She spent her younger years in southeastern Iphily
concocting stories and studying history, legends, and lore. She made a little bit of a name for herself there, concocting a wide series of tales, and using her illusions to tell them.
Her best, or at least her favorite, centered around the eternal war between an immortal monster
and a legendary horse
who would bear heroes to fight him. Other tales included the saucy stories of a flirtatious human swordswoman
, the capricious record of a cat
that could pick locks, the humerous tale of a living piece of silk that became a goddess in the moon light, and the wild misadventures of a pixie berserker who wielded a human meat cleaver.
One day, she got the earnest desire to bring these tales to life. She began to cultivate her shape-shifting techniques, gaining the ability to change into several of the major characters in her legends. Then traveled to the mainland, where she met Cham Leon
, and promptly became addicted to the stories he could tell about his homeland. The two, up to the time when they learned of the Staff of Balatro, had been traveling together for nine years. The two had learned most, if not all, of each other’s secrets, including the ones that could and often did endanger the lives of those around them. Cham and Rittaphoran share a deep friendship, but her changes bring on completely different dynamics, from the amourous Reixelia to the judgemental war horse.
The rest of the party has met Reixelia the swordswoman and Iscarot the black cat, and she has appeared as her white warhorse, Peg, who can travel at 170 mph. She and Cham both agreed that it was best not to elabarote on the fourth unless it became absolutely necessary. She has several mental conditions as a result of her curious array of spells, including occasional hallucinations and a kind of multiple personality disorder.
is not a mental condition for a pixie, it is part of daily life.
Rittaphoran is overyjoyed to be on this journey. She is carefully, almost obsessively recording every strange detail, from the hilarious daily life of Tekh, to the research she has done is the libraries of Vaa and the High Temple of Smonn
, to conference with the pantheon of gods and subsequent mission to determine the spiritual ethos of the world for the next millennium. She is part of a living legend: a dream she has always had and now can immerse herself in.
Privately, Rittaphoran’s reasons for accepting the quest of the gods are more selfish than she will admit. Aside from the very obvious and always pressing goal of attaining more stories and legends, the gods have promised to grant her a heart’s desire when the party is successful. Her’s is to complete the growth of her warhorse and terrible fourth form into the figments that she has made stories of, and to live forever creating and telling the legends she will create. In her wild imagination, she sees herself possibly playing key roles in the changing of the age every 1000 years. As such, she is determined to win, if she can keep herself from being distracted long enough.
She finds her teammates fascinating, even if she has some difficulty proving the depth of her affection beyond her love of good stories and jokes. While she likes Tehk greatly, she honestly finds it hard not to make fun of dwarves: a fact she is keenly aware will spell disaster as they journey in the capital of the dwarven nation. She can use puffs of lint of beards and talk in deep voices to imitate their behavior, but she is sure she will be tied to anvil and made part of an axe if she does. Rittaphoran also hates being bored. On the journey to the Dwarven city, an unusually long, banal, uneventful trip in which even the stupids that usually pursue Cham Leon are absent, she begins to make every chance to amuse herself, annoy others, or concoct new stories. The knowledge that Peg probably could have made it there by now makes the fact that this is taking six weeks instead of three very aggravating.
In fact, she has found this behavior to be startlingly lucrative. Her newest tale of legendary bothersomeness featured Tekh driven to madness. As soon as the dwarf got to the city, she grabbed a handomse male, several kegs of ale, and began to make the whole building her personal beatbox until sunrise. The male dwarf, in her legend, realized that Tekh had been charged by the gods, and he had so many religious epiphanies that evening that he devoted his life to a monestary the next afternoon. After he had done so, Tekh had an awakening of her own as a bucket of ice water landed on her face. Small wonder that she is an atheist.
Rittaphoran learned of Dwarven hospitality as well, when she held her up favorite thimble for some booze and was rewarded with a full flagan of warm ale, comprable to the size of a jacuzzi. She also learned of the miracle of Dwarven Coffee, for as the ale replaced blood as the dominate fluid in her veins, Cham gave her a sip of sobering caffine, which made her instantly lucid, and later absolved her of a hangover so great that K’telphasanc burbled to be allowed to maul and smash it.
Riddle also made a new friend: Blaise the pixie. Initially far too quiet and boring for Rittaphoran’s tastes, one sip of ale revealed that the shy winged one was pixie through and through. While the building rattled with the force of Tekh’s religion from upstairs, the room was filled with the maddening laughter of two very drunk fairfolk, who proceeded to torment the brooding Cham Leon. Cham lamented that he was now turly in hell, and the pixies did thier best to cheer him up as only pixies can, until the drought took them to the dreamworld.
The next day, the heroes found themselves in dire peril. Rittophoran had taken her new friend into market to view shiney objects. In Elven, this is called Pekzliryu Pekzhir, otherwise known as a really bad idea. Cham came along to keep them in check, stating his name to the newcomer. Rittophoran, overcome with the dramatic class of his introduction, conjured an illusion in which Cham was eight feet tall, repeating hiself with an exaggerated voice. A moment later, the market was in a state of panic. A moment after that, the pixies had fled the gaurds and Cham was grudgingly left to deal with the authorities and damages. And a moment after that, the gaurds forgot Cham entirely and began to chase a naked berserker dwarf woman with ice water on her face, who was very intently attempting to kill a half demon elf, who was franticly shouting the words to a spell of tranquility at full sprint. And in the final moment, as Rittaphoran was laughing so hard she couldn’t fly straight, the party remembered that they were the saviors of the world.
Later, Rittaphoran convened the party to beat the dwarven smelted crap out of Longbeard, the man that had stolen the Pentacle from the art collector who would have otherwise given it to the party without a fuss. Cham and Ferasar, after listening to Rittaphoran recite her evidence thouroughly and emphaticly, came to the sound conclusion that pixies were geneticly predisposed to cluelessness. Tekh, on the other hand, thought Rit’s idea was fool proof. While the only presumably sane members of the pary began to investigate, the two warriors began to talk strategy, as only a woman who had yesterday streaked through the Dwarven Capital with a pair of axes over her head, and a pixie with equal parts Dwarf Ale and Caffine in her 3 ounce blood stream, could. Part of her hopes that Cham gets back before Tekh decides to break down the door, but eh, what’s to worry about! It’s just Pekzliryu Pekzhir, also known as Pixies being Pixies!
Sadly, common sense won out, as all clues began to point back to the enigmatic, dastardly denizens of darkness and devilry, those assassin like priests of the evil gods, but Rittaphoran was looking at shiny pictures in Longbeard’s hall and didn’t notice. Later, when these murderous clerics were described, Rittaphoran became even more entranced and bedazzeled with their quest. Clergy and Crossbows, she calls it, a stunning new tale of betrayal and blasphemy, of hedonistic heathens and euthanizing eunuchs, where holy people stab and make puns of perforated corpses, where the Vatican villainously victimizes the flock, where the shepherds are crooks who wield axes instead of wielding crooks, and where everyone, EVERYONE
, gets a fancy black cloak! Say your prayers, and take that however you want to!
Of note, Rittaphoran has logged a curious phenomenon that occured at the Aucution house, where Tehk was told by a trustworthy pixie that she could procure 1200 year old booze. Tehk had already wandered off to the bar by the time Rit got there, becuase no booze ever had a chance to age in a dwarven city, of course. Next to this there was a brothel specializing in male ‘hosts,’ and next to that appeared to be an axe shop, right across the street from the keg barrel factory, a saucy butchery called “Red, Rare, And Rowdy,” a mythril bed frame manufacturer, and the time period equivalent of a dwarven gym, full of sweaty, bulging, hairy little men pumping up. Rittaphoran coined a theory that the gods don’t actually make this stuff in the present, but rather create it retroactively to please certain people that they are watching. She attempted to explain this to Tekh, but she was already into her second keg and rather out of it. Ugh, atheists.
Later, Rittaphoran came up with a different theory involving the in consistency of pixie eye sight in the dark, as she blasted, swung, and charged at a single foe only to find he was dead long before she had even singed a hair. Ho hum. Currently, she is rather bored with the dark and foreboding lair of deceptive dogma, because despite how everything seems to have been beaten to death, there are very few denizens to go around. Sure there was a demon, which was neat until Tehk made him run like a damned fiendish flaming little pansy ass. And then they found two of the Clergy of Carnage and Conspiracy, the Priests of Pain, Plague and Poor Taste in Robes. They were also neat, as they could summon Imps, which are like pixies, but FROM HELL
!! Sadly, the Ordained of Audacity and Anguish forgot to wear helmets or turn invisible or, heck, even wear their cute jet black running shoes with the skulls on them, and they also got made into mush by Tekh.
Fortunantly, there was a bit more fun to go around. Why, just in the next room, there was the frustrated grunting of baddies, along with someone yelling “Hurry, they’ll be here any minute.” When Rittaphoran pushed open the door without any help no matter what the other’s tell you, this same person cried “Aha! Get them!” as those he was expecting them! A few moments later, Tekh was slashing at empty space, where suddenly appeared the high priests body slumping to the floor. The priest’s severed head materialized some yards away, and his calamitous choir boys left twin trails of urine as they ran like hell. Get it! Hahaha!
Now, next, there was a ghost talking about breakfast cereal slogans. Confused, the party was made to understand that they had to break through the wall before he poked them to death with his nasty dead fingers. Farasar said some things and waved something shiny, and the ghost left, presumably out of boredom. Farasar never was one for performance arts. While Rit argues about the cons and pros of becoming K’telphasanc to help with the wall, Tehk impatiently smashes it to dust. And then, lo and behold, the party finds a room that has, dun da daa, NOT
been smashed to pieces. Conveniently, it has the Pentacle, a note about where to find a Vampire Baroness that has the Chalice, and a book about how to fight Vampires! Huzzah! That was easy, and productive!
The party then argued about who should carry the Pentacle, and how? It’s finally agreed that it should NOT
be put in Tehk’s beard with the countless other small animals, half eaten food stuff and artifacts of universal importance than no doubt have found there way in there, and should instead be tied on top of Farasar’s head. It had something to do with the horns. Farasar then reveals that he can’t hide a shadow in a dark room, so Cham Leon, master of disguise, does it for him. Cham does such a good job that Farasar claims he isn’t sure it’s really there. My, if that isn’t foreshadowing.
Later, the party is attacked by a stupid. Or to be more precise, Cham Leon’s left boot is attacked by a stupid. Rit is surprised at Cham, who reveals his family secrets to the party at last, owing to the crest he always keeps in his boot. She is even more surprised by what Cham does next. And after that, Cham and Tehk both try to kill the stupid while Farasar attempts to stop them from killing the stupid, which is stupid. But there you go! At this point, Rit is aware of several things, not the least of which is that Farasar, like most elves, needs a little help with his acting and his choice of nouns when exclaiming “Don’t kill ____!!” She is also aware that there is a flood of dookie headed towards a very large fan, and sincerely hopes she can stop it.
But it appears the dookie was too fast for her. That morning, before Cham can even say “Hey, Riddle, I forgot what I was about to say…” the stupid reappered, and with him a motley crew of two ogres, a pixie, a goblin, and a very handsome hunka human archer. “Rememebr m.. GET THEM
!” he yelled as Tehk drew her axes, her face bright for the first time that day. Rittaphoran, bemused, summoned her Spirit of Embers and Flame, the Fire Elemental, to consume the stupid once and for all. The stupid and the pixie too knew that it was fake. The ogres… not so lucky. To the tune of Tehk’s laugher, the illusionary elemental leaped and danced until the ogres had pulverized everything around them. Even when the last one got wise, a sock to the nads from the dwarf ended the fight. Tehk set about interrogating the hunka human archer in her own special way, after which he had consented to become her sex toy.
Later that night, the ghost of the pentalce reappeared. Rit flew to Farasar, paceing the halls, so that he could bore it back to death. Even Farasar, usually stoic and collected, remarked at the barabaric stupidity of the obsessed spirit with unpriestly candor. Cham then told him all that he had secretly caused to transpire, while Rit hid herself in a silverware drawer. Thus the true dookie was averted. Thank you, stupid ghost.
Then, Rit and Farasar began to argue about how to deal with the Baroness and the Chalice. Pixie sense finally won out over human and elf reason, as it inevitably does, and it was agreed that they would seek an audience with the Baroness instead of blindly charging to kill her. Rittaphoran is now eagerly anticipating the coming of Spring, and the festivities of her kind that will take place then.
“Do you know how the Gods of the universe choose their champions? They put posters in bars and take whatever wierdos answer! Isn’t that silly!? In what universe would the gods pick a random bar in some completely irrelevant city, point to a few beefy guys with swords and personality issues, and trust them to save the world!? I mean, seriously! No adventure EVER
starts like that!”
“Wait, wait, if Tekh is going to hell for drinking, swearing, fighting, and having sex all the time with… a lot!, then what’s Dwarf Heaven like?”
(writes ‘sparsely populated’)
“Now I know why Dwarven Buildings are made of stone.”
“If I smell like Dwarven Ale, Tekh will like me better!”