[stressfear]

On I go searching
For the past
That was stolen from me,
As I wander
Through strange towns
Choked by the scent of the flames
Which clings to me.
Didn't we say goodbye,
And go our separate ways?
If you seek hell,
It will suck your heart dry.
I'm so tired
Of fighting on -
If this is to be my fate,
Then I'll make my mind
Up now.
Just please
Let me
Be alone until
Tomorrow;
It's the only thing
Connecting me to
today.

Description
Royse is a brown haired, brown eyed man of average stature. What he lacks in impressive height however, he makes up for with an impressively low body fat percentage. His chest, arms and legs are laced with scars - from acid burns to small cuts and the thick ugly lines of an arrowhead. It's clear from a glance that he hasn't led an easy life.

He wears his hair short and his facial hair trimmed to side-burns; he dresses in durable leathers and well-cared for armor. He still wears the red right shoulder of his former unit, even if he has long-since abandoned the uniform itself. He wields a pair of swords - one long, one short - and only occasionally a hatchet.

Personality
To call Royse sarcastic, embittered, and self-loathing would be technically accurate, but only a small fragment of the complete picture. He is driven by his quest for answers and his drive for revenge. He is capable of wandering off this path, but every time does, he inevitably returns as fervent as ever. Much of what he does, in the end, is in the interests of survival or in service to his goals.

A soldier from before his first memory, he has a sort of drilled-in discipline and an adage for almost every situation. His knowledge isn't deep nor wide, but it runs along one vein almost as far as it could go - he is a master at small unit tactics. He should be; after his time with the Shoulders, he's had volumes drilled into his very bones.

He has deep love of pie, a distaste for the color yellow, and a fondness for the company of dogs and gnolls - though he doesn't speak the language.

But none of that accounts for the seething, berserk rage that lies at the core of his being. The Rising Dark, he terms it - the murderous anger that gives him the strength to survive where others couldn't. He even attributes his survival during the desolation of the Red Shoulders to his inner fury.

History
Much of Roy's history is unknown, even to him. The first thing he remembers is fighting, sword against sword, in some distant field. He was almost sixteen, he reasons, and already a member of the Red Shoulders. Before that is a blur - his parents are dead, he recalls, having dug the graves himself. He spent time wandering the roads of Thay, though where he went and what happened he doesn't know.

The very act of asking such questions sends a searing pain through his skull and down his spine. He has heard countless explanations for the phenomena, ranging from magical intrusions to psychological walls and back again. But none of these explanations have ever been proven or even directly addressed - the truth is, he isn't as concerned about it as you'd think.

His true history begins some time after the scene in the fields - during his time with the Red Shoulders. The unit was a special group, hand-picked recruits trained to the peak of their ability and tested against enemies and even each other. Of that group, Royse was far and above one of the best.

He was good enough to have been given command of his own squad, a five man team intended for precision strikes on weak points in the enemy command. He was given the directive to choose and outfit his group from the available recruits, and so he did - first Kourayne Ren, the fighter; Asche Zull, the Thayan ranger; Alai ibn-La'Ahad, the Calamshite sneak and assassin; and Vander Pratau, priest of Bane.

Four names - four suspects.

It began one late summer night. First the silence of an oncoming storm, then a hail of arrows and stones. The fires came after. Before anybody knew it, the facility was in flames, the walls and gates swarming with monsters and armed men alike. The Red Shoulders burned that night, dead almost to a man. Even the Commander - a powerful Thayan knight - and his master, the Red Wizard whose research and coin backed the group, lay dead in the rubble.

Only Royse Hull and his unit survived - five soldiers of a hundred. They parted then, in the light of the morning, and went their separate ways.

Roy, for his part, was a wanderer once again. He had a purpose now, however. Then men who attacked the facility weren't Thayan Legionnaires. They didn't wear a sigil he could place, or have any identifying features. They hadn't even left a trail - an impossibility for a group of that size. They were, for all intents and purposes, untraceable.

They had arrived, slaughtered a highly trained unit of soldiers, and vanished. And now Roy wanted to know why.

He finally found a break in Pryador. While investigating the attack, he was found and ambushed by one of the mysterious assailants. Just before he cut the man down, he was able to drag from him an important lead - the night the Red Shoulders burned, they had housed a traitor, someone who sold the group out for his own gain. Worse - that betrayer had survived.

Four names. Four suspects. It was time to get started.

DM Notes:
Royse comes with a built-in metaplot; the mystery behind the Red Shoulder group and their annihilation, the hunt for the traitor, and eventual revenge. I wrote it up the same way I would for a tabletop game, though I appreciate that as there are several groups worth of players and a cast of GMs, my personal plot isn't a priority for everyone. :D

Also note that Kourayne shares much of the same background, though her player hasn't posted a background yet (or played much beyond last night).

The following are characters important to Royse's background:

• Kourayne Ren, Human Fighter (player character); Roy's closest friend
  
• Asche Zull, Thayan Ranger
  
• Alai ibn-La'Ahad, Calamshite Rogue
  
• Vander Pratau, Cleric of Bane
  

These characters are dead, but the names matter:

• Nowe San, Red Wizard of Thay (deceased); Founder of the Red Shoulders
  
• Mors Tanos, Knight of Thay (deceased); Commander and Trainer of the Red Shoulders
  

[stressfear]

The Red Shoulders

In my chest with rusting knives,
I've left the names of comrades
Who will not return.
Lend your ears to the dream
Of a wretched man,
Stumbling,
After wandering away from his flock.
When I close my eyes,
I am calling for someone...
There is a downpour of tears,
Collecting sorrows,
In my heart.
I drew the losing card, didn't I?
Even my last moments
Are crushed beneath a wheel.
I remember your face,
Smiling when you said all men
Are fools.
My life is proved by
endless fighting,
experiencing the world
through my sword.
It hurts,
Holding my shoulder to the sky,
Offering my mourning to the men
Who have become stardust.
It hurts,
The storm of swords falling from the heaven
Are to me the tears you are shedding,
Crashed around me.

The Red Shoulders were meant to be an elite fighting force - the best of the best. Only the most promising of soldiers were recruited into the ranks, and put through the brutal training of a Red Shoulder. As they were unaffiliated with the Legions of Thay, they were better trained and better equipped - privately funded by Nowe San, an ambitious Red Wizard.

The grizzled veteran Mors Tanos, himself a Knight of Thay in Nowe's service, took command of their training. The recruits drilled for long hours, learning exotic weapons, tactics for various terrain, and - most importantly - the easiest and best ways to kill a man. The result was, more often than not, a physically and emotionally drained wreck - but there were also the rare few who not only survived, but thrived.

Of the dozens brought in by Nowe and Mors, only a handful became Red Shoulders in full.These became the true subjects of the Red Shoulder project - an experiment designed to produce one perfect, un-killable soldier. None of the soldiers in their employ knew the true purpose of the unit's existence. They were worked to exhaustion, corralled each night, and worked again the next day.

Such was life in the Red Shoulders.

on Recruitment in the Red Shoulders - an excerpt from the journals of Royse Hull
Race didn't matter in the Shoulders - not as much as it does in other parts of Thay. Nobody cared overmuch what size a recruit was or how pointed his ears may be. Recruits came in from all walks of life, and went out on their backs in more or less the same way. The only thing the recruiters cared about was aptitude and experience.

First, no recruit was admitted who hadn't received at least some martial training. No peasants with pitchforks, or hopeful pig-farmers carrying their fathers swords. Soldiers, militiamen, novice monks and duelists drawn from the gutters and streets of distant cities - we all had some training in common, a base of sorts to draw upon.

Second, no veterans were ever sought out or included. Having fought a campaign and survived was a black mark, as were kill records exceeding five, and membership in established legions or church forces. Thus, every Red Shoulder was, initially, both unproven and unknown.

Third, no consideration was given to any volunteer - recruits were sought out uniquely by the Warden and the Commander, and none who asked to join were ever admitted. Thus were the fields limited to those with the unique aptitudes the Warden sought in each drive. This, he put forth the assertion, kept the ranks 'pure'.

Finally, no recruit was ever known to have surviving family beyond the most distant of leaves on their family tree. Not one man in my squad, or even my company, had either wives, children, siblings, or parents. We were functionally orphans all.

To recap - every recruit was a soldier with no prior victories, each recruited singularly by both Nowe and Mors according to criteria known only betwixt those two, and had none to miss them when they had gone.

It seems now as it did then - we were an army of fiercely trained expendables.

The Red Shoulder Command Structure
There were a little over a hundred men in the Red Shoulders, organised into five companies, themselves divided into five individual squads comprised of five soldiers. Each five man team was lead by a Sergeant-at-Arms, with four regular soldiers beneath him. These Sergeant-at-Arms reported to the Lieutenant in charge of monitoring and administrating the squads under his command - one for each company. These Lieutenants likewise reported to the Company Captains, who in turn reported to Mors Tanos, the Commander in Chief of the Red Soldiers as a whole.

Mors, in turn, reported to the man the soldiers referred to simply as the Warden - Nowe San.

Nowe was the ultimate authority in the training facility, his reach extending beyond the mere authorities of the Captains and Lieutenants. What he said was final, an order that couldn't be ignored or overturned on pain of death. He alone knew the true purpose of the experiment, and he alone knew the ultimate goal of the brutal training he subjected the troops to. That authority and knowledge ended with his death, his chambers left a smoldering ruin in the wake of the attack.

How to Train Your Own Red Shoulder - a Hull retrospective
Are you familiar with the concept of squad-level cannibalism? It's the practice of pitting two squads against each other in a fight to the death and organizing a new strike team out of the survivors. In the Shoulders, that was day one.

Day two was lockdown, trapped in a room with the same men you had just the day before been attempting to kill. Day three was a cold wash and a hard meal before morning marches, weapon drills, and mock combat against other survivors who, like you, had been deprived and then worked hard. That night would be trail rations and sleep deprivation, followed by another day just the same as the last.

Those who couldn't last the first four days were thrown in a pit and left there. Those who had were led to the warm, comfortable barracks where they were allowed to wash, dress, and eat at their leisure.

The next day and the weeks that followed would be filled with brutal drills that left you vomiting blood, mock battles that brought scars and lessons in equal measures, and live engagements with captured enemies every seventh day. Goblins and Gnolls featured largely, followed only marginally less often by dwarves and elves.

And at the end of every month, a new batch of recruits was brought in and the cycle repeated for everyone.

Survive a year of this, and you were officially worthy of being called a Red Shoulder. Survive many more, and you were me.

DM Notes:
Again, I wrote this as though I were preparing for a tabletop session. In fact, I might use it for a tabletop session, now I've gone to the trouble of typing it out. It's essentially just background information about the Red Shoulder organisation, written mostly in Royce's character. Still, I'd invite anyone to go ahead and use it for their own characters, if they so chose. I'm sure Roy would be very interested to learn of any other surviving Red Shoulders. Wink

If I had to give the group prerequisites (and I don't, since it's not technically joinable) I'd say characters would need all weapon proficiency feats (simple, martial, and exotic) and two ranks in the Discipline skill to reflect the specialized training every Red Shoulder receives. You'll note that those are requirements that most martial classes can reach very early - and that's exactly the way I meant it to be.

Finally, sorry about the length of the post. I'm a writer first, a role-player second, so I tend to jot up long, complicated posts as a matter of course. After this, it will be in character posts only, I promise!

---

An excerpt from the journal of Royse Hull, Survivor

A long walk from Tyraturos to Pryador and back again, when you're bleeding. Longer still when you have to turn immediately south and walk to the City of a Thousand Temples, all at the behest of a beggar covered in as much flies as skin. That's the last one, I swear to you - no more running around for that bum.

I have made Tyraturos a base of sorts. Where better to find information than the crossroads? Every creature to come through Thay finds his way here eventually, and someone has to know something. The list of names isn't long nor inexhaustible - it shouldn't be hard at all to find word of the missing three.

But I need to survive in the meantime, and a roof and three squares a day matter more than my new freedom. My options were theft and Legion, and I can't afford to find myself in a gutter or a pen, so... Legion it is.

Perhaps I'll find a clue here in Tyraturos - Alai spoke of the Legion once or twice in his barracks tales. It's better than hunting the wilds for Zull or staking out the temple of Cyric for a sign of Vander - hunting some sign or those traitors is tiresome and risky.

Thank the gods Kourayne at least has come back from wherever she wandered. Her, at least, I can trust.

[stressfear]

From the Journal of Royce Hull, Soldier

Today I met a singularly unique man - Sammael, he was called. Dark skinned, and strange - he had the seeming of a wizard and the bearing of a fighting man, to say nothing of what breed he may be. Interesting, to say the least of him, and I freely admit to being charmed. I even allowed myself to be indebted to him through the use of his slave - the girl, Nadia.

Nadia was interesting herself. A different time, a different place, and sparks may have flown. But now, in Tyraturos...

I am a soldier and she a slave - we are bound the both of us, her in servitude and myself to an eventual, horribly violent death. Better to let her be, over all. Some situations are stupid on the face of them, and courting a slave is among the top contenders. Probably won't stop me, of course, but stupidity should be recognized, as the Warden used to say.

She made mention of seeing other Calimshan natives - such as herself - and I asked if Alai numbered among them. Apparently not, so the bastard eludes me still.

We rode south to Bezantur and raided the main Crypts. It was hardly difficult - a little darkness, a few shambling undead, nothing a stout blade and magic rod couldn't handle. Locked chests remain my bane.

Afterward, Sammael bid her stay in Bezantur, and I rode back alone, the worse for the lack of company. I returned to the citadel and turned over the bounty to the Sergeant. Tomorrow I ride to Amruthar and on to Nethjet, where more monsters, prestige, and blood await me.

Wish me luck, book I sometimes scribble in.

[stressfear]

From the journal of Royse Hull, Accidental Vampire Hunter

Dear Diary,

I hate, hate hate, hate, hatehatehate, hate.

HATE.

Hate vampires. And I'm not feeling overtly charitable toward the other citizens of Nethjet either. I hope to gods my business here will soon be done and I can leave.

[stressfear]

From the journal of Royse Hull, One-Punch Knockout

Korayne answered my call and I am well-quit of Nethjet, though my notoriety may never recover from the ordeals in that hateful, despised place.

Seriously, I can't stress enough my hatred of Nethjet.

Still, it was an adventure - a dozen trolls dead of acid, vampires slain by blessed blades, and zombies felled by the dozen. It was a hell of a time. Reminded me of the old days, when it was the five of us against the worst the Warden could summon. It put me in so fine a mood I challenged Ren to a brawl, in the best barracks tradition, and knocked her low with a single blow.

Glorious.

I am never going back to Nethjet again, so help me Cyric.