Duvamil Aliston Roywyn Caulston Yock (Darcy)
There's no room for caution in a life lived to the fullest
Monk, Way of the Open Hand – Level 5
Age 78 and Chaotic/Good
Full Gnomish name:Duvamil Aliston Roywyn Caulston Yock, though she goes by Darcy most of the time.
2 ft 4 inches in height, blonde hair, not afraid to be nude
HP- 38 AC – 16 (Unarmoured Defence, wis)
Feat: Martial Adept
Str 10, Dex 16, Con 15, Int 12, Wis 16, Cha 10
Carries a sickle blade called Karma, that her father adapted for her, it’s almost as big as she is, but perfectly balanced.
Wears a “magic” snake band on her arm that she will not give up for anything. His name is Simon.
Has a pet baby owlbear called Albert, who she “saved” when his mother was killed by a “dragon”, definitely not by her. She loves him greatly.
Fears Orcs, and is in awe of Elves. Worships Ilmater, god of Endurance, at the Monastery of the Yellow Rose.
Somewhere in the world a Great Master dies, the wind blows through the mountains, and on the other side in a deep forest a baby Gnome is born.
Born in the forest to loving tinker parents, Darcy grew up with an appreciation for nature and an inquisitive mind. She was seen by her peers as a strange and mysterious child, with violet eyes that showed a soul much older than the young gnome looking back at you. She was graceful and thoughtful but rarely seen laughing, and was constantly teased for being “too serious”.
When she wasn’t at school she would be seen alone in the forest clearing dancing to music no-one else could hear, the wind her partner. She practiced meditations and delicate movements everyday, pulling and pushing against an invisible force that drove her on. Once slow, as years passed the motion was a blur of feet and arms and long hair, whipping in the wind, bending with the trees, it was as if Darcy and the forest she called home were one. This connection with nature both amazed and scared the other forest gnomes, the movements being something they could not understand, and they sent for a wise traveling adventurer in a nearby town, with whom they sometimes traded.
The warrior watched as this young gnome danced and spun in the air, and when she was finished he told her tales of Warrior Monks and a Monastery that would help her understand what the dance meant, and hone her skills to help nature and her family. They spoke for many hours, and as he was leaving he handed her a crudely drawn map to show her the way. She packed her bag that night, and as she left the enchantments of her hidden village the wind picked up and swirled around her, she took a deep breath in, tied up her hair, and let go of the map she had been given. She did not need it, she already knew the way.
It took Darcy the best part of a year to walk to the Monastery of the Yellow Rose, over the mountains behind her home, and when she arrived in the steps the Monks tending the gardens looked into her eyes and knew her at once. She had been training at the Yellow Rose for almost 60 years when one night she awoke in the monastery sickroom alone, covered in sweat. Creeping back to her dorm she packed up the few possessions she owned and took flight down the steps and away from the Yellow Rose.