Wilward Wyvenjack, “Wil” or “Jack”

(531--current), age 26.

The StoryEdit

Gather round and hear a tale. No, no, no,… wait. That’s far too hackneyed. Once upon a time,…oh gods, that’s even worse. You know what? Screw it. I am just going dive right into my tale. No buildup, no theatrics.

Besides, you don’t look that the sort of folk that could appreciate as grand an introduction as I could produce. It would probably blast your feeble minds to the other side of the Far Realm. What? Not even a pity laugh? I know you’re out there…I can hear you sharpening your knives.

Ehm, Well as you may or may not know (and looking out on you, I lean towards not) I am the descendent of the Wyvernjack clan. Wilward Wyvernjack is my name, and plundering tombs was my family’s claim to fame. Why I could tell you tales of Warding Wyvernjack, who singlehandedly could navigate the Ruins of Heathensfall, nab ever gold filling from ever shriveled, old corpse, and still emerge with nary a split end on his lush locks.

Oh, how the clever have fallen. The tombs the Wyvernjack clan robs now are far more accessible, far safer, and far, FAR less profitable. I can’t tell you how many cloaks I have ruined when the juices of some bloated noble emerged unexpectedly, whilst I was trying to extract some stubborn ring or other headstrong jewelry. Family graves just don’t pay like the ancient tombs of old, let me tell you. Well, I probably don’t have to tell YOU, you look like the sort of person who knows, am I right? Heh, heh,…moving on…

I was raised by my father, Woodward Wyvernjack. He taught me to wield a crowbar, to nip off a finger to get at trinkets, and fighting tricks so dirty, you qualify as a nobleman just by using them. He also taught me my moral compass, (which incidentally doubles as my treasure magnet). He instructed me how we were performing a public service by reintroducing gold into a system which would otherwise leave said gold in the clutches of noblemen so greedy, they cling to it even after death. No, no, don’t thank me; I was just doing my job.

Unfortunately, Woodward disappeared while chasing after the location of the Wyvernjack family tomb. Yes, I realize the irony of plundering from lost forgotten tombs only to lose that fortune in a lost forgotten tomb. Then, as now, Wyvernjack’s don’t think ahead. Besides the tomb was suppose to mostly contain information from the various ancient tombs we plundered, and how valuable could that be? Now maybe if it was information that pointed towards other tombs…

Shortly after, I fell in with the wrong crowd, which happened to be another ‘jack. I sought out Daniel Drakejack, a third cousin, twice removed, which made us practically brothers by Wyvernjack standards. Up until this point in my life I had lived on the outskirts of civilization, (by necessity). Daniel showed me how I could use my knowledge to make a fairly profitable life as a bounty hunter. Of a sorts.

Daniel worked for the Thieves Guild of a nearby city New Stetven, they called themselves the Reapers of Secrets and they needed someone to help them capture individuals who fled to the surrounding forests, and assist others disappearing into them. While I might have dishonored the name of Wyrenjack by giving up the noble profession of crypt…erh, repurposing, for the lowly path of steady income, I thought this the best choice. However, I quickly became sour to my new profession. This was because, awhile after joining, Daniel had made the grave mistake (grave mistake, get it?) of assuming that because I chose to redistribute forgotten wealth, I would be accepting of adding structurally superfluous air-holes to innocent people’s necks, so as to alleviate them of the burden of their wealth. I was not.

I voiced my displeasure as any Wyvernjack would. Through thievery. I entered the Guild’s headquarters, plotting revenge. The treasure vault was quite secure. The library, however, was not. I grabbed every valuable looking scroll I could find, mostly in vengeance, some with the hope of leading towards a new tomb. I tried to place evidence that would incriminate Daniel, as well as myself (vengeance means nothing if they don’t know who it’s from). With Daniel taken care of, I disappeared into the forests, where the Guild couldn’t find me. Or so I thought.

This, of course, brings you gentlemen here. You are being paid very well for bringing me in alive so the Reapers can do all sorts of unpleasantness to me aren’t you? Well you know how I mentioned that Wyvernjack’s don’t plan ahead? I lied! That is something Wyvernjack’s do. I was just stalling for time while the poison worked its magic. How could I have gotten it into your drinks when I let you shuffle them, in addition to drinking some myself? Good question. You know that fruity little umbrella I added to my drink that you all mocked me for? That dispensed the antidote.

So I’m going to let you all lie down and take a nap. It appears I, on the other hand, need to keep running.