<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/79/Defesede%2Bused%2Broll%2Bpicturedefesede%2Brolled%2Bimage%2B_93eec0496897e847771b6ff402b415eb.jpg)</div><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Godwine ༄</span></strong>(http://link to the post with your character's sheet)<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>HP:</strong> 30/30; <strong>AC</strong> 14; <strong>Initiative:</strong> 2; <strong>Saves:</strong> Str +0, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +1, Wis +5 (with adv), Cha +1; <br/><strong>Resistances:</strong> Any psychic damage; <strong>Immunities:</strong> Any effects that induce dreaming; he's severed from dreams.<br/><strong>Senses:</strong> Dual Mind, Mind Link; <strong>Passive Perception</strong> 17, <strong>Passive Insight</strong> 15, <strong>Passive Investigation</strong> 11<br/><strong>Notes:</strong> n/a<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open; Wynne<br/><strong>Mentioning:</strong> All</span><br/><hr/><hr/><div style="text-align: justify;"><br/>Eleven thousand suns and moons weighed on Godwine Pægusson's mind, like strung golden and silver orbs that forever faded. This fragment of an image dazzled and dissolved into verdant green banners with golden eagles. The emblem of the Baroness Dhoesone of the Northern Marches. He blinked to stay with them. It was as if tonight's moon taunted him, slowing down the soothing elven voice that roused the room. Godwine ran a hand through his platinum pink hair and flashed a small lopsided smirk. It was not everyday he found himself in mighty and opulent company at a feast. His wine-colored gaze poorly gleaned what character he could off their <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">(strikingly)</span> handsome and <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">(uber)</span> heroic faces. These denizens exuded an air of excellence and mastery; they looked like they were either about to lay siege to a castle or build it, from every dungeon to every turret. What swam in the depths of their souls? What sank dormant in his? Who gave a dove's poo? They were here to rejoice and forge a brotherhood, goblet in hand, before the unforgiving dawn came.<br/><br/>To be honest, Godwine avoided looking at Günther Brandt. The Archdruid of the Oaken Grove, mentor, superior, recruiter, the young bearded man who sometimes <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">(creepily)</span> peered his way... with those glassy eyes! So the Court Wizard in his white and blue silk robes was a more pleasant sight, <em>"Victory I am called, and thus we are assured such."</em>; the elf had an intriguing air, <em>“You all may call me Darc."</em>; the toothily grinning half-orc, <em>“My name is Nach, I'm eager to see how this turns out, though we me on your team it is looking good."</em>; an armored man, <em>"I am called Sarek."</em>; and the final person, Godwine was struck with a certain familiarity but could not put a finger on it until Wynne gave him a knowing nod. Oh, I know that one. Godwine looked away, keeping his secret. <em>"I'm Wynne Dhoesone. It's good to see you all again. That's my mother, by the way."</em> <br/><br/>That made Godwine look back with surprise, that he did not know. <br/><br/>Sipping his bittersweet Anuirean red wine, the Kalashtar said, "Well met! I am Godwine."<br/><br/>His insatiable eyes flicked among his diverse company while he listened to Fhiele Dhoesone, the Baroness of the North Marches, she who intended to be regent of the Stolen Lands. He tolerated her perfectly rehearsed speech. Her logic made admirable points and her ideals were staunch which made him smile a little wilder in the here and now. But who knew what was going to happen? The people toasted to their dreams. Godwine naturally was the outlander with a meaningless goblet in hand, unable to relate. Though, he did try. He observed their varied facial reactions to the ethereal sentiment. He considered the things he saw that were not of this world. <br/><br/><em>"May god will them true."</em> The way the Baroness uttered this left a chill trickling down Godwine's spine. <br/><br/>His face remained stoic and indifferent before he straightened up in his seat. If his purpose all along was to help shape the Baroness's dreamland into reality for Cerilia's sake, then so mote it be. The feast transitioned into a ball through these vast halls, and the music played on. Dancers drifted from columns while he turned to his group. He was curious of each story they carried with them from all long walks of life. He sipped more wine and pretending he did not know Wynne before, he struck up more conversation with their party.<br/><br/>"I'm from Hogunmark! Rjurik here."</div>