Not much is know of Allanon. He is silent most of the time speaking only when absolutely necessary. He spent much of his time in the local tavern alone in the corner, his imposing figure cloaked and huddled of mead. On more than one occasion a local would get drunk and on a dare approach Allanon and ask him to join them for a drink, and Allanon would always refuse. Occasionally the drunkard would take offense and take a swing at Allanon. No drunkard could remember what happened after they took a swing at him and not just because of his own inebriation. When the call to leave town came he silently joined those departing. The other adventures guess that he lost a wife or other loved one and therefore wishes to leave the memory behind, but no one knows the real reason.
Loomis Shearon grew up a sheep herder, but learned to hunt as his sheep where always attacked by predators. The thrill of the hunt and the feeling he got from releasing the bow string to satisfying twang followed by the thud of the arrow meeting it's target was all it took for him to want more adventure.
The events of the past few days of our expedition have left me very troubled. I was bored with my life in Safka, but now in seeing only a portion of the wider world, I am left quite disillusioned with it. Rather, I am disillusioned with my current place in it. I now understand that I am the wrong person for the path we have undertaken.
I am a simple straight forward good man-Dwarf. At least, I am striving to be such a man. My psych-emotional makeup is well suited to life within a town or a community, but it is very ill suited to life in a wider world where many, including the gods themselves are sociopathic. In order to survive in such a world, one must themselves also become a sociopath. I'm not able to do that. Having met the likes of Trey, and being forced by the gods to attack my own companions...Having also "failed" my companions with decisions made based upon what I believed to be a rational world, I must leave you. I just don't have the right personality for this task at hand. I will only hold you back and become very frustrated with it all. If I make it back to Safka alive, I may yet become a small parish priest and do some good there, where I can more easily define what is friend and what is foe. I'll let the people know about the fertilizer we found as well if I live to tell them about it.
With that I bid you good night and good luck. You will find this letter in the morning. Please pray for my safe passage back to Safka.
At the time of the great invasion, Flan was naught but an unborn child within the belly of her mother. Child of two grand scholars of wizardy that lived in a gnomish village dedicated to the learning of magic, Flan was expected to follow in the steps of her parents and be a magician. When the demons came, the community banded together in an attempt to slow the invading army down and give others the chance to escape. Unfortunately, having never practiced extensively in the ways of offensive magics, most of the gnomes ended perishing in the explosion of magic that was the result of their ritual. Flan’s mom gave birth to her post mortem, and as a babe Flan was taken with the escaping refugees. Due to very traumatizing way in which she was born, Flan has experienced very disorienting mental issues through most of her life. She seems to be ‘poisoned’ with magic so to speak as she’ll often discharge magic like if her body was malfunctioning. As a result of that she’s also very absent minded- more so than the average gnome and grew up with the label of the village spaz despite being quite handy at making tools and weapons. Though most think that she volunteered for the exploration trip due to her whimsically nature alone, inwardly Flan hopes that she might learn enough discipline to control her overwhelming chaotic magic in her journeys.