Royston Abelard Nutmeg, Esq.

Elf Fighter


STR 16 +3
DEX 13 +1
CON 10
INT 12 +1
WIS 9 -1
CHA 15 +2

Age: 28

Birthsign: Foxriff (The Chasm) Those under this sign can leap 15 feet in any direction or may running leep for 30 feet.
Deficiency: Unmotivated (No WP)

HP: 17
AC: 8 – Leather +1
Thac0: 14
Actions: 1
Saves: 1
Crit: 18

WP: Strong

Weapons (Dual Wield d8+3)
Hatchet (d6+3)

20 gold

Questing (Prime Ability: Scour)

  • Dungeon And/Or Dragon (+9): find, navigate, locate or create a nearby dungeon or dragon
  • Scour (+7): roll a D6 after any fight (or other looting opportunity) to add to your copper for hirelings
  • Slay Wizard (+10): roll to kill a wizard, also gives the Fighter +1 intelligence for every 2 points here

Combat and Tactics

- Old Friends (Tactic): designate one target to be an old friend of the Fighter who will turn on the enemy side and fight for him.

- Whittle (Combat Action): instead of rolling an attack, apply your minimum damage to a target. You may only whittle once per round.


After graduating with a degree in Quest Management, Royston spent an entire year job-hunting in a woefully saturated market. All the quests had apparently been completed, he’d told himself, or else no one was hiring a rookie elf fighter without a post-graduate degree, and no experience.

Newly-wedded, and with a child—and his marriage under extreme pressure—Royston refused to lower himself and work as a serf, shoveling pig shit for some duke. So in desperation, he took an internship as the squire of Sir Raddix the Black Knight of Felmog. True, he would have to leave his family for the road, but he’d at least get paid a percentage at the end of the quest: 25% of the loot, in fact—a marvelous figure. And perhaps he could secure a permanent position in Raddix’s entourage.

Royston should have been wise to his master’s treachery early on, the way he belittled his hirelings, and gave them scraps to eat, and that one time he told Abelard the owlbear cave was “empty.” But the elf had banked his whole future on Sir Raddix. He could not fail his wife and child. He had to make this work.

In the end, it was a miracle that he even survived the final dungeon. Everything happened so fast. Hal the Druid was burnt to a crisp by flame geysers, Linda the archer mysteriously fell down a ravine, and Kandor the barbarian bled out with a knife in his back. When Sir Raddix decapitated the lizardman shaman and unearthed a cracked vase filled with riches, a feeling of honor and pride swelled in Royston’s heart. He had made something of himself.

Sir Raddix pulled out the contents of the old vase: a golden grail, a ruby necklace, an ancient silver sword. Then he handed Royston the worthless vase of lizardman-make. “Here,” he said. “Twenty-five percent.”

His marriage in shambles, and having no other prospects, Royston wandered west to unknown lands, where vague rumors of opportunity were said to lie in a valley of fog.

Royston Abelard Nutmeg, Esq.

The Collective fungirecognition