Frey Phyremune


Race: Elf
Class: Avenger/Favoured Soul (Level 13)
Age: 48
Gender: F
Height: 5’ 7"
Weight: 136 lbs.
Hair: Golden
Eyes: Green
Skin: Fair
Languages: Common, Elven

Frey is an elf, and an Avenger in the service of the Goddess Sehanine.

Frey was raised in a remote orphanage far east of Fallcrest, operated by an old priest of Sehanine, Father Ceren. He cared for all his charges as if they were his own children, teaching them the wisdom of his god. They abide by him, grew up learning from him and prepared to set out into the world and make it their own. The world outside had other ideas. Orcs happened upon the orphanage in the summer of Frey’s thirty-third year. They attacked without mercy and gave no quarter. Those who fought back were cut down, the rest driven inside and cornered. They were butchered.

Father Ceren marshaled all those he could save into the basement. Frey and another orphan, Seluna, were the only ones to make it. She was like a sister to Frey, always looking out for her. Ceren hid them in a wardrobe in the cellar and faced the orcs alone, the two children helplessly watching through the crack in the doors. Orc warriors, grasping claws painted on their shields and armor with sticky ash, stormed in. Ceren raised his hands and invoked the Goddess’ name, but the orcs cut him down regardless. Frey yelped before she could silence herself, and drew the orc’s attention. To save her, Seluna gave herself up to the fiends. Frey could do nothing but cover her mouth and cry as she listen to them beat and mutilate her adoptive sister before finally ending her.

The orphanage was in ruins by the time the orcs left. For days Frey wandered aimlessly among the bodies of the only family she had ever know, shocked beyond sense. Yet slowly but surely a resolve built up in her. This was not the end, even if she was the only one left alive. They could still be avenged. Leaving the ruins of her past behind, Frey ventured into the wilderness. She only knew her destination once she found it: a clear pool of water hidden deep in the forest, the crescent moon reflecting up at her in the still night air. There she made her peace and swore an oath to the goddess. The silence that could have saved Seluna would be her constant companion. Those that she lost would be avenged, no matter what the cost.

It felt like a Divine hand guided her training. Every waking moment she spent learning the ways of battle, instinct and providence instructing her. For years she continued alone, the Goddess and the moon her only companions. When she finally felt ready, Frey began to track down the orcs of the ashen claw. It did not take long. They struck at a nearby village, pillaging and burning and murdering. Now was her chance. The orc’s encampment was setup not much farther away. Frey waited for the orcs to celebrate, and become drunk on their spoils. Once they where asleep or intoxicated beyond action Frey struck, setting fire to tents and slitting throats all through the camp. A few roused in time to fight back, including their leader. AshClaw threw his warriors at the enraged elf and made his escape. Although she put an end to the warband, that their leader escaped was untenable. Vengeance demanded his head.

Ashclaw was clever, for an orc. She tracked him, but could never quite catch up. She knew he would seek a new base of power. Originally it was following such lead that she learned of the Seeking. Mastery over life and death would be a powerful weapon for Ashclaw. And Frey could not quite let go of the idea that maybe, just maybe, the philosopher’s stone could bring her loved ones back to life.


Frey is still very young (for an elf) at 48 years of age. She has shoulder-length golden hair and piercing green eyes. She is slight and lithe, even for an elf, and stands only 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing in at around 136 pounds. She is often quiet and unassuming, easily fading into the background.


Daman: While no one can claim to truly know the Tiefling’s heart, and his motives were initially somewhat suspect, Frey has come to trust Daman implicitly. Perhaps its some sort of kinship born from a history of solo operations; both are quite capable and used to working alone. Or its a common understanding; that they both walk down dark paths where the shadows fall, even if for entirely different reasons.

Esry: Frey appreciates the bard, because Esry embodies many things she does not. Where Frey is often silent and low-key, Esry is gregarious and handles social situations with ease. While there is a connection between them through their fey blood, its the fact they’re the only women in the group that has brought them closer together. Frey is almost completely clueless about most ‘womanly’ things, and depends on Esry to help her navigate social events and relationships with others. Esry seems to have taken some interest in her blossoming (and bumbling) romance with Geran. Perhaps she wants to see it succeed despite the fact neither of them knows what they’re doing.

Gamlock: Being a relatively new addition to the group, Frey doesn’t know Gamlock quite as well as the others. She still appreciates his kind demeanor and selflessness. Frey looks up to him in some ways; although they are both agents of their Gods, Gamlock is an agent of life and death, healing and destruction. It is a duality that currently escapes her. Perhaps, if not for what happened, she would be more like him. Oddly enough, the dwarf does remind her a little of Father Ceren.

Geran: Where to start? Maybe those eyes, so dreamy. Or his hair, I could run my fingers through those soft, sensual locks all—cough ahem, back on topic. Geran is many things Frey is not. Where she is quiet and withdrawn, he is talkative and open. Where she regards even the slightest misstep as a tragedy with potentially deadly consequences, he has the humility and temperament to laugh off mistakes. Where she sees duty and necessity, he… well, let’s just say Geran isn’t always the most assertive person. Except when it comes to setting the undead on fire. They have common ground there. They say opposites attract, and it’s hard to get more opposed then these two. Although he sometimes seems like a bit of a buffoon, Geran never lets it get him down. He always picks himself back up. Frey always admired that, even if she could not bring herself to say so. Once the group helped her vanquish Ashclaw and finally bring her some solace and closure to the painful existence that had been her life, she felt more open to them. That maybe she could learn to live like a normal person (at least as normal as adventurers get). Maybe be a bit more closer to him. It was at the ball in Valjevo that it began in earnest. Frey had never dressed up so exquisitely; not even back during her years in the orphanage. Physical beauty was not something she gave much though or concern; the only thing that mattered was how well she could fight and stalk. Esry was of course an invaluable assistance. Frey didn’t appreciate it until she got in the carriage beside Geran. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and she was having a similar problem. He cleaned up pretty damn well too. Neither of them was quite sure what, but there was something more going on between them. They pretended to be a couple as cover to observe the other guests at the ball, but Frey knew it was more real then anybody knew. Geran was nervous as hell; truth be told she was too, even if she did a better job of hiding it. Just being around him felt good. For the first time in so long, Frey actually had a little touch of happiness. From there on out she never strayed too far from him. He did have a habit of getting into trouble on occasion. It was at Vathar Castle that she finally collected her thoughts and put words too what she knew in her heart to be true. She had grown so much since beginning the seeking, learning from all her comrades. But Geran was special even above that; he had taught her to love again. Frey gave him a kiss; it embarrassed the heck out of him, but she knew he liked it. She knew he felt about her the same way she felt about him. Opposites might attract, but only like hearts can come together as one.

Harkin: Harkin might be a lecherous, boisterous, loud, craven, unapologetic, uncouth, inarticulate, brash, savage, rude, monstrous, sword-wielding madman, but there are times when that’s what you need. When that’s the only thing that will get the job done. The rest of the time Frey mostly tries to ignore him. Mostly.

Frey Phyremune

The Seeking micuu