Norrowdan Sebastian Frobisher


Human Fighter lvl 1. Male Damaran
Tan Skin, faded blue eyes, brown hair.

AC 18
HP 55
Speed 30ft

Str 20 (5) +7 save
Dex 11 (0)
Con 17 (3) +5 save
Wis 8 (-1)
Int 10 (0)
Cha 8 (-1)

Truth’s Sight (V) 1d20+8 1d8 S (1d12 S)
Curved Knife (F, Li) 1d20+8 1d4 P
Longbow® 1d20 1d8 P

Scharfrichter’s Stare: Both commoners and Criminals are afraid of my reputation.

Great Weapon Fighting
2 attacks
Second Wind
Action Surge
Battle Master at lvl 3.
Intimidation check 1per encounter, disadvantage on next turn, or frightened until save.
Stealth Disadvantage from heavy armor.


Once prideful, he’s abandoned his dignity and his position for the sake of justice. If he could save but one from the corruption and injustice of Falltera, then his shame might be vindicated.

Norrow was born and raised in Eryas. His mother, Lilian was pregnant with him before she was wed, but quickly married young to his father Lord Rhedar Frobisher. He was a much older man than her, and she was a half elf, but still they insisted. Shortly after she had his younger brother by only a year. Often mistaken for twins as their likeness was uncanny, Lysander and Norrow were inseparable. Norrow’s aunts lived with them in the relatively large Frobisher estate, and physically mistreated Lilian and the children. There was no love between his parents, and Lilian feared she would miscarry his younger sister from so much abuse that she left their home and took them far into a small forest village called Misty Fields. Norrow was only 7 at the time. Norrow and Lysan loved their country home, although small and drafty. They dubbed it the Home of Heroes, and swore to each other that they would make something great of themselves someday, adventuring in the nearby woods and streams all the while.

Six years passed and life was simple, until a contagious sickness struck the town they lived in, and took their mother. Her death was hard on all of them, and Norrow changed the most after her death, retreating emotionally, and hardening his heart. When his youngest sister Tersia showed signs of being sick, Norrow was so afraid that she would die that he took to a small group of thieves for a while to help pay for her treatment and medicine. It was hard and dangerous work for such a young boy. He told Lysander it was just a small job at a bakery, why Lysan himself worked to help a small blacksmithy. With their efforts, she was cured, although frail and of poor health afterwards.

However his thieving continued. After a while, Lysan became suspicious how Norrow was earning so much. Even though they were close, Lysan became contentious towards him when he learned what he was doing. “Why steal for her medicine when all your shady friends might just decide to kill us all?” A long time later, after a close call with some of the authorities, where he was almost caught stealing jewelry off of one of the vendors in town, he decided his brother might be right. He had no talent for thievery. Instead in an effort to clean up his life, Norrow left for the army at Falltera. He begged his brother to come with him, but he said “You were better off a thief. At least then you would have a chance of surviving. Leave the bitches to fight between themselves. Don’t get caught up in their petty war, lest you end up like hundreds of other poor souls.” He figured they were better off with one less mouth to feed, so he packed his things and left, although it was difficult to walk away while Tersia watched him leave tearfully from their front porch.

He sent much of his pay to them often in letters. No word ever returned.

He started out as a footsoldier, but quickly rose in rank. Showing his strategic prowess and selflessness in battle, his wisdom and discernment, and his physical adeptness, he became a Judge. The gruesome guardians of law and order in Falltera, clad in thick armor from head to foot. Elite guard and commanders of the Iros’ armies. Their job is to defend the ruling authorities, and execute justice on those that defy them.

He was respected and largely stayed away from the common folk, enjoying the company of more sophisticated people, and devoting himself to higher and extravagant living. Norrow can still recall when he was awarded the Judges Blade, forged specially in Damascus steel for them only. It was his prized possession.

Judge Durgenzi, his elder both in age and status taught him much about the political and social ramifications of being a Judge, and Norrow would trust him with his life. They stuck close together, and he was very much a father figure more so than his own had been.

That’s when he met her, Aislynn Landon, a Messengers Escort, a high ranking official. She was a very kind person, graceful in stature and poise. She would always make a point to stop and converse with him when they met by chance in the halls and high streets of Falltera, her carefree laughter sticking with him for days after. Dull blonde hair and light blue eyes, she was the most beautiful woman he had laid eyes on. Although it was uncustomary to have relationships within the courts, they immediately took a passionate liking to each other, spending many moons together in relative secrecy. Since it was forbidden, Norrow would often spend his time thinking of ways they could be together, although their own business within the government separated them sometimes months at a time.

Aislynn’s zeal and the sacrifices she made for was clear to Norrow, and only fueled his own unwavering loyalty to his king and country. When the news came to him of her apparent betrayal to the Fallterian government, he could hardly believe it. After much evidence was given however, Norrow felt hurt, shocked that she would so carelessly abandon all she had worked for. He tried and tried to spare her, arguing her innocence, trying to save her from a death sentence, however suspicion rose for his involvement with her, and he was forced to kill her by his own sword.

The moment burned into his mind, the tears running down her face, her hair pushed away from her delicate neck, the shock of red against the polished floor of the courts, the alien feeling of his own blade in his hands. Norrow remained distraught ever after, the memories haunting him in the night.

“I only did what I was asked.”

His job continued however and he grieved in secret, trying to maintain his composure. After discovering she was set up by her superior, and discovering the nature of her report, Norrow was furious. To think that he believed that she could ever betray her own nation, and that he fell for it. That they killed their own just for following orders, and that he was too blind to see the corruption.

He began to search out the man who sent Aislynn to her death, and word quickly spread of Norrow’s curiosity. Before long, Judge Durgenzi warned him that he must flee, as they were planning on taking his life. Realizing he had no choice, Norrow left his telltale ceremonial blade behind, along with the life that he had made.

While fleeing, Norrow fell into the lower parts of the city, running into Judge Luskian, one of the greatest swordsman among the Judges, and a superior to Norrow. He narrowly escapes the battle with his life after a grievous wound. Bleeding in the alleyways and getting closer to death, an old woman, a devoted of Nugloome named Gealaz found him. She was old and ugly, covered in black rags, dark skin and piercing yellow eyes. She told him, as he was grasping to life, of a goddess of revenge, one who could heal him of his wounds and save his life, if only he pledged to strike back at his enemies in her name. Realizing he could do nothing but accept, Gealaz made a pact with him in his own blood, binding him to Nugloome. After the ritual was complete Norrow discovered that he was stabilized, and that a strange necromantic energy wafted around his wounds and then dissipated.

From there Norrow chose to leave for Rosenfeld before he was discovered again by his pursuer Judge Luskian, to seek counsel and perhaps even the favor of Catherine. On the road towards the great city is when his vision faded to black.

Norrowdan Sebastian Frobisher

Lost Time Gezirah