{ "__data_type": "UTI ", "AddCost": { "type": "dword", "value": 0 }, "BaseItem": { "type": "int", "value": 74 }, "Charges": { "type": "byte", "value": 0 }, "Comment": { "type": "cexostring", "value": "" }, "Cost": { "type": "dword", "value": 1 }, "Cursed": { "type": "byte", "value": 0 }, "DescIdentified": { "type": "cexolocstring", "value": { "0": "name: Ursa Desandenbach\nage: 23\n\nphysical description: Ursa is rather petite (5'3\" ) and is in excellent shape. Her hair is short and white-blonde, her eyes are hazel, and her skin, though naturally pale, is fairly tanned. She has a smattering of freckles and a slight sunburn on her cheeks and shoulders. Her overall appearance is fairly ordinary, neither particularly attractive nor unattractive, but she carries herself with striking confidence. Her only visible scar is a small burn mark on her neck. A quick look makes it clear her appearance is not a high priority for Ursa; once the basic demands of hygeine are fulfilled, she ceases to be concerned about it. There are calluses on her hand from frequent swordwork. \n\npersonality: Ursa is quick-witted, confident, and fearless, but rarely fool-hardy. She chafes at indecision and has no tolerance for melodrama, and strangers sometimes find her directness disconcerting. However, this is not to say she's rude or thoughtless, or that she steamrolls over others. Generally she prefers leading over following, but she's done both in her life and probably will again. Sometimes she's not the right person for the job, and if the job's important enough she'll step down. While good at heart, Ursa is a firm believer that no good deed goes unpunished, and generally requires some form of material compensation before she'll agree to a job. \nbackground: Ursa was born, in the dead of winter, in a shack on the edge of town. Her parents' love of drink and little else didn't garner the poor family much respect or pity; nor did the rumors that Sucene Desandenbach, who did not grow up in Riverthrow, was a former hooker. Loren, her father, was scarcely well thought of either, known throughout the area as an unreliable cartwright whose wheels were more lopsided than rounded, and likely to fall off within five minutes of payment. It only took a few overindulged slugs to teach Ursa to avoid her house whenever possible, and she took to sleeping in odd places- barns, trees, porches- as well as obtaining food with a piteous smile so at odds with the impish gleam her young eyes that people couldn't help but reward her amusing audacity. As she got older she began to take on various odd jobs in the village for a copper here or a pie there, gaining a variety of odd skills from planting wheat to bussing tables to kneading bread. Especially once her sister was born Ursa felt the need for self-sufficiency. Megira is eight years younger than Ursa, and Ursa felt obligated to see her taken care of. Once she was out of infancy, Megira rarely left Ursa's side, toddling after her wherever she went. (Her family still lives in Riverthrow.)\n\nGrowing up she was very much a tomboy, dressing in breeches and wearing her hair short. A very active child, she outmatched the other children at their various games, and this earned her very occasional resentment. The other children's parents didn't particularly like their offspring playing with her- Ursa's family has a rather bad reputation- and when her peers echoed their parents' commentary they often found themselves at the wrong end of Ursa's fist. Not that this helped things much- Loren Desandenbach was known for his violent temper as a lad, and Ursa seemed to be cut of the same cloth, in most people's eyes. She was and is deeply ashamed of her family, and at the time couldn't see any other way of dealing with the taunts. To this day, she won't take so much as a sip of liquor, and she's likely to frown at you as you down your ale. \n\nThere was another side to Ursa, however, one few of her playmates would have expected from their footrace champion and squadron leader in their games of soldiers and orcs. Shehad a real passion for learning, and was a voracious reader- a difficult accomplishment in a rural town. Vanthar, the oft-ridiculed local bard, would loan her volumes from his collection when few other people would trust a Desandenbach with a wooden spoon, much less something as costly as a book. His tales of heroism and impossible deeds in truth didn't hold much fascination for her- even as a child she demonstrated the pragmatism that would define her actions later in life- but she endured them because her sister found them fascinating, and could sit for hours listening to the old man dragging on about some long forgotten tomb or evil princess raining ill upon her land. Ursa would sit in the back and lose herself in the history of Netheril, or the long-forgotten elven empires, preferring history to tales, while Megira stared round-eyed as Vanthar spun out his outlandish stories. Occasionally, she would obtain books from other sources- a loan from a friend, or a reward for a job well done- though she never resorted to stealing, not for food, not for books. She rather figured she had enough of a reputation without adding thievery to the mix.\nShe left home at the age of fourteen, in a ruckus that townsfolk are still shaking their heads at in disapproval. The story is rather well-known, and had the curious side-effect of giving the tavern in question a brief boost in revenue as the curious came to see the sight of the tale. It goes something like this:\n\nUrsa had spent her childhood running wild under her own supervision, avoiding her parents whenever possible, and doing her rather poor best to raise her baby sister. She liked things this way. But growing up could not let Ursa be- games with boys she had played with all her young life became suddenly awkward, adults began scolding her for her dress, her language, and her brashness, and there were curvy things emerging under her clothing. This didn't escape her family's notice. There came a day when her father, not quite so drunk as he usually was, walked her up to his alehouse of choice, a rather shady number in the next town over. There had been a disagreement between the owner and Loren Desandenbach over the state of his tab. Loren marched his pubescent daughter through the door and held her out in front of him at arms' length. \"Just what I told you. Presentable, a little dirty at the moment but a minute's water will fix that, nice blonde with pretty eyes and some breasts on her- here he pulled Ursa's loose shirt tight to display her chest- \"and some hips too. Trim waist, doesn't eat much, and it's never been said she stole.\"\n\nThe tavern's owner considered her a moment, stroking his beard. \"She'll pay your debt.\"\n\n\"My debt and three month's advance.\"\n\n\"Your tab and one month. My last offer.\"\n\n\"Done.\" Loren shoved Ursa toward the tavernmaster. \n\nThe conversation had taken place in a matter of moments; the nature of the transaction was just beginning to dawn on Ursa. \"Get your hands off me, you filthy bastard!\" And she bit the tavernmaster as hard as she could on his arm.\n\nLoren swore and reached back his hand to crack her, but the owner only laughed. \"Feisty one- I've got some who'll love that.\" He nodded to two burly men. \"Lock her up in the back room.\"\n\nKicking and screaming, they dragged her in and shut the door against her weight, barring it from the outside. They all had a good laugh at the stream of curses emanating from the room. When she slowed, the owner walked over to the door and said quietly, \"Are you ready to behave?\"\n\n\"Whoreson! When I get out of here-\"\n\n\"Tsk, tsk. Not the right answer.\" He paused reflectively. \"Perhaps a day without meals will make you see reason.\"\n\nThe day passed. Ursa became very familiar with the room, in hindsight more familiar that the tavernmaster would have preferred. He rapped softly on the door to get her attention. \"I've got one for you tonight. He's finishing his dinner now. I told him he could expect a wild ride.\" \n\nUrsa cursed at him. He laughed and walked off. \n\nShe waited for the sound of the bar being raised, knowing she would have to act quickly; likely as not they'd bar it behind her \"customer\" to keep her from escaping, and she had no intention of being his dessert. The glass was cold in her hand, and sharp. From the amount of bottles in the corners, there had clearly been more than a few drinking bouts in here. Ursa was nervous, but mostly she was angry, and the anger gave her enough fuel to burn away the doubt. When the slightly drunk man stepped inside, before he had cleared the doorway, she ran forward and slashed at him, catching him on the face and then the arm. With desperate maneuvering she slipped past him into the main room. At this point the entire room was on its feet, shouting. The tavernmaster swooped down, but the customer waved him off. \"C'mere,\" he said with a hideous smile. \"C'mere, girl.\"\n\nIgnoring him, Ursa made a mad dash for the door, swinging her broken bottle left and right to make a path. Most leapt out of the way, but one of the burly bouncers blocked the door. He smiled and held his arms open, ready to catch her and carry her back. Without thinking, Ursa kept running forward, and shoved the bottle up under his chin even as his arms closed around her. It was an extremely lucky blow, but it worked. He screamed and fell to his knees, tearing at his throat. And then Ursa was out in the night, running, too fast in the dark for anyone to catch her. The bouncer later died of his injuries, having lost too much blood. \n\nUnbeknownst to Ursa, versions of this story were recounted in local taverns all around the area, with none more vigorous in spreading the tale than the tavernmaster whose hired hand she had killed. It is unlikely Riverthrow will welcome her with open arms, though few know how much of the story is true, and some years have passed. None of the townsfolk, and none of her childhood friends, have seen or heard from her in all that time, until a few days ago when she ran into one of them (volunteer?) several days out from Riverthrow, and was told of Vanthar's death. Having a shortage of ideas and at loose ends, she decided going home to pay her respects was as good a course as any. \n" } }, "Description": { "type": "cexolocstring", "value": { "0": "" } }, "Identified": { "type": "byte", "value": 1 }, "LocalizedName": { "type": "cexolocstring", "value": { "0": "The Legend of Ursa Desandenbach" } }, "ModelPart1": { "type": "byte", "value": 53 }, "PaletteID": { "type": "byte", "value": 3 }, "Plot": { "type": "byte", "value": 0 }, "PropertiesList": { "type": "list", "value": [] }, "StackSize": { "type": "word", "value": 1 }, "Stolen": { "type": "byte", "value": 0 }, "Tag": { "type": "cexostring", "value": "TheLegendofUrsaDesandenbach" }, "TemplateResRef": { "type": "resref", "value": "thelegendofursad" } }