A chivalrous little Frog Knight


Grippli Paladin, Male, Lawful Good
Age: 14
Height: 1’ 10"
Weight: 28 lb
Skin: Mottled Green
Hair: None



Small and spindly and nothing much to write home about at first glance, Quartle was hatched third in his clutch of ten on the shoreline of a bubbling greenish pond in the southerly Stormlands. Of the Boghollow hunter-chief’s many, many offspring, Quartle was among the few who survived the predatory perils of tadpolehood to become a fully-fledged member of clan society. As a youth, he was curious and ungainly, uncertain of his place within the clan, headstrong and with a tendency to leap thoughtlessly into troublesome situations. Such tendencies more often than not earned him a nasty sting from a Hollowasp or a fall from the top of a mangrove tree. If he was lucky, he would only receive a scolding and a lecture from his egg-mother, the clan’s revered bogspeaker.

It was on the eve of his twelfth year that, while exploring the outskirts of Boghollow’s many marshes, Quartle came upon the body and effects of an ill-fated human explorer. The bogspeaker performed the sending-off rites, as was traditional — but the outsider’s strange dress, weaponry, and maiden-and-dragon-pictured literature fascinated the young Quartle, who retained some of the explorer’s possessions to be safely-kept in his honor. The handkerchief, he fashioned into a cloak to better resemble the fallen, armored hero; his letter opener, the young grippli soon learned to wield as a sword with both hands. And finally the book, filled with strange squiggles he couldn’t make sense of and stories he couldn’t understand — but the pictures! The pictures made perfect sense. Grand adventurers just like his fallen hero, rescuing golden-maned females and slaying beasts of great terror!

Quartle’s fervor for the courtly deeds and perils of knighthood began on that day and never once fizzled — and, contrary to the hunter-chief’s wishes and his egg-mother’s sage advice, the grippli finally set out at the beginning of his thirteenth year to make his way in the world as a knight of the utmost valor. With his newly-crafted set of seashell armor he vowed to uphold what surely must have been the ways and beliefs of the poor adventurer who met his end in the unforgiving bogs, and out he marched into the Venali Plains — and, as luck would have it, far beyond.


Age of Awakening Chesterfield