Triangle Daggerheart: Shovels & Shields
Characters
Triangle Daggerheart: Shovels & Shields
Daggerheart
Handfuls:
9
Ancestries:
Drakona (Electric Breath) Lore Born
Class:
Bard Wordsmith
Completed:
7
Most recent:
1 month ago
In a moment foretold by no fewer than seventeen celestial prophecies (citation pending), Xorthaz Emberthane emerged from the Platinum Flames of Mount Ascendance, swaddled not in cloth, but in the will of destiny itself. Where others learn to speak in years, Xorthaz was born mid-monologue. His first word? “Redistribution.”
Raised among the highest peaks and educated by the world’s most reluctant tutors, Xorthaz quickly distinguished himself as the most humble prodigy to ever declare his own legend.
Though he wields the Scepter of the People's Triumph—an artifact of unimaginable power and excellent resale value—Xorthaz Emberthane needs no blade, no shield, no dragon-mounted chariot (except ceremonially). He needs only his words, which have been described as:
With the sheer strength of speech and a traveling harp, Xorthaz has:
Saved lives*
Brought joy to the joyless**
Turned local guild projects into 3000% profit margins***
*Measure of a life and what it means to be saved up to interpretation
**Measurements were taken when leaving, not arriving
***Based on projections from the entrepreneurial mind of Xorthaz
Many dare whisper the legend. Xorthaz shouts it.
In the cursed days of the Scorpion Blight of Swindel’s Hollow, when venomous beasts the size of prize pigs ravaged the town, it was Xorthaz—yes, Xorthaz—who rallied a resistance. Leading a militia of terrified locals (and at least two goats), he stood firm against the tide of chitinous doom. History will tell you he personally slew a dozen, but in reality, he helped eliminate three—and one was already dying from unrelated causes.
Still, the people wept. Not because of the scorpions—but because they’d never witnessed such heroism paired with poetic flourish.
Xorthaz doesn’t seek power. Power simply understands its rightful place: beneath him.
He dreams of a Dirtwater where all citizens live like kings, eating fruits from gilded orchards of opportunity, and bathing in the molten gold of shared prosperity. He promises:
His enemies? Evil. His allies? You, probably. His biggest fear? Irrelevance.
When the council bickers, when the taverns fall silent, when Dirtwater teeters on the edge of yet another unpaid infrastructure fantasy project—Xorthaz speaks. And when he does, the people listen (or are forced to, via mandatory attendance laws he vaguely endorses).
He is:
Because when hope fades and coin runs dry, there is only one name worth shouting across the storm:
Xorthaz Emberthane
