Marster Windburn

He's as unmanly as unmanly gets...and he has NO idea.


Currently, he’s rollin’ with a hand crossbow and a wand implement, styled nicely with his woodwind instrument and his basic cloth armor. Steezin’ for no reason, baby!

Race: Pixie
Class: Bard (Skald)


What was your life like before adventuring?

Marster is a famous Bard in the Feywild, known for his beautiful baritone and ability to draw his audience deep into his stories, making them come alive as he performs. Naturally adept at most of the things he’s tried, he’s arrogant, at the top of his game and bored out of his mind, although he never really tires of having all eyes on him.

Where did you live?

Sildeyuir, Feywild

Who were your parents? (Did they have professions?)

Marster’s parents are Hawkeye and Daphne Adora. Daphne Adora is a socialite, a master in her own right at manipulating the moods of the aristocracy at various social gatherings. Hawkeye, a witty Headmaster at an exclusive private school is well respected, calculating, driven, and hard working.

Did you grow up privileged or destitute or otherwise?

Marster grew up privileged, in a home filled with culture and education. He was well liked in both the Eladrin and Pixie courts, in school by staff and students, and with his family and their servants. All things seem to come effortlessly to him in life.

Why did you leave your earlier life?

Boredom and the need for adventure and excitement.

Is there any particular person or being that you consider your nemesis?

Marster has no enemies…he is a friend to all.

Is there any particular person or being that you consider your savior or your inspiration?

Oghma is Marster’s inspiration and motivation to learn and soak up all that life has to offer. She is what pushes him to evolve and what repels from stagnation.

When you aren’t out slaughtering orcs and goblins, what do you prefer to do in your free time?

Appleblossom, Bluebell, Cobweb, Cottonwood, Dewdrop, Heartsease, Holly, Hyacinth, Ivy, Larksong, Lilyflower, Mistletoe, Moth, Mustardseed, Peasblossom, Willowbough…just to name a few.

Who were your childhood friends?

Aramil, an Eladrin noble of the same age, has been Marster’s best friend through thick and thin for as long as either of them can remember. On a whim, they decided to cross over from the Feywild together to seek excitement and adventure. Needless to say, this was not well planned.

One evening, in a tavern in New Sharandar, they overhear a pair of travelers discussing a place called Neverwinter with Addemios Three-Dawn, a respected priest of Corellon. Aramil begins chatting with Addemios and his companions Fahir and Veris. In time, Addemios suggests that Veris invite Aramil to join them in their travels and Aramil, on a whim, accepts. The next morning they cross over into Iliyanbruen, and Aramil sets out (with Marster hidden within his cloak) for Neverwinter. They walk for some time, passing the reclamation sites and seeing the ruins of their heritage. Soon after they have put the last of old Sharandar behind them, the men turn on Aramil and attack him viciously. Aramil is unable to fend off the travelers and Marster, getting caught in the cloak’s material, is unable to assist him. As Aramil’s body slumps to the ground, Marster is thrown from the cloak, flung across a rock hitting his head, where he then rolls under a fern frond. The last thing he sees before losing consciousness is Aramil being hit over the head with some kind of heavy stick.

Upon waking, Marster does not see Aramil. Confused, cold and alone, he stays tucked under the fern frond in a mild state of panic. He is unsure of what has happened to him or his friend, has no idea where he is and still more frightening, he has no idea how to get home. After a time, Marster hears the sound of rushing water. Carefully checking his surroundings, Marster decides to make a zip for it. Known in the Feywild for his crazy-stupid flying ability, Marster lifts his wings and with astonishing ability, streaks across the forest floor to the river and, from the shore, straight out to a leaf floating down the middle. Sitting down deftly on the leaf, Marster looks around in wonder. The forest is dark, intimidating and eerie. Never before has he felt out of place in the wilds. After some time, he smells a vaguely familiar scent on the breeze…it’s that of a campfire. Fearing he may have come across the travelers from Ilyanbruen, he hunkers down and keeps watch. Soon enough, he sees two people on the river bank. They seem to be cooking over their fire. With a rumble in his belly and a titch of haughty pissiness, Marster makes a beeline for the camp, spooging Pixie Dust across the river in a silvery streak as he goes. Coming up from behind the campers, Marster hides silently in the foliage, eavesdropping on their conversation, waiting for just the right moment to steal a snack. The men talk of their homes, recently destroyed by a band of shifters, of their luck to be alive, of their shame in having run and of Neverwinter. In this moment, Marster is sure of only two things in his life. One, that he has made the biggest mistake in his life by coming to Ilyanbruen. And two, that if he’s ever going to see Aramil again, he needs to get to Neverwinter.

Marster Windburn

Neverwinter MarsterWindburn