After several years of silence, I'm finally back, and bringing with me a refresh to my original character. Hopefully this isn't overstepping, as I plan to start wholly from scratch.
Name: Artheridge Morkura
Nickname/Alias: Daedalus, Ded to friends
Age: 22
Race: Furkin. Born of magic, but not magical herself, she is an uplifted, anthropomorphic malamute with interesting mutations
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 150lbs “I’m not fat, that’s just fur!”
Occupation: “Inventor! Really a smith, since bills have to be paid, but hey, a girl can dream. And I tinker on the side!”
Personality: Artheridge has a sharp, inquisitive mind, moreso than most of her species. She’s a happy go lucky personality, of the type that bounces back from just about anything given enough time. Some call her flippant. Her response? “I walked away without loss of life or limb. I’m happy!” While not the best with strangers, she does enjoy a good conversation, especially on the technical side of things. She’s also prone to bouts of what some would call ‘being a knowitall.’ In truth, she just does not tolerate ignorance, willfull or otherwise, nor misinformation.
History: Artheridge was born in the southern forests of Raiaera, in a small village named Hansen’s Ford, to a blacksmith and healer. Her father, while not being the equal of the master smiths of the big cities, was close, and was the best smith in the region. Her mother was the towns healer and midwife, which meant many long, sleepless nights as Artheridge assisted. During the day, however, she was always in her father’s forge, helping, and learning. Thanks to her inquisitive mind and sharp intellect, she quickly learned to match, and in some areas even surpass, her father’s skill. On her mothers side of things, however, she was never as interested in herbology and healing as she was in steel and smelting, and only picked up the basics.
Soon after her 19th birthday, not content with the men in her village, nor settling down to take on her father’s smithy, she joined a merchant’s caravan bound for Alerar. Paying her way as combination smith and ferrier for the caravan, it took several long months for the merchants to make it to a major city, at which point she began searching for a weaponsmith to apprentice under. After weeks of fruitless searching and nearly having depleted her pile of gold, a gruff old dwarf by the name of Arlesen Blackanvil took pitty on her and took her in. And was pleasantly surprised at the quality of her work, and depth of her knowledge. Sadly, this relationship only lasted three years before Arlesen passed to a bloody cough the healers could not counter. Before his final day, he requested that the young furkin seek out his clan and inform them of his passing, and her uncompleted apprenticeship. She gladly agreed, and after setting his estate in order and sending a final letter to her family informing them of her plans, left the city for adventure and, eventually, the honor of being named a master smith.
Appearance: Standing at 5’7” and weighing a muscled 150lbs, Artheridge is a bit on the ‘fluffy’ side of things, but still a rather attractive example of the females of her race. Wide boned and sturdy, she’s generally got curves in the right places, though a few more than most men find attractive, due to the hard muscling born of years working a forge. A deep, rusty red in fur coloration over most of her body, she has a clean white slash from throat to inner thighs, spanning the width of her torso. Her hair, which she usually keeps in a loose ponytail, is a dark auburn, and falls to mid shoulderblade. Her eyes are a pale, ice blue, speaking to her race’s arctic heritage. Finally, her ‘mutation.’ Due to her race’s magically uplifted nature, a little instability is inherent, and she was born with a pair of russet wings stretching a good twenty feet from wingtip to wingtip
Usually she can be found wearing sturdy leather breeches and a cotton tunic, and when traveling, will wear a thick cloak made of dark oilcloth on the outside, and quilted with wool on the inside, hood up. She wears a pendant in the shape of a warhammer around her neck, bearing the crest of Arlesen’s clan. Sturdy calf height hobnailed traveling boots complete her ensemble, hiding a bit of dwarven practicality in the form of steel toes.
Skills: Artheridge is a few steps down from a master smith, easily capable of opening her own smithy and turning a fair profit currently, what with her intimate familiarity with running the financial side of things, and her years of practice at the forge.
Thanks to her dwarven patron for the last several years, she is also a fair fight with an axe, short sword, and crossbow, favoring the latter two for their finesse and precision. As a smith, she also knows full well how to maintain them.
She has some minor herbal knowledge, and can manage basic wound poultices and generally keep her patient from contracting gangrene. Came in handy several times with a certain dwarf and his insistence her edges weren’t sharp enough.
Long practice with her crossbow has granted her above average marksmanship. A typical grouping when she's cranking out the shots measures an inch and a half at 100 yards.
Abilities: Thanks to her wings, she can, and quite often does, enjoy the benefits of flight, but only when she’s lightly loaded. When flying, she can maintain a speed of approximately 30 miles an hour, and is able to drop as low as 20 and still remain airborne, with sprints reaching up to 45 in a dive, after which she is winded and needs to land. Otherwise, she can fly for several hours a day as easily as walking. She has a max ceiling of 2000 feet before her wings can no longer catch enough air and keep her aloft, and can only handle minor things(binoculars, anyone?) while airborne. Flapping her wings jostles her too much to use any weaponry accurately without catching herself in the strike.
Much practice with her crossbow of choice allows her an advantage over the average wielder, in that she can increase her rate of fire immensely once a fight before her arm becomes too tired from working the lever of the crossbow, and she has to put it down for the remainder of the fight. In this twelve second window, however, she can empty the entire magazine onto a single man sized target.
Equipment/Weapons: Weapons first.
Vrontir: Her trusty crossbow, designed and built by her own hands, with input from Arlesen. This is a lever action repeating crossbow, made of yew and oak with brass fittings and hardware. It is capable of firing a new bolt accurately every five seconds, and has an interchangeable magazine holding five bolts. Due to constraints on the strength of the limbs from the lever mechanism, it’s slightly weaker than a comparable single shot crossbow. Where a single shot crossbow could easily punch through plate armor, this bow is only capable of piercing leather or chain, with an extremely lucky or well placed shot being the only way to penetrate scale, and no chance in penetrating plate unless she can get it through a helmet eyehole. She normally carries iron shod armor piercing bolts, and broadheads as a backup for foes with no armor whatsoever.
Unnamed short sword: Just that. A plain but well made short sword crafted from iron, brass, and kid hide, and again, forged by her own hands with input from Arlesen. Primarily her fallback when Vrontir is not usable.
Equipment: As far as armor, she has minimal protection. The tough leather of her breeches, and her thick cloak. She never subscribed to her dwarven mentor’s belief in heavy armor, and always felt it was better to not be hit than to be able to withstand a hit. She carries some basic repair and maintenance tools for her crossbow and blade, as well as a continually refreshed supply of herbs needed for medical poultices, just in case. She owns one horse, with saddlebags, and always carries a minimal set of forge tools, excluding the anvil, of course. Aside from that, rope, a belt knife, food, a tent, a bedroll, tinderbox, and an oil lantern and oil to refill it are about all she carries with her.
Submit Thread for Judgment
