Lanky scout who has military precision with his longbow.


Parth is somewhat lanky at 5’10" and only 155 lbs. He has an athletic build, but this only manages to make him look healthy and does almost nothing to give him a look of real strength. His clothing is mostly made from the hides of animals he has hunted over the last few months and his sun browned skin is dusted from days spent on the trail. He can usually be found with his trusty, military issue longbow and a quiver strapped to his back. Over his light covering of hides are a few straps that contain a few small pouches for whatever he might pick up in the forest and a long hunting knife can be seen strapped to the outside of his right thigh. If he didn’t have such boyish looks, his sturdy, confident steps and equipment might look intimidating.

Parth Agrawal: — Size: 12
Strength: 13 — Dex: 14
Prowess: 11 — HP: 23 — Fatigue: 14
Main Weapon: Longbow 15/4d6; Longknife 10/3d6
AW: 5 Sight: 14 Hearing: 10
Reaction: +6 — Evade: 7
Armor: 3 ( Soft Hide, Dex) – Agile -


Parth’s vision was beginning to blur. Propping himself against a nearby tree he turned a vomited into a thornberry bush, that morning’s breakfast splattering on dark green leaves and turned the once crimson berries a sickly yellow green. The young boy leaned his head back to stop the spinning and slowly slid down to sit on the detritus of the forest floor. Fumbling for his pack that lay only a few feet away, Parth retrieved a water skin and managed to slowly uncork it with weakening hands while his mouth turned dry and his tongue began to swell. Darkness rimmed his field of vision, and as he tipped the bag to his mouth his other arm slumped. A few drops of water passed his lips but it was much too late. The toxin swimming inside of him won over and he felt his body go rigid. His eyes closed.

After what seemed like hours of enduring the horrid images of distorted dreams and nightmares he awoke to the nearly paralyzing pain of an adult hand smashing into the side of his face with the force of a swung mace. This was quickly followed by the taste of a profoundly bitter liquid being poured down his throat. Almost immediately his eyes fluttered open and he began to see straight. The swelling in his mouth began to subside. Parth found himself laying on a cot in one of the many tents found in camp.

“You pea brained idiot of a son! How many times have I told you to look beneath the cap of a mushroom before you decide it’s safe to eat? Goldbloom has white stripes on its underside. Stonestalk has the same speckled top but it has tan stripes on its underside. These subtle differences can mean the difference between a full belly and death. Get it right next time, cause I might not be around to haul your sorry arse back home!”

Parth sat up and watched as his father stalked out of the door to the tent, the flap slapping canvas as it was shoved aside.

“Yeah…love you too, Dad.” as soon as he was sure that his father was outside of hearing range he muttered to himself about how he wouldn’t be acting this way if his mother were still around. She had died two months ago and it hit his dad particularly hard. He had always been strict, but his grief had quickly turned him cold, distant, and angry.

When Parth was barely ten years old, he had been attacked by a boar during a hunt. The young boy was nearly gored to death by the enraged beast, but his father had rescued him by stabbing it from behind. That was four years ago and Parth was lectured about it every day since. That’s what happens when your father spent most of his life in the army. Everything was about discipline and skill. Mistakes weren’t tolerated.

Parth shakily stood up and sighed. “Great, so now I get to hear about two things every day for the rest of my life…”

Five years later…

Walking into camp after a scouting mission on the Estrill borders, Parth immediately noticed the looks on peoples faces when he walked by. Normally, these would be looks of awe, respect, and sometimes both. This was the result of the victory he and his father enjoyed after spending the better part of a year defending Eastrill from warlords trying to invade their lands. In the final battles, the forces commanded by Marcus Aldrige and Rolan Highdale were victorious, and when they finally came home they were considered heroes.

The looks Parth was getting now, though, were a mixture of pity and contempt. Nearing the command tent, Parth found Captain James Summerfield waiting for him. Seeing the same look of pity crossing the captain’s face, Parth called out before the captain could say anything.

“What news, Captain? You have the look of a mother sheep who’s just seen her baby’s leg get broken in a fall near a wolf den.”

“It’s your father, Parth. A week ago your father went missing. One of our soldiers found a letter in his tent. The letter was from the Dales Council informing him that a law was recently passed which rescinded all soldier’s protection from debts accrued during their service. You know all too well the money we’ve had to borrow when the army couldn’t pay us, and after your mother’s death, your father had to borrow even more money for funeral expenses. His debts are being called in and they gave him all of three days to pay the more than two Crowns that he owes. I knew he didn’t have the money, and I’m pretty sure that he decided to run for it, so I sent a scout to look for him. He was nowhere to be found. Yesterday this letter came for you. In a nutshell, it
says that your father is in debtors prison and will not be released until his debts have been paid.” The captain let that sink in for a moment before continuing. " I’m sorry, Parth. I know you don’t have the money right now, but I have heard rumors that the Riverdale Marshals were looking for a skilled scout. I’m not sure what they would be willing to pay you, but it would be a better start than waiting to get paid around here."

Parth took the news stoically and nodded to the captain. Thanking the captain for his information, Parth went back to his tent and started packing for his journey. He packed light, wanting to get to Riverdale as soon as was possible, and since he didn’t own a horse of his own, the journey was going to be a bit rough.

“You might be a jerk, but you’re still my father. I’m not sure how long it will take me, but I’ll get you out. I promise!” His words were spoken only to the air, but he hoped his father knew anyway. And maybe once he managed to get his father out of prison, he’d have something to nag his dad about every day!


Legends of Vanhyr Parth