Azrael had been tending to the Shrine his order had built almost three years ago at the far eastern edge of town, in the north-ward, by The Cliffwatch just off of Saerdoon Street. Their Holy Building was little more than a large shack, with a pretty shrine to the Dragon-god, Bahamut sitting just off the walk-path. He had came to Waterdeep following a calling he had received through a vision several years after having become a true Acoltye of his sect. Here was where he had lived the last few years, waiting for his next sign. He was patient. His faith in his patron was absolute and unshakable, and so he waited, dutifully tending the grounds. In turn, he received shelter and a very modest living.

Three Years Later:

Azrael had just finished his priestly duties, the Shrine to Bahamut was kept impeccably clean, though his order had very little luck recruiting more to his cause and faith. A woman approached him, at first he thought she was there to ask of, or perhaps mock his beliefs. Instead, she met him curtly, curtsying stiffly before handing him a simple envelope with his name  written on it.

Esteemed Mr. Azrael

It has been my duty to notice your hall is lacking, and that your order cannot seem to grow beyond the few you already posses.

I have an offer for you, if you will take it, that may help us both achieve our desired ends. 

If you should decide you wish to partake, then I implore you to meet me at the Yawning Portal in Two-Days time, at the time indicated below.

I look forward to our mutually beneficial transaction.

Fat Cat.

Azrael took little time in considering, this was the sign he had been waiting for all these years. He immediately set out for his preparations, stopping by the market to gather a few needed supplies, before heading back to his temple, packing everything meticulously in his bag, every necessity he could think of, he brought with him. He then pulled his holy symbol from his neck, laying it on the table, able to stand on it's own, served as both his Arcane Focus, and his Holy Symbol a portable shrine to Bahamut hanging from his neck. Setting out candles of incense, lighting them, getting to his knee's and he would pray: Thank you Bahamut, for your providence. Long have I patiently awaited this day, and as I knew you would, you have set the hand of my fate in motion. I will not fail you, and I promise I will do my best to emulate your greatness, so that others may see the truth of your justice. I pray only that your will be done in all things. Religious intensity 10

He awoke the next day, once again proselytizing himself, praying once more before heading out, after all, he had a long walk to his favorite Tavern in the city.

Present Time:

Azrael entered the Tavern. ducking slightly to avoid the door's top as he entered, quarterstaff in hand. Several of the regulars that knew him, gasping, throwing their hands up in mock guilt. Azrael raised both his arms, saying Fear not, I assure you all, I am not here to tell you that ale is the sinners path, lo, instead I am here to partake of it myself! This had been a common joke once everyone had gotten used to the massive Dragonborn whenever he would arrive in his Acolytes Attire. Leading to a few feigned relieved sighs, and a few guffaws and chuckles before everyone more or less went back about their business.

Azrael spotted the marked table easily, as he towered over most in the tavern, and made his way there, his sinuous tail dragging behind him below his robes. As he sat down on the much thicker bench that was made to accommodate his size, and weight, though he was not fat in any sense of the word. Those already gathered would see:

Azrael stood, what to most beings, is a hulking seven feet, eight inches, towering over most humanoids, and only dwarfed by some. His appearance is striking for an Acolyte. His body looking physically well-toned in spite of wearing the attire of a caster. His bold Blue-Sapphire scales stand out in a crowd faintly gleaming in the tavern light, and his frosted-sky-blue eyes are piercing and powerful, possessing the black slitted-pupils common among Dragonkin. His tail, dragging listfully behind him whenever he walked, never making a sound. His robes are eloquent and vibrant shades of Royal-Blue, flowing around him. The trim, a brilliant Gold-Thread, of which inlay in a whirlpool of four threads towards the center as if it were the eye of a storm, where they form a circle around what appears to be a Platinum Dragon, suspended in midair. The dragons' head would appear to be looking directly at whomever it was facing. Six leathered Angellic wings spreading out in the cardinal directions. Upon his neck, hanging from a simple, but strong chain, you would see his Holy-Symbol, Marking him as a Follower of Bahamut, encircling a vibrantly swirling Violet-Orb that was his Arcane-focus, ultimately fusing them both into a single entity. Most would feel a mixture of intimidation, and benevolence exuding from the aura of his presence. And there always seemed to be a charge in the air around him. Ultimately, you would sense from him absolute, steadfast conviction in his beliefs, and the raw confidence that comes with it.

After having adjusted himself to be comfortable, he would offer those gathered already a hearty greeting, his hand crossing over his chest as he closed his eyes and bowed to the assembled. Greetings all, we are all here on this auspicious day for what I assume to be a common cause, even if our reasons for being here are not the same! My name is Azrael Zifandiel, Acolyte of the Dragon god Bahamut, if that was not already obvious. He would rise from his bow, placing his hands on the table, and ordering the special from the Barmaid closest, waiting for them to arrive once the order was taken. Regardless, I hope you are all blessed today in the light of Bahamut, and I have prayed that we all find success, regardless of our reasons for being here. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.

I've been on the forums a while an know a few good ways to handle things including how to avoid the deadly 'Manipulated dice!' issue.

I have left my equipment/gold blank since I don't know how you wish to handle that.

In her youth, Tessa's village was set upon by some kind of foul creatures. It hardly matters what, but they would have destroyed the village and all who lived there were it not for Tessa striking a last-minute bargain with a great and mysterious power to destroy the invaders and save the place.

In her hour of need, she turned to a family tradition - praying and meditating with a glass orb with strange, shifting golden geometric designs inside. No one remembers where or when it came into the family, just that is has been passed down from mother to daughter for many generations. Following a desperate plea, she found herself accompanied by the same golden design from her orb, now looming over her and speaking directly into her mind. In exchange for accepting its bond, Tessa received immense power and struck down every invader with crackling, golden light before passing out in the center of town.

When she awoke, the countryside was familiar but every person and building was gone, trapped inside the small glass orb which she has carried ever since and serves as a magical focus. Some day her patron has promised to restore her home once whatever inscrutable scheme it may have is complete, but until then she burns with holy power commanded to defend those in need.

The Oghar tribe was never as large or resourceful as many orcish warbands, though they were never any less feared. The simple reason for this was that they had one thing other warbands didn’t - wolves. The Oghar orcs kept a whole pack of the beasts starved a slavering for battle. The goblins of the tribe were naturally the unlucky ones put in charge of trying to train the beasts, though hunger and maltreatment was usually enough to get the wolves to do as they were required when the time for fighting came.

These orcs would always send in the wolves first, breaking the ranks of their enemies and striking terror into the heart of their victims. Much of the time, the orcs themselves could come in afterward and take sadistic pleasure in mopping up what was left.

Such was the sad fate that befell the Li’kosh clan - a rural commune of humans and dwarves in the High moor of Evanicea. Their village was hit by night and their warriors could not stand against the onslaught of the wolf vanguard. When the orcs arrived to dispatch the remaining humans and laugh as they begged for their lives, they pillaged what they could, going from hut to hut in search of anything useful or valuable.

After it was done, they returned to their own den with their spoils. Once there, they began taking stock of the loot. One of the items they had brought back with them was a large pack of blankets and leathers which were always a useful resource. However, among the material they found something they didn’t expect - a human baby girl, swaddled up in a hide blanket where her mother had hidden her from the attacking orcs, hoping that she would go unnoticed. The baby, inexplicably, did not cry or show any distress at the ordeal. Tied loosely around her neck was a leather thong with a rough hewn figuring of a wolf.

The orcs laughed and joked that the figurine must have been a message from the girl’s dead mother about what they wanted done with the infant. And so they obliged. They tossed the baby into the wolf pen, expecting them to gorge on her flesh. To their amazement, nothing of the sort happened. The wolves examined the baby, fascinated. The next day, they seemed to be protecting the child. As time passed, the orcs observed that the infant was often found playing amongst the young of the wolves themselves.

For some time, this was ignored as a curiosity. The orcs and goblins would come, look, laugh and wonder how long it would be before the wolves tired of the interloper and devoured her. It became a popular matter to place a bet on.

The size of the wolf pack was such that their pen was no mere cage - it was expansive, extending into a range of woods behind the orc camp. The infant girl was carried about by the wolf matriarch with the rest of the pack, the wolf totem always hanging from her neck.

The situation continued like this for many years. All the time the girl was with the wolves, honing her own instincts to be as sharp as theirs, learning to survive off the resources in the wild. Yet she also accompanied the pack in the forward pens, witnessing the lifestyle of the goblins and orcs, learning their language and imitating some of their more pragmatic activities, like turning a piece of rough fabric into a tunic, or sharpening a piece of metal or stone into a knife...and, of course, the swinging of large blades. Whenever the time for battle came, the wolf mother would hide the young child away in a safe place in the woods, where she knew to remain until the pack returned.

By the time the girl grew up, the Oghar tribe had become so accustomed to her presence in the pen that they scarcely noticed her anymore. Many of the short-lived creatures forgot how she’d even come to be there. Some said that she was the one who trained the wolves. Others said she was their mother. An orc shaman promptly declared that the girl was a curse. Similar nonsensical stories abounded. Years went by.

Until one day, a swarm of mindless undead roamed in the tribe from mountains. Like usual, the goblin chief wolf-wrangler came to the pen to unleash the wolves for defense of the tribe. However, unlike usual, where the starved wolves jumped at those intruders, the whole pack of wolves instead descended and tore the goblin and orc warriors to pieces. They fiercely defended the girl, from the tribe and the undeads.

On seeing this, the rest of the orc tribe were terrified, convinced that the shaman was right, that the girl was a curse who had turned their wolves against them. Some orcs and goblins continued to try to restrain the pack. Every one of them lost their life. Others simply fled, abandoning the tribe’s den and scattering the Oghar name to the wind.

When it was done, the wolves surrounded the girl, bowing their heads. The den mother approached her, nudging her shoulder towards the gate, bidding her to lead the pack out to a new home. And so she did.

 Gabi was born the second oldest of five children, and with a large extended family to boot. Her mother worked at one of their town's taverns as a brewer, and her father a local guard. Growing up, they were never particularly rich, but managed to get by just fine. There was never a dull moment in their home, with something always going on. Whether it be one of her sisters getting into a scuffle with themselves or other children, or her brother redecorating the house to be in line with a story he read, there was always something to patch up or fix. Which Gabi turned out to be pretty decent at. That, and avoiding getting into trouble. She was practically her father's shadow, helping take care of his gear, and watching him train. The chaotic, but enjoyable life came to an end when she was 14.

After one of her aunts had a child, her parents went to go visit. She and her brother Theo were left in charge of the house, and their siblings, until they returned. What should have been at longest a week and half trip ended up being two days. One of the town's trappers found him beaten and near death while checking his traps, with Gabi's mother nowhere in sight, and carried him back to town. Her father was unable to recall who or what attacked him, and what happened to his wife. His recovery was long, leaving them without much of a way for income. Gabi took the initiative, finding a job as a baker's apprentice, which did not last for long. She was good at the more laborious tasks, but not the actual baking part. An incident occurred in the town not long after she arrived, where several wild beasts were driven into the town by an unknown source. Gabi helped some of the guard drive back the beasts, and managed to save a young boy from one. Her brave acts were applauded, though she was concerned by why the creatures were driven into town to begin with.

Her worries was shared by a local hunter and guide, a half elf named Brie. The two took it upon themselves to investigate the matter, and found that undead had managed to push the beasts out of their territory, and riled them up. Over the course of a year, the pair learned what they could about the situation, and Brie took the young human as an apprentice of sorts. Much of their time was spent out in nature, surviving off of nature. Gabi showed some affinity for the training, especially with the magical side. Towards the end of their investigation, even managing to create her own swarm of magical owl spirits. They began to realize that their problem was much larger than expected. Brie sent Gabi out to check on several nearby towns, and see what was happening near them. And, with any luck, be able to help.