Astrat Gilahom, Courtbard of Vik, Coruler of Artar Dahl
Human Male Bard 30 Spiller: Jarle Stavik
AL: NG
Equipment:
Unique:
2 crystall longswords +4, gives user ambidexterity, two weapon fighting, greater two weapon fighting, supreme twoweapon fighting.
Boots of Major Astratiation, speed, +20 to climb, 030 to jump, fly at command, luck +5 to saves, protection against charming +6, +5 desxterity
Astrats cloak of wonder: Regeneration 1hp/ hour, major displacement, mind shielding, freedom of movement, resistance +5
Normal: Falme tongue longsword, Longsword +1 giantsbane, longbow +5(+2 mighty), ring of protection +5, ring of elemental comand water, carpet of flying, bracers of armor +5, harp of charming, lyre of building, hat of disguise, chain mail +5 of the bard(+10 to perform), rope of climbing, triple scabard of keen edged, wand of lightning bolt, wand of fireball, fasces cord, hevards hefty haversack, bag of holding, cure citival wounds wand, wand of keen edge, wand of magic missiles, wand of restoration, wand of stoneskin, wand of improved invisibility, wand of polymorph self, wand of dispel magic, Folding boat, staff of life (heal, ressurection), staff of frost (ice storm, wall of ice, cone of cold), scroll of miracle, scroll of timestop, scroll of prismatic sphere, scroll of meteor swarm, rod of security, rod of absorption.
Astrat Gialhom: Biografi
”Bards sometimes is intolerably arrogant and full of them selves when they really doesn’t have anything to brag about at al. ”
Reddir Ogreslayer Dragonsbane, Stormleader 1th Dwarven axemenregiment
The bard not of this world
Of him the story’s heard
Let his history be told
-Excerpt from A new Worlds Hymns of Prices by Sir Astrat Gialhom, Courtbard of Vik
Astrat Gialhom, the bard, was born in what they at that time called Abasinia (that’s on Krynn right). His father owner of a small inn and was one of the most respectable men in the little town from witch he hailed. You could say he was born somewhere in the middle in a way, having many older and younger sisters and brothers. His elder sister that he admired very much was a swordswoman, because even if the family was fairly well off, some 15 younger sister and brothers quickly took of any excess that the little inn did get. When he was 19 Astrat’s sister died in a battle leading the guards of a small iron caravan.
That was a turning point for the young Astrat. Obsessed with revenge he buckled a ancient longsword that hung over the fireplace and stole off into the night. Somehow his quest for revenge ended in Palanthas where he learned that the raiders of the caravan already where hanged. It was there that he met Daern Longwood. The former bard took pity on the disillusioned young man and taught him his trade. It soon became clear that Astrat had a talent for poetry and rhyme and that he had the talents to become an master of any instrument starting with the lute. Daern also taught Astrat enough handling of the longsword not to stab himself before the eager young man, now twenty took his good-byes trying his own luck.
Not long after that he met up with a small party of adventurers that were headed the same way as he. This was the start of an adventuring career that eventually led him to Midtlandia. Where his fame soon came to grow after helping his companions solving some problems the local dwarves had. But not after almost getting blown up by some tinkergnomes and risking his life against an spellusing vampire .
After this it went step by step. Miarasta (s.d) And Altar Zios (s.d) helped him get an performance for the king in Vik (mostly to get him out of their hair so they could talk in private with the ambassador of the Black Paladins of Muerti residing as guest in the same palace). His Performance was such that he got the king himself for patron.
Later when rumors came that they had killed the deepdragon Latarex and saved the throne from a Drow overtake Astrat and his friends was given titles as Protectors of The Realms. From that day the son of a innkeeper in far Ansalon, Krynn, was Sir Astrat Gialhom. A man among the nobility which he did take to his head so to speak. ”Not taking his plump nose out of the skies” as Reddir would put it. Despite this Astrat has a strong feeling of having to do the right thing and if that has to be something illegal it has to be done for the common good. He always have time for a new tale or poetry tough. And never laying of the lute a gift from long dead Daern Longwood.
It had been a long day’s march from Daern’s little farm and his feet aced from the walking. He had not rested very much and now he got to pay the price. “Stubborn as a mule”, the young bard mumbled under his raged breath. Before him a small forest consisting mainly of birch and some other sorts of trees he didn’t recognize offered a promise of shade. A small spring could be heard from within it.
“Looks as I’m not the first to find shelter in this small shadeful grove this evening”. Astrat had always liked words, as many and complicated as possible. A small campfire could be glimpsed someplace inside the little forest. Shades around the fire told of a small party of folks having made camp for the night. Mumbling could be heard from a distance. Careful as to make as much noise as possible Astrat strolled against the campfire figuring out that they maybe were willing to share some of their warmth in trade for some entertainment.
“Stop right there ye clumsy oxen!” came a voice from the underbrush of the forest. A pricking of something sharp in his back followed up the command. Astrat raised his arms slowly careful not to provoke an attack. “I come in peace and mean no harm,” He spoke loudly. A voice from the campfire bade him come nearer.
Soon he stood before a little party of what could not be other than adventurers. A red-cloaked magician sat silently not watching the others reading in a large book. A spellbook Astrat guessed. The others were gathered around him looking him up and down. Always polite as Daern says, Astrat decided to do the best out of it. They sure looked a touchy lot though. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Astrat Gialhom, a simple bard traveling where my feet leads me. Trusting fortune to give me tales to tell and adventure to compose poems about. I came towards your campfire figuring maybe that you would shear some warmth in trade for some entertainment. I play the lute, sing, juggle and also know a little of the surrounding land if that may be to some assistance. “
“Do ya always use so many words?” the Dwarf that led him into his camp asked. His back was strewed with weapons counting at least two battle-axes and two hammers. “Words are my profession and my daily bread so to speak, my good fellow,” Astrat replayed courtly. “We can hear that” a warrior clad woman with a strange medallion said. “Say do you for happenstance maybe know exactly were…” She was cut of by another ironclad figure, pointed ears revealing him to be a half-elf. “Let’s not bother the good man with your ignorant talk Moffe. Since he obviously isn’t a threat let’s hear a tale or something to sprite up the gloomy mood.” Ignoring the others he gestured Astrat towards the campfire. The magician looking up at him for the first time yellow eyes glimmering in the light from the fire.
Such were the first meeting between Astrat and his later companions. Maybe a meeting that changed the course of the world as much as them going to Midtlandia. Sent by their former gods to balance the world and keep it from unraveling. Plunging headfirst into a series of adventures much more dangerous than in the Old World. To save the world, again, but only harder and another world this time.