âIâve seen what happens when good folk do nothinâ. I wonât be one of âem.â
Dane McKaelish is a quiet blade and a steady hand, a man who binds wounds faster than he draws bloodâand draws blood only when he must. Dane learned early that survival wasnât about strength or skillâit was about luck. And when you had none, you made your own. He is a protector of the forgotten and a companion to one of the strange and powerful.
Biography
Born in the coastal kingdom of Illian in a world now lost to him, Dane McKaelish came of age amid war and the weight of othersâ choices. A former soldier turned reluctant wanderer, he once believed his purpose ended on a backstreet outside Ebou Dar, bleeding out in the rain. That was before Rhiannon Stirlingâa merchant girl with magic in her handsâsaved his life and, unknowingly, bound his soul to hers.
The bond between Dane and Rhiannon is no ordinary magicâit mirrors the Warder ties of his homeland, though Rhiannon never trained in the White Tower. The link was forged in desperation, not ceremony, and neither of them fully understands its limits. Still, Dane accepts it without much complaint. She saved his life; the rest, as he says, is just consequence.
Burdened by failure and driven by a stubborn sense of duty, Dane left the battlefield behind for quieter tools: a hand-carved ironwood cudgel, a well-honed dagger, and a worn satchel filled with herbs, tinctures, and poultices. He became an herbalist not from schooling, but from necessityâand compassion.
Now in Haven, Dane tends to the Lazaret, slowly refurbishing it into a place of healing and rest. He spends his days growing herbs, mending wounds, and standing quiet watch at deathbeds. He knows the names of the wildflowers and the signs of sickness in the eyes. He knows how to make people feel safe.
Age: Late 30s
Birthday: Beltine
Race: Human
Faction: The Grove
Path: Rogue - Healer (Herbalist)
Homeworld: City of Illian, the Westlands
Residence: The Lazaret, Haven, Nova Regnus
The Autumn Corruption
During the Festival of Autumn Adventures 2025, Dane made a startling discovery: That the herb Crone's Tooth, harvested from fallen Demon blood, can be used in conjunction with several other esoteric ingredients to formulate a cure for Corruption. Moreover, Dane unlocked the secret to weaponizing this cure, effectively creating a poison that purges Corruption. Along with Nikos the Benevolent, Dane set to work curing friends of this affliction, including some of his closest companions, Yarp Bloodfeather, and Rhiannon Stirling.
Personality
Dane has an easy smile and a canny wit, more comfortable with dry humor than with speeches. Heâs not one for ceremony, but he has a way of putting people at easeâwhether with a warm drink or a clever turn of phrase.
His Illianer brogue marks him as an outsider in most places, but he carries it like a badge rather than a burden. He speaks plainly, laughs often, and listens more than he talks. In battle, he is calm and collected. In peace, he is kindâthough not naive.
Pragmatic, fiercely loyal, and hard to shake, Dane doesnât go looking for fights, but he wonât step away from one if people are in danger. When asked what side heâs on, he simply says: âThe one where people get to live.â
He is especially protective of Rhiannon, though he rarely says it outright. Their bond is unorthodox and unplanned, but itâs realâand he's willing to fight for it with everything he has.
Dane is quick to offer a drink, a warm meal, or a sharp joke to those whoâve earned his trust. But he has a thiefâs instinctsâhe takes before he asks, asks forgiveness more than permission, and plays cards with the same casual charm he uses to talk his way out of trouble.
Appearance
Dane is tall and broad-shouldered, with a presence more steady than intimidating. Bald and bearded, his face is weathered but not unkind, often lit by a flicker of amusement just beneath the surface. His green eyes watch the world with patient calculation.
He dresses in comfortable linens, usually in warm earth tones. In dangerous times, he dons a padded vest of forest green, worn over a loose shirt and belt stuffed with pouches, vials, and field tools. His weaponsâa thick ironwood cudgel and a daggerâare slung with casual ease, used when words and medicine fail.
He moves with the quiet grace of someone used to avoiding notice and rarely raises his voice unless somethingâs gone truly wrong.
If you find yourself in Haven at dusk, you may see him at the Lazaret steps, sleeves rolled to the elbows, planting seeds or boiling herbs over a low flame. Heâll offer you tea, a dry comment, and a place to sit. He wonât ask for thanks. Heâll simply nod and go on with his work.