Vandra


 * Mannerisms and Appearance: 
 * Height: 5'11"
 * Weight: 190
 * Skin: Pale gray green
 * Skin: Pale gray green

A tall woman wrapped in varying shades of gray clothes, her long charcoal cloak's hood conceals her appearance only in the slightest. A thick braid at the back keeps her dark mahogany hair out of her yellow eyes, the downward sloped nose combined with the square jaw and jutting lower canines mark her unmistakably as a half orc.To many people Vandra comes off as calloused or even angry most of the time when these descriptions aren't quite right. She does not display emotions often or easily being quite detached from most situations. In fact most of the time instead of interacting socially with others, the dark cleric will instead watch silently from the sidelines and observe with the interest of a scholar.

On her return to the mausoleum a city guard stopped her before the entrance to the graveyard, he explained that a gargoyle had been found dragging a half eaten old man out of a crypt. Vandra assumed the worst and pushed past the man. What she found confirmed her fears, the old man that had been killed by the gargoyle was her master. She discovered Isha crumpled in a corner, seeming as if she had been thrown there. She was bleeding from many deep gashes, but she was still breathing. Knowing that there was nothing for her here anymore, Vandra healed Isha to the best of her ability, packed up what items weren't damaged beyond repair from the gargoyle's rampage and left.
 * History: Vandra grew up in a small village by the name of Kan'rekh, situated on the highland border between Mystarria and Heredon. This village followed no particular allegiance, they bowed to no noble house or lord since only three generations ago it had been founded by a nomadic band of half-orcs, outcast human, and orcs. They formed an insular community, teaching their children the positive sides to being so isolated form the rest of the world. Which is why when Vandra's ceaseless questions about the outside world had not stopped after her seventh birthday, the elders grew concerned. In their eyes she was becoming a liability, her lust for knowledge seemed to not only grow over time, but those few children she chose to associate with regularly began asking questions as well.
 * The elders feared that if Vandra were allowed to stay and continue as she had been - with her questioning, and wandering beyond their borders, and loud challenges against the village's ways, that many - if not all, the young people in the village would leave one day. She was given an ultimatum on her tenth birthday; either she would silence herself and be allowed to live in peace and fulfillment as a part of the community, or she would be exiled from the village, barred from ever coming back. Vandra surprised only a few - even within her own family, when she chose the latter option. That morning she departed form her home. After leaving Kan'rekh  Vandra headed south, to the warmer lowlands of the nation she would come to know as Heredon.
 * There, she first learned what it meant to be a half orc. People feared and hated her, people she had never met before- nor spoken to or acknowledged in any way. She would remain confused as to the exact reason why this was, for she had yet to realize how very unique her village really was- orcs, humans and half orcs living civilly with one another was natural in her mind- until she encountered 'her people' as many a stranger would say.
 * It was winter, and Vandra had found a temporary haven in the small farming community of Tiffadel. she had been hired as a book keeper for a Tavern known as The Portly Pony. The owner, a gnome by the name of Marlow Ritterspit, had been having difficulty keeping track of his income on top of keeping the tavern and bar under control. The arrangement was mutually beneficial, Vandra didn't have to worry about food or shelter- as those counted as her wages- and she was able to spend her days reading writing and practicing arithmetic, and Marlow could oversee his tavern without worry. One night however, the cozy arrangement- and the Portly Pony itself, went up in flames. A raiding party of the first orcs Vandra had seen since her exile, began attacking the town. Frightened, and unsure as to what she should do Vandra hid in the empty rain barrel at the side of the tavern. To her, this attack was utter madness. What reason could these orcs possibly have to raid such a sleepy little town? Was this perhaps a mistake? Did they think some rival of theirs was hiding here? When they dragged Marlow out of his tavern and began beating him on the slushy ground, Vandra stepped out of her hiding place and addressed them. She spoke to them in Orcish, asking the two grunts who had a hold on the gnome to fetch their leader. Hearing this,a large orc stepped from the crowd and demanded to know who the hell she was, and what the hell a runt like her wanted. She calmly and rationally explained to him that there was nothing here for him and his raiding party, that any tactical or martial significance they assumed this place held simply did not exist. At the end of her long, thought out, and eloquently worded explanation the orcs laughed in her face, murdered Marlow, and beat her to unconsciousness.
 * When she finally came-to it was to a world of ash and silence. The village have been razed to the ground, all its inhabitants either slain or taken by the raiding party. Picking herself up off the frozen ground, she wondered why it was that the orcs had neither killed nor taken her as well, when it came to her; Neither orcs nor humans wanted anything to do with half breeds, and that realization irritated her to no end. Begotten by both, and wanted nor valued by either. Vandra promised herself that she would become something of value. She would force both humans and orcs to acknowledge her and her skills, whatever those turned out to be.
 * Three years later, after finding yet another job as a scribe- this time as an assistant to a wizard by the name of Theodar Bannarl, she had an epiphany: Spellcraft came easily to her. The words, the motions, she easily memorized them. Whenever Theodar was away from the sanctum, she would bury herself within his private library. When she finally believed herself proficient( see: fluent in draconic, and three other languages.) in what she knew all students must know, she approached Magus Bannarl. She quietly and calmly asked him to tutor her in the ways of magic. He refused outright. She asked why, and when he told her she left that night. His explanation as to why she could not be taught infuriated her ' you are a wonderful scribe,' he said ' but that does not change what you are, as a half orc you simply lack the intellect to comprehend the complexities of the craft.' followed shortly by the platitude ' be content where you are' . Be content, it was just what the elders had said to her years ago. The following two years of her life were devoted to hunting down every last wizard she had either known or heard tell of in her time with Theodar. All rebuked her in a similar fashion as her previous employer, which is when she encountered her mentor- to-be Vrumaghen. She had once more been refused the training she so desperately desired. Her last lead exhausted, she wandered the city of Bael's graveyard, brooding over the magus's idiocy she stalked alone amongst the desolate graves. There amongst the headstones, she spied a ghostly disembodied hand. It beckoned her, knowing this as a summons from a spell caster Vandra followed the clawed hand. Down into a mausoleum it lead her, its ghastly form glowing slightly, as it lead her down into the dank earth. it stopped before a door of solid stone which it pointed to before disappearing. She pushed against the door, finding little trouble with moving the seemingly heavy stone, and beheld a large room with an altar, shelves, instruments of the craft, and a bent and milky -eyed old man. In his lap he held a scythe. He smiled at her and introduced himself, he told her that he had been watching her efforts with the Mages. He asked her if she would wish them dead. She told him she did not- which caused him to frown- she would rather surpass them in prowess ans when they offered apologies and praise, to rebuke them in the very same fashion they had done to her. Vrumaghen laughed and told her he may be able to teach her to do just that if she were willing to tread a darker path. She agreed, and for the next six years served as his apprentice. It was at this time that she met Isha, the Master's 'pet' gnome. The mad little creature endured many horrific tortures at their master's hand - and though Vandra would - even could- not stop him, she would use what healing she did know to ease the frail gnome's suffering after he had grown bored.
 * Vrumaghen would never raise complaints over her small spasms of conscience towards his tormented little slave, but as the years progressed he would send Vandra out on long lasting errands- even have her hold prayer meetings for Nerull, in his stead. Privately, she feared that perhaps on one of these errands, she would return to the Mausoleum to find Isha dead. It had never occurred in her mind that the opposite may happen in her absence. On the Winter of the World ( one of the few holy days that cultists of Nerull observe), that year the moon overtook the sun ( a good omen for death cults) and Vandra was to fill in for Vrumaghen as Head Chanter. She lead the procession through the rituals, and presented the year's sacrifice to one of Nerull's favored children, Kaldivesh the Unhallowed( a barghest of unusual cunning- whom had been blessed by Nerull for his cleverness, and regularly associated with the cultists.) who accepted the year's sacrifice - a pregnant pegasus and it's unborn colt, in the name of Nerull.
 * Inheriting the cursed scythe and the mad servant from her deceased mentor, Vandra has been on the move ever since, seeking out what knowledge she can on her own - or better yet, another more powerful master to continue her training.