Rise of the Runelords

Lem stands barely over three feet tall, but his presence fills any room he enters. Wiry and quick, he moves with the effortless grace of someone always a step ahead of danger, of capture, of everyone else’s expectations. His tousled dark hair is often tucked beneath a wide-brimmed hat adorned with a bright feather or trinket picked up from his travels. Sharp green eyes glimmer with amusement and mischief, constantly scanning for opportunity—or weakness. His clothing is a deliberate clash of styles: fine silks from noble closets paired with patched leathers, a cheeky rebellion against the world that tried to own him. An intricately carved lute is always slung across his back, often being strummed even mid-conversation. His runed flute, hidden in a belt sheath, is never far from reach. A golden earring, a memento from a long-lost friend, catches the light when he grins. Every detail of his appearance is a statement: Lem belongs to no one—and never will again.

Lem is bold, sarcastic, and whip-smart, with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. He thrives on irony and has little patience for pomp or pretense, especially from those in power. Deep down, he carries the scars of a life in chains, but he masks them behind clever banter, constant motion, and a refusal to take anything—including danger—too seriously. He’s fiercely independent, refusing to be ordered about or owned by anyone again, and often resents rules purely on principle. While he may come across as cocky or irreverent, Lem has a strong moral compass, especially when it comes to standing up for the voiceless or cutting bullies down to size. He’s loyal to those who earn it, though his trust is hard-won and easily shaken. Lem sees adventuring as a way to both laugh at the absurdity of the world and punch it in the face when it needs it. At his best, he’s a joyful firebrand; at his worst, a biting cynic who hides his pain behind a song and a smirk.

Born into slavery in Cheliax, Lem was traded between noble houses before he could walk. Though forced into luxury, his childhood was harsh and hollow, a backdrop of infernal rituals, cruelty, and hollow smiles. Taught the flute to amuse devils and dukes, Lem grew skilled in charm and deception—but never lost sight of his people's suffering. When he learned a dozen of his kin were to be sacrificed to seal a trade deal, Lem set fire to the manor and tried to lead them to freedom. But when his kin mourned the manor more than their chains, Lem slipped away alone—bitter, angry, and free. He fled to Absalom, lying his way into adventuring circles and even saving the life of Ezren from an imp attack. Lem now travels the world, delighting in mocking tyrants and lifting spirits with song. He rarely speaks of his past, but his hatred for cruelty, authority, and wasted potential burns quietly beneath his jokes.