It was dark now, but the sun would soon be rising over the thriving
collection of buildings called Galadonia.

A skittering in the underbrush induced the storm giant to take a knee
and consider its source. Caught on a broken branch was the ephemeral
grey down of fur. Cren pinched it between his fingers, bringing it to his
nose and tongue. Rabbit.

An explosion of wings against the juniper caused him to swivel his head
to his left, and his eyes followed the golden bird and its rainbow tail
as it became a silhouette in the rising sun. A pheasant, but for a fleeting
moment he had thought he had seen the mythical phoenix.

He closed his eyes and reoriented himself. Fate had shown him his path.

Role

Chapter 1

Steapa Cren was born in a hut at the headwaters of the
Voralian river, but caught between raids from the Underdark
and Imperials repeatedly slaughtering the mages of Azuremain,
his family took up a nomadic lifestyle, and Steapa was raised
something as a barbarian. At the start of his adventuring life,
he is torn between the incessant tug of the wilderness and the
friendship a storm warrior serving the Fortress gave him.

Cren wears an patch over the eyesocket and scar where a spiked
orcish spaulder slid across his face, and on this eyepatch he
has carefully scribed a rampant bear. The patch lacks color, making it
difficult to tell that this bear is standing upon the open sea. This
is the mark of the Cren family, symbolizing the strength and rage
of the bear and the steadfast, changing nature of water.

On his hip he wears the gift his father gave him when Steapa Cren
came of age, a sextant in its worn leather case. Although he seldom
uses it, this instrument serves as a reminder to its bearer that even
when he is unsure where his journey will take him, he should always
strive to understand where he stands.

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