Alvart Algartsson, Lord Wægmunding

Male human ari 3: CR 2; Medium humanoid (human); Hit Dice 3d6-3; 7 hp; Init +2; Spd 30 ft. (6 squares); AC 18 (13 touch, 16 flat-footed); BAB/Grapple +2/+3; Atk +5 melee (1d6+1/18-20, masterwork rapier), or +5 melee (1d4+1/19-20, masterwork dagger); Full atk +3 melee (1d6+1/18-20, masterwork rapier) and +3 melee (1d4/19-20, masterwork dagger); AL LE; SV Fort +0, Ref +3, Will +3; Str 12, Dex 15, Con 8, Int 13, Wis 10, Cha 14.
Skills and Feats: Appraise +4, Bluff +7, Diplomacy +12, Gather Information +4, Knowledge (history) +6, Knowledge (nobility and royalty) +6, Ride +7, Sense Motive +5, Speak Language (Common, Elven); Two-Weapon Defense, Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse.

Possessions: masterwork rapier, masterwork dagger, amulet of natural armor +1, ring of protection +1, +1 studded leather armor, potion of cure light wounds, noble’s outfit, light warhorse, military saddle, 11 gp, 16 sp, 17 cp.

Platinum blonde hair falls in carefully-arranged ringlets around a thin, pale-skinned face. Its owner is a young man who’s nearly as pretty as a girl, with pale blue eyes, a pink bow of a mouth. The young fop is dressed in a velvet doublet and silk hose of a dark lavender color, trimmed with frothy white lace, and has a petulant twist to his lips, as one might see on the face of a child who’s accustomed to getting his way.

Cruel, cowardly, and controlling, Alvart Algartsson is the last scion of a once-noble house. As a young boy, he was the sort of child who tore the wings from flies, kicked his father’s hunting dogs to make them yelp, and terrorized his family's servants. Little has changed, despite his achievement of a grown man’s size and a burning interest in shy, pretty girls who are either too meek to say no to a handsome young lord, or too frail to object with more than a forcefully-spoken word.

Alvart, unlike his noble forebears, has never struggled for anything in his life; he has never been forced to give account to anyone he insults, and has never felt the slightest concern for anyone’s feelings aside from his own. His evil is not of the species which lends dark grandeur to an iron-fisted tyrant; nor is it characterized by the brooding intensity of fallen hero's malevolence. Alvart is a bully - nothing more, and nothing less - and his crimes are a bully's crimes.

In his insecurity, Alvart has fastened blindly on the grand history of his lineage, and insists that the deeds of his ancestors constitute grounds for the respect of his companions and peers. By patronage of bards knowledgeable in ancient epic, he hopes to convert the glory of the noble dead into political currency for himself. He has hired Flandargambil Boddon to this end.

If this boyish lordling has a saving grace (which is a very remote possibility indeed, despite the optimism of his would-be mentor, Trogar the Axe), it is that far, far beneath the layers of soft, childish self-indulgence is a core of real ambition. Alvart thirsts for greatness, and in the proper hands he could still be molded into something better than he is.

Because of his interest in his family history, Alvart is interested in finding adventurers who can uncover more complete records of their deeds, the better to fuel the propaganda program he has begun to finance amongst the artists of his city. He is willing to pay handsomely for legible records which show his ancestors in a favorable light.

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