Donovan Aumet Windriddle

A (Dead) Halfling Finding His Adventure


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Donovan is of traditional halfling stature. He stands approximately three feet tall and weighs perhaps 40lbs. He has short, dark brown hair. His eyes are a vivid green inset in an angular, clean shaven face. Donovan has tan skin the hue of someone who spends a lot of time in the sun.

He wears fanciful clothes of several vibrant colors. At his hip he has belted an ornate rapier of questionable quality and a parrying dagger; both of which he is wont to draw at a moments notice.

Donovan wears a necklace given to him by his grandma underneath his clothes. He never removes it.


From a very young age Donovan was ill. Bedridden his entire waking life, his only solace was his kindly grandma taking care of him. No one was sure what ailed the young halfling boy.
He had no cough, no trouble breathing, no fever and no trouble eating. His body seemed to simply fail him- he never had the energy to sit up and was too weak to walk.

Donovan never knew what happened to his parents, and his grandma was vague at best. Her name was Tremara Windriddle- his last remaining relative. Donovan always suspected that his parents had left when they learned that he was going to be ill the rest of his life. Donovan didn’t mind too much, after a time, since his grandmother took care of him.

Each night, she would tell a new story of an adventurer by the name of James Highwind. He was a witty, charming, swashbuckling adventurer traveling the world. He always stood up for the little man, and always fought in the name of justice. James would go to exotic places and get into the greatest of peril, only to escape and win by the skin of his teeth.

Each night as Donovan was falling asleep the story would end. His grandmothers quiet voice finishing each tale with the same line, promising a new story the next day:

“And so he sailed away, to meet new friends, to go on new adventures, and to chase that horizon!”

Donovan always dreamed that he could go on adventures with James. To be his ward, to fight alongside him, to help him in his dire moments. Donovan dreamed that he was a great sword fighter, and always daydreamed that he could deliver the final blow at the last moment, winning the day and a kiss from a damsel.

As Donovan neared his twentieth birthday he began to pray. He was never sure to whom he prayed, but he wished over and over that he could someday stand up and go on his own adventure. Sometimes he would ask his grandma to help him pray, and she would always take his frail hands into hers and pray with him. Sometimes with tears in her eyes.

On his birthday his grandma brought him a beautiful, leather bound journal. She also gave him her necklace, and old family heirloom of some sort. She had never taken it off, and Donovan was honored that she would give it to him. But he was confused- what was he going to do with this blank journal? He could barely lift a cup of tea, much less write.

Shortly after his birthday his grandmother fell ill. The neighbor lady was in the house a lot more, making meals and dabbing his grandmas forehead with cold rags. The neighbor lady also took care of Donovan, but she never told him stories.

One night Donovan was stirred awake by the quiet moaning of his grandmother. Something was wrong. Donovan, finding new strength, pulled himself out of bed and crawled to his grandmother. She was trying to say something. Donovan called out for help, but it was the middle of the night. Donovan crawled to his grandmothers side, and pushed himself onto his knees. He leaned over his grandmother. She opened her eyes- they were now milky white. She didn’t look at Donovan, but she smiled and said, “My boy. You should be so much more than you are. Go on now. Go on and chase that horizon.”

Her head settled back and she closed her eyes, and she set off on her last adventure.

Donovan wept. He held her until it was morning. He was there when the neighbor lady came in and tried to help him back to his bed. He weakly pushed the neighbor lady away, who took a step back and watched in wonder as Donovan forced himself shakily to his feet. It was the first time he could remember ever standing.

Each day felt cold and empty. He was still weak, but each day he pushed himself out of bed and struggled to get to his feet and walk. Sometimes to the kitchen, sometimes to the street before he ran out of energy.

Within the week he was walking. Not for very long, but it wasn’t a struggle. Donovan was able to walk himself to his grandmothers burial. Long after everyone had left to go home, Donovan remained there. It was a sunny day dimming into a pleasant night. The orange light was splaying over the nearby forest, the branches rippling gently in the breeze. He turned and looked to the horizon where the sun was setting. He would chase the horizon.

The next couple days passed quickly. Donovan gave his grandmothers house to the village. He was given some gold, but he rejected it. All he asked for was some clothes that fit, and a proper dueling sword.

And one day Donovan set out. He never returned to that village. Donovan promised his grandmother, however, that when he had his own stories he would come back and sit with her and recount them all. She had believed in him. That’s why she gave him the journal.

His journey brought him to a port city. Donovan stood on the dock for hours at a time and wondered where he was going to go from there. Luck was ever his companion, however, and he eventually met a man that simple went by Tavish.

Tavish needed a cabin boy, and Donovan was happy to oblige. He wasn’t paid money, but his was given free passage on the ship as long as he followed orders and kept the ship clean. This Captain Tavish wasn’t a present figure in Donovan’s travels, he was frequently too busy running some form of a company.

Donovan really found his place on the crew during the dinner hour. He would eat quickly and then leap up onto a table and begin to tell a tale of James Highwind. Donovan would draw his rapier and flourish it with each scene, acting out the story as much as telling it. And as always the stories ended the same:

“And so he sailed away, to meet new friends, to go on new adventures, and to chase that horizon!”

The crowd would cheer and raise their glasses high. Donovan would bow and leap back to the floor. Over the months he became quite the showman and everyone looked forward to his stories. This camaraderie led the crew to teach him the formal ins and outs about sailing, as well as the appropriate way to brandish his rapier. Eventaully he became close friends with a man named Yohan Flass.

Once he felt capable, Donovan set off to join other crews and see more of the world. Tavish was disappointed to see him go after he became such a good deckhand, but wanderlust strikes and he wasn’t about to stand in the way. Yohan said that he lived in Kirtholde, and to come back soon. Donovan agreed.

Donovan didn’t see too much of the world. Sailing was time consuming and they were at port for mere days at a time. He went to wondrous places, but he never quite found the adventure he was searching for. But he continued to tell his stories, and he continued to make people smile.

Almost a year of sailing up and down the coastline finally helped Donovan fill out some. He was a capable and strong deckhand. Finally he returned to Kirtholde to find Tavish and share an ale with Yohan. But he learned that Yohan had been murdered; found on a bridge with a knife having been dragged across his throat. Donovan was devastated and went to Tavish, asking if he knew what happened.

Tavish was unsure what was happening within Kirtholde, but he had met a group of people that were looking into it. Tavish recommended that if he wanted to help find the killers, he find these people.

This was it. This was Donovan’s adventure. He would help find the killers, slay them dramatically, and become a hero.

He awoke one day to find a commotion near one of Kirtholde’s many bridges. Someone had been killed. This was his time to shine. Donovan pushed himself through the crowd to find a group of unique looking people holding an arm. An arm made of metal. What had happened here? Donovan was certainly going to find out.

Donovan Aumet Windriddle

Mordulon-Fall of the Crimson Throne DTM